[In publishing these short sketches¹ based upon the numerous cases in which my companion’s singular gifts have made us the listeners to, and eventually the actors in, some strange drama, it is only natural that I should dwell rather upon his successes than upon his failures. And this not so much for the sake of his reputation — for, indeed, it was when he was at his wit’s end that his energy and his versatility² were most admirable — but because where he failed it happened too often that no one else succeeded, and that the tale was left forever without a conclusion. Now and again, however, it chanced that even when he erred³ the truth was still discovered. I have notes of some half-dozen cases of the kind, the adventure of the Musgrave Ritual and that which I am about to recount are the two which present the strongest features of interest.]

Sherlock Holmes was a man who seldom took exercise for exercise’s sake. Few men were capable of greater muscular effort, and he was undoubtedly⁴ one of the finest boxers⁵ of his weight that I have ever seen; but he looked upon aimless bodily exertion⁶ as a waste of energy, and he seldom bestirred himself save where there was some professional object to be served. Then he was absolutely untiring and indefatigable⁷. That he should have kept himself in training under such circumstances is remarkable⁸, but his diet was usually of the sparest, and his habits were simple to the verge⁹ of austerity. Save for the occasional use of cocaine¹⁰, he had no

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