The Sensible Necktie and Other Stories of Sherlock Holmes by Peter K Andersson Page B

scheme has been exposed. I advise you to be wary of similar actions in the future.”
    â€œMr Holmes, I am extremely grateful to you. It seems to me that you never fell for this scheme in the first place.”
    â€œI had my suspicions. When you mentioned that all of the victims had called out in just the same manner, it appeared curious to me. We think that people are very predictable and instinctive in moments of crisis, but human nature is more complex than that. Now, if you will excuse us, Watson and I wish to get out of these ridiculous clothes as soon as possible.”
    â€œOf course, of course. There is just one more thing, Mr Holmes.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIn what way is my wife deceitful? And how do you know?”
    Holmes stopped in the doorway. “She kisses you on the cheek every morning, does she not?”
    â€œYes. How can you tell?”
    â€œBecause she leaves a few hairs on the shoulder of your jacket every time she does so, and they are hairs that have been dyed. I don’t think her deception goes any further than that, but yesterday when I was in the dark as to why you had called for us, I guessed that her habit of dyeing was indicative of a more profoundly deceptive personality. I was wrong.”
    Mr Winstanton smiled. “I’m glad that even you can be wrong, Mr Holmes.”

The Adventure of the Tooting Pyramid
    There were many issues in connection with the mystery of Albany Place that were never cleared up at the time of its occurrence, and which have many times since made me think that I should communicate my own perspective on the matter to the reading public. I have hesitated in doing so only due to my respect for the people involved and my reluctance to evoke the painful image of Miss Landseer, the reclusive spinster, and the way she sat in her large armchair, bound to it by chains of fate. The reason I have finally picked up my pen to recall the details of the case is a most heart-warming letter from Miss Brill, the old woman’s young companion and live-in maid, asking me to make public my version of the story so that Miss Landseer’s honour might be restored. Miss Brill, who cared so selflessly for the old woman in the last years of her life, awoke my feelings of sympathy just as much as her employer did, and I am glad to present this account as a tribute to the strength of these two women and the model of humanity that their life together comprised.
    It all began on a dreary day in September, when Holmes, after a hiatus of contact for a couple of weeks, sent me a spontaneous telegram inviting me to dine with him. My wife was entertaining some female friends that evening, so she readily consented to my absence, and, having seen off the last patient of the day, I took a hansom to Piccadilly where Holmes was waiting for me in a secluded booth at the Criterion. He looked delighted to see me, and I was glad to have caught him in a cheery mood.
    â€œYou arrived at just the critical moment, Watson! Have a seat, old boy, and take a discreet look at that waiter over there. I believe he is new here and from the way he casually carries those trays of wine glasses, he wishes to impress his new employer with his ease of comportment. His lack of experience is noticeable in the small details, however, for he is a bit too casual now and then, and he almost spilled some wine on a lady’s dress two minutes ago. It is only a matter of time before a serious accident occurs.”
    Holmes had hardly finished his sentence before the wine glasses on the young waiter’s tray started to glide as he swung round a table, and one by one they crashed to the floor. The sound was drowned out by the constant murmur from the dinner guests, but several of the closest diners were spattered by wine, and a gentleman quickly rose to scold the overconfident waiter. Holmes turned away from the commotion and glanced at me with one of his imperceptibly penetrating looks.
    â€œI