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{------------------ textual notes -----------------------}

{source: the strand magazine 26 (oct. 1903)}

{1} {"our little adventures": is "your little fairy-tales"}

{in doub.}

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{--------------- end textual notes ----------------------}

{--------------------------------------------------------}

{norw, rev 4, 1/17/96 rms, 3rd proofing}

{the adventure of the norwood builder, arthur conan doyle}

{source: the strand magazine, 26 (nov. 1903)}

{etext prepared by roger squires rsquires@nmia.com}

{braces({}) in the text indicate textual end-notes}

{underscores (_) in the text indicate italics}

ii. -- the adventure of the norwood builder.

"from the point of view of the criminal expert," said mr.

sherlock holmes, "london has become a singularly

uninteresting city since the death of the late lamented

professor moriarty."

"i can hardly think that you would find many decent

citizens to agree with you," i answered.

"well, well, i must not be selfish," said he, with a smile,

as he pushed back his chair from the breakfast-table.

"the community is certainly the gainer, and no one the loser,

save the poor out-of-work specialist, whose occupation has

gone. with that man in the field one's morning paper

presented infinite possibilities. often it was only the

smallest trace, watson, the faintest indication, and yet it

was enough to tell me that the great malignant brain was

there, as the gentlest tremors of the edges of the web

remind one of the foul spider which lurks in the centre.

petty thefts, wanton assaults, purposeless outrage -- to

the man who held the clue all could be worked into one

connected whole. to the scientific student of the higher

criminal world no capital in europe offered the advantages

which london then possessed. but now ----" he shrugged

his shoulders in humorous deprecation of the state of

things which he had himself done so much to produce.

at the time of which i speak holmes had been back for some

months, and i, at his request, had sold my practice and

returned to share the old quarters in baker street.

a young doctor, named verner, had purchased my small

kensington practice, and given with astonishingly little

demur the highest price that i ventured to ask -- an

incident which only explained itself some years later when

i found that verner was a distant relation of holmes's,

and that it was my friend who had really found the money.

our months of partnership had not been so uneventful as he

had stated, for i find, on looking over my notes, that this

period includes the case of the papers of ex-president

murillo, and also the shocking affair of the dutch

steamship _friesland_, which so nearly cost us both our

lives. his cold and proud nature was always averse,

however, to anything in the shape of public applause, and

he bound me in the most stringent terms to say no further

word of himself, his methods, or his successes -- a

prohibition which, as i have explained, has only now been

removed.

mr. sherlock holmes was leaning back in his chair after his

whimsical protest, and was unfolding his morning paper in

a leisurely fashion, when our attention was arrested by a

tremendous ring at the bell, followed immediately by a

hollow drumming sound, as if someone were beating on the

outer door with his fist. as it opened there came a

tumultuous rush into the hall, rapid feet clattered up the

stair, and an instant later a wild-eyed and frantic young

man, pale, dishevelled, and palpitating, burst into the

room. he looked from one to the other of us, and under our

gaze of inquiry he became conscious that some apology was

needed for this unceremonious entry.

"i'm sorry, mr. holmes," he cried. "you mustn't blame me.

i am nearly mad. mr. holmes, i am the unhappy john hector

mcfarlane."

he made the announcement as if the name alone would explain

both his visit and its manner; but i could see by my

companion's unresponsive face that it meant no more to him

than to me.

"have a cigarette, mr. mcfarlane," said he, pushing his

case across. "i am sure that with your symptoms my friend

dr. watson here would prescribe a sedative. the weather

has been so very warm these last few days. now, if you

feel a little more composed, i should be glad if you would

sit down in that chair and tell us very slowly and quietly

who you are and what it is that you want. you mentioned

your name as if i should recognise it, but i assure you

that, beyond the obvious facts that you are a bachelor,

a solicitor, a freemason, and an asthmatic, i know nothing

whatever about you."

familiar as i was with my friend's methods, it was not

difficult for me to follow his deductions, and to observe

the untidiness of attire, the sheaf of legal papers, the

watch-charm, and the b