We Have Much To Hope

Sherlock Holmes Took His Bottle From The Corner Of The Mantel-piece, And His Hypodermic Syringe From Its Neat Morocco Case. With His Long, White, Nervous Fingers He Adjusted The Delicate Needle, And Rolled Back His Left Shirt-cuff. For Some Little Time His Eyes Rested Thoughtfully Upon The Sinewy Forearm And Wrist, All Dotted And Scarred With Innumerable Puncture-marks. Finally, He Thrust The Sharp Point Home, Pressed Down The Tiny Piston, And Sank Back Into The Velvet-lined Armchair With A Long Sigh Of Satisfaction.

The Whole Force Of The State Is At Your Back If You Should Need It. I'm Afraid That All The Queen's Horses And All The Queen's Men Cannot Avail In This Matter.

"recognising, As I Do, That You Are The Second Highest Expert In Europe" "indeed, Sir! May I Inquire Who Has The Honour To Be The First?" Asked Holmes, With Some Asperity. "to The Man Of Precised, Scientific Mind The Work Of Monsieur Bertillon Must Always Appeal Strongly." "then Had You Not Better Consult Him?" "i Said, Sir, To The Precisely Scientific Mind. But As A Practical Man Of Affairs It Is Acknowledged That You Stand Alone. I Trust, Sir, That I Have Not Inadvertently--" "just A Little," Said Holmes.

It May Be That You Are Not Yourself Luminous, But That You Are A Conductor Of Light. Some People Without Possessing Genius Have A Remarkable Power Of Stimulating It.

Steel True, Blade Straight *in 1955, Doyle's Family Sold Windlesham, Which Was Turned Into A Hotel. The Bodies Of Conan Doyle And His Wife, Jean, Were Moved To A Grave At Minstead Churchyard, Hampshire.