energy of his own keen nature.  He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in following out those clews, and clearing up those mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.  From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.  Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.

One night—­it was on the 20th of March, 1888—­I was returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street.  As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.  His rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against the blind.  He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk upon his chest, and his hands clasped behind him.  To me, who knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story.  He was at work again.  He had risen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hot upon the scent of some new problem.  I rang the bell, and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.

His manner was not effusive.  It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, to see me.  With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner.  Then he stood before the fire, and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked.  “I think, Watson, that you have put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”

“Seven,” I answered.

“Indeed, I should have thought a little more.  Just a trifle more, I fancy, Watson.  And in practice again, I observe.  You did not tell me that you intended to go into harness.”

“Then how do you know?”

“I see it, I deduce it.  How do I know that you have been getting yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless servant girl?”

“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much.  You would certainly have been burned had you lived a few centuries ago.  It is true that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess; but as I have changed my clothes, I can’t imagine how you deduce it.  As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but there again I fail to see how you work it out.”