And so these private reminiscences arrive at 1895 – a seminal year in the lives of Holmes and myself. The start of the year was full of scandal.
The Oscar Wilde libel case had rocked the courts and I had been following the story closely. It was not, however, until the 7
April that I was forced to take a more personal interest in proceedings.
The morning of that fateful day started as often at Baker Street with a series of loud frustrated yells from Holmes.
He had been agitated for a while and more than usually erratic, leaving Baker Street at odd times of the day and night.
I had inferred that he had a case running from the number of telegrams he had been sending and receiving (none of which I was allowed to glimpse).
When I asked him what he was engaged in he merely replied that he was helping an old acquaintance with a spot of bother that had befallen him and brushed me off with
his usual disinterested wave, making it clear I was not to continue to probe the subject. Looking back I can’t believe I didn’t see the whole truth there and then.
I had obviously not picked up as much of my friends powers of observation as I thought. However, I was well used to being occasionally shut out of his investigation.
Often I was busy at my surgery and could not betray my patients by up and chasing off after the madman at a moment’s notice as I once had.
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