elapt1c/ElapticAI-255 · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 149M

“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes.
Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.”

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the
passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and
authoritative tap.

“Come in!” said Holmes.

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches
in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich
with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad
taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and
fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was
thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and
secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming
beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were
trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of
barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He
carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper
part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard
mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand
was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face
he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip,
and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length
of obstinacy.

“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly
marked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from
one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.

“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr.
Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom
have I the honour to address?”

“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I
understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and
discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme
importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you
alone.”

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into
my chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this
gentleman anything which you may say to me.”

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he,
“by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of
that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too
much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon
European history.”

“I promise,” said Holmes.

“And I.”

“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august
person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may
confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is
not exactly my own.”

“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.

“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to
be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and
seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak
plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary
kings of Bohemia.”

“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in
his armchair and closing his eyes.

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,
lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the
most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes
slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.

“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I
should be better able to advise you.”

The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in
uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore
the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,”
he cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”

“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I
was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von
Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of
Bohemia.”

“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once
more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can
understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own
person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to
an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito
from Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”

“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.

“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy

“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes.

Sit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.”

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the

passage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and

authoritative tap.

“Come in!” said Holmes.

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches

in height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich

with a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad

taste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and

fronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was

thrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and

secured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming

beryl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were

trimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of

barbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He

carried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper

part of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard

mask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand

was still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face

he appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip,

and a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length

of obstinacy.

“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly

marked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from

one to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.

“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr.

Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom

have I the honour to address?”

“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I

understand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and

discretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme

importance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you

alone.”

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into

my chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this

gentleman anything which you may say to me.”

The Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he,

“by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of

that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too

much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon

European history.”

“I promise,” said Holmes.

“And I.”

“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august

person who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may

confess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is

not exactly my own.”

“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.

“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to

be taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and

seriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak

plainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary

kings of Bohemia.”

“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in

his armchair and closing his eyes.

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,

lounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the

most incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes

slowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.

“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I

should be better able to advise you.”

The man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in

uncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore

the mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,”

he cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”

“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I

was aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von

Ormstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of

Bohemia.”

“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once

more and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can

understand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own

person. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to

an agent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito

from Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”

“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.

“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy