No 6 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by Arthur Conan Doyle

Isa Whitney, brother late Elias Whitney, D D , Principal Theological College of St Georges, was much addicted to opium The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when at college; for having read De Quinceys description dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt the same effects , as more , practice is easier to attain than rid of, and for many years he continued slave drug, an object of mingled horror and pity friends and relatives him now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-point pupils, all huddled in chair, the wreck and ruin of noble man

One night- in June, 89-there came ring to my bell, hour when man gives his first yawn and glances clock I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work down in her lap and made little face of disappointment

patient ! said she Youll have out

I groaned, for newly come back from weary day

We heard the door open, few hurried words, and then quick steps linoleum Our own door flew open, and lady, clad in some dark-coloured stuff, with black veil, entered the room

excuse my calling so late, she began, and then, suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her arms wifes neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder Oh, Im trouble ! she cried; I want little help

Why, said my wife, pulling up her veil, Kate Whitney How you startled me, Kate ! I an idea who you were came in

I didnt know what , so l came straight That was always the way Folk who were in grief came to my wife like birds to light-house

very sweet of you Now, some wine and water, and sit here comfortably and tell us all Or should you rather that James off to bed ?

Oh, no, no ! the doctors advice and help, too Its about Isa He home for two days so frightened about him !

not the first time that she had spoken of her husbands trouble, as doctor, to my wife as an old friend and school companion We soothed and comforted her by such words as find Did she know where her husband was ? possible that bring him back to her ?

It seems She had the surest information that of late he had, fit was on him, made use of an opium den farthest east City Hitherto his orgies had always been confined to one day, and he had come back, twitching and shattered, evening But now the spell upon him eight-and-forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless dregs docks, breathing poison or sleeping off the effects There found, she was sure of it, Bar of Gold, in Upper Swandam Lane But she ? How could she, young and timid woman, make her way into such place and pluck her husband out from ruffians who surrounded him ?

the case, and but out of it Might I not escort her place ? And then, as second thought, why should she come at all ? Isa Whitneys medical adviser, and as such I had influence over him manage it better if I were alone I promised her on my word that home in cab within two hours if he were indeed address which she had given me And so in ten minutes I had left my armchair and cheery sitting-room behind me, and was speeding eastward in hansom on strange errand, as it seemed , though the future only could show how strange

But no great difficulty first stage adventure Upper Swandam Lane is vile alley lurking behind the high wharves which line the north side river east of London Bridge Between slop-shop and gin-shop, approached by steep flight of steps leading down to black gap like the mouth of cave, the den in search Ordering my cab to wait, I passed down the steps, worn hollow centre ceaseless tread of drunken feet; and light of flickering oil-lamp above the door the latch and made my way into long, low room, thick and heavy brown opium smoke, and terraced with wooden berths, like the forecastle of an emigrant ship

gloom one could dimly catch glimpse of bodies lying in strange fantastic poses, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, with here and there dark, lack-lustre eye turned newcomer black shadows there glimmered little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, burning poison waxed or waned bowls metal pipes The most lay silent, but some muttered to themselves, and others talked together in strange, low, monotonous voice, their conversation coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts and paying little heed words neighbour farther end was small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which on three-legged wooden stool there sat tall, thin old man, jaw resting upon his two fists, elbows upon his knees, staring fire

As I entered, sallow Malay attendant had hurried up with pipe and supply drug, beckoning me to an empty berth

come to stay, said I friend here, Mr Isa Whitney, and

movement and an exclamation from my right, and peering gloom Whitney, pale, haggard, and unkempt, staring out at me

My God ! Its Watson, said he in pitiable state of reaction, with every nerve in twitter , Watson, what oclock ?

Nearly eleven

Of what day ?

Of Friday, June 19th

Good heavens ! Wednesday Wednesday What dyou want to frighten the chap for ? He sank his face onto his arms and began to sob in high treble key

I tell you Friday, man Your wife waiting this two days ashamed of yourself !

So But youve got mixed, Watson, for only been here few hours, three pipes, four pipes-I forget But Ill go home I wouldnt frighten Kate-poor little Kate your hand ! cab ?

Yes, one waiting

Then go But owe something Find what I owe, Watson all off colour do nothing

I walked down the narrow passage double row of sleepers, holding my breath out the vile, stupefying fumes drug, and looking about manager As I passed the tall man who sat brazier sudden pluck at my skirt, and low voice whispered, Walk past me, and then look back at me The words fell quite distinctly upon my ear I glanced down only have come old man at my side, and yet he sat now as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling down from between his knees, it had dropped in sheer lassitude fingers two steps forward and looked back It took all my self-control me from breaking out into cry of astonishment He had turned his back none him but I His form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the dull eyes had regained their fire, and there, sitting fire and grinning at my surprise, was none Sherlock Holmes slight motion to approach him, and instantly, as he turned his face half round company once more, subsided into doddering, loose-lipped senility

Holmes ! I whispered, what on earth doing den ?

As low , he answered; excellent ears the great kindness rid sottish friend of yours exceedingly little talk

cab outside