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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Return of Sherlock Holmes"

On rising at
seven one of the maids noticed that the door of the hut was open,
but so great was the terror which the man caused that it
was midday before anyone would venture down to see what had
become of him. Peeping into the open door they saw a sight
which sent them flying with white faces into the village.
Within an hour I was on the spot and had taken over the case.
"Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you know, Mr. Holmes,
but I give you my word that I got a shake when I put my head into
that little house. It was droning like a harmonium with the
flies and bluebottles, and the floor and walls were like a
slaughter-house. He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was
sure enough, for you would have thought that you were in a ship.
There was a bunk at one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts,
a picture of the SEA UNICORN, a line of log-books on a shelf,
all exactly as one would expect to find it in a captain's room.
And there in the middle of it was the man himself, his face twisted
like a lost soul in torment, and his great brindled beard stuck
upwards in his agony. Right through his broad breast a steel
harpoon had been driven, and it had sunk deep into the wood of
the wall behind him.


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