the college as servant, but i never forgot

my old employer because he was down in the world. i

watched his son all i could for the sake of the old days.

well, sir, when i came into this room yesterday when the

alarm was given, the very first thing i saw was mr.

gilchrist's tan gloves a-lying in that chair. i knew those

gloves well, and i understood their message. if mr. soames

saw them the game was up. i flopped down into that chair,

and nothing would budge me until mr. soames he went for

you. then out came my poor young master, whom i had

dandled on my knee, and confessed it all to me. wasn't it

natural, sir, that i should save him, and wasn't it natural

also that i should try to speak to him as his dead father

would have done, and make him understand that he could not

profit by such a deed? could you blame me, sir?"

"no, indeed," said holmes, heartily, springing to his feet.

"well, soames, i think we have cleared your little problem

up, and our breakfast awaits us at home. come, watson! as

to you, sir, i trust that a bright future awaits you in

rhodesia. for once you have fallen low. let us see in the

future how high you can rise."

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{----------------------- end of text --------------------}

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

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

{1} {"mediaeval": the a & e are ligatured}

{2} {"...at once"'": the single- and double-quotes are}

{reversed in the text}

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

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

{gold, rev 4, 1/17/96 rms, 4th proofing}

{the adventure of the golden pince-nez, arthur conan doyle}

{source: the strand magazine, 28 (july 1904)}

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

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

{underscores (_) in the text indicate italics}

x. -- the adventure of the golden pince-nez.

when i look at the three massive manuscript volumes which

contain our work for the year 1894 i confess that it is very

difficult for me, out of such a wealth of material, to

select the cases which are most interesting in themselves

and at the same time most conducive to a display of those

peculiar powers for which my friend was famous. as i turn

over the pages i see my notes upon the repulsive story of

the red leech and the terrible death of crosby the banker.

here also i find an account of the addleton tragedy and the

singular contents of the ancient british barrow. the famous

smith-mortimer succession case comes also within this

period, and so does the tracking and arrest of huret, the

boulevard assassin -- an exploit which won for holmes an

autograph letter of thanks from the french president and the

order of the legion of honour. each of these would furnish

a narrative, but on the whole i am of opinion that none of

them unite so many singular points of interest as the

episode of yoxley old place, which includes not only the

lamentable death of young willoughby smith, but also those

subsequent developments which threw so curious a light upon

the causes of the crime.

it was a wild, tempestuous night towards the close of

november. holmes and i sat together in silence all the

evening, he engaged with a powerful lens deciphering the

remains of the original inscription upon a palimpsest, i

deep in a recent treatise upon surgery. outside the wind

howled down baker street, while the rain beat fiercely

against the windows. it was strange there in the very

depths of the town, with ten miles of man's handiwork on

every side of us, to feel the iron grip of nature, and to be

conscious that to the huge elemental forces all london was

no more than the molehills that dot the fields. i walked

to the window and looked out on the deserted street. the

occasional lamps gleamed on the expanse of muddy road and

shining pavement. a single cab was splashing its way from

the oxford street end.

"well, watson, it's as well we have not to turn out

to-night," said holmes, laying aside his lens and rolling up

the palimpsest. "i've done enough for one sitting. it is

trying work for the eyes. so far as i can make out it is

nothing more exciting than an abbey's accounts dating from

the second half of the fifteenth century. halloa! halloa!

halloa! what's this?"

amid the droning of the wind there had come the stamping of

a horse's hoofs and the long grind of a wheel as it rasped

against the kerb. the cab which i had seen had pulled up at

our door.

"what can he want?" i ejaculated, as a man stepped out of it.

"want! he wants us. and we, my poor watson, want overcoats

and cravats and goloshes, and every aid that man ever

invented to fight the weather. wait a bit, though! there's

the cab off