On glancing over my notes of the cases in which I have studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number strange, but no commonplace cases. He worked rather for the love of his art than for money and he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not have anything unusual and even fantastic in it. Of all these cases, however, I cannot recall any which was more unusual than that which was associated with the well-known family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran[1]. The events occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms in Baker Street.
It was early in April in the year 1883 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser[2], as a rule, and as the clock showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I looked up at him in some surprise.
“Very sorry to wake you up, Watson,” said he, “but Mrs. Hudson has been woken up, and she woke me up.”
“What is it, then – a fire?”
“No, a client. A young lady has arrived. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. When young ladies call on you at this hour of the morning, I think that it is something very pressing. If it is an interesting case, I am sure, you would like to follow it from the beginning.”
“My dear fellow, I shall be ready in a minute.”
I put on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black rose as we entered.
“Good-morning, madam,” said Holmes. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my friend and associate, Dr. Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. I am glad to see that Mrs. Hudson has lighted the fire. Please sit near it, and I shall ask a cup of hot coffee for you, for I see that you are shivering.”
