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Doyle, Arthur Conan

"The Return Of Sherlock Holmes"

You see, there
is not a glimmer of light in any of the windows, and everything
is working splendldly."
With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two
of the most truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent,
gloomy house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one side
of it, lined by several windows and two doors.
"That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opens
straight into the study. It would suit us best, but it is bolted as
well as locked, and we should make too much noise getting in.
Come round here. There's a greenhouse which opens into the
drawing-room."
The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass
and turned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he had
closed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyes
of the law. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and the rich,
choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He
seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banks of
shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes had remarkable
powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark.


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