"You're surprised to see me, sir," said he, in a strange,
croaking voice.
I acknowledged that I was.
"Well, I've a conscience, sir, and when I chanced to see you
go into this house, as I came hobbling after you, I thought to
myself, I'll just step in and see that kind gentleman, and tell him
that if I was a bit gruff in my manner there was not any harm
meant, and that I am much obliged to him for picking up my
books."
"You make too much of a trifle," said I. "May I ask how
you knew who I was?"
"Well, sir, if it isn't too great a liberty, I am a neighbour of
yours, for you'll find my little bookshop at the corner of Church
Street, and very happy to see you, I am sure. Maybe you collect
yourself, sir. Here's British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy
War -- a bargain, every one of them. With five volumes you
could just fill that gap on that second shelf. It looks untidy, does
it not, sir?"
I moved my head to look at the cabinet behind me. When I
turned again, Sherlock Holmes was standing smiling at me across
my study table. I rose to my feet, stared at him for some seconds
in utter amazement, and then it appears that I must have fainted
for the first and the last time in my life.
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