The Red-headed League

           Ihadcalleduponmyfriend,Mr.SherlockHolmes,onedayintheautumnoflastyearandfoundhimindeepconversationwithaverystout,florid-faced,elderlygentlemanwithfieryredhair. Withanapologyformyintrusion,IwasabouttowithdrawwhenHolmespulledmeabruptlyintotheroomandclosedthedoorbehindme. 

           "Youcouldnotpossiblyhavecomeatabettertime,mydearWatson,"hesaidcordially. 

           "Iwasafraidthatyouwereengaged." 

           "SoIam.Verymuchso." 

           "ThenIcanwaitinthenextroom." 

           "Notatall. Thisgentleman,Mr.Wilson,hasbeenmypartnerandhelperinmanyofmymostsuccessfulcases,andIhavenodoubtthathewillbeoftheutmostusetomeinyoursalso." 

           Thestoutgentlemanhalfrosefromhischairandgaveabobofgreeting,withaquicklittlequestioningglancefromhissmallfat-encircledeyes. 

           "Trythesettee,"saidHolmes,relapsingintohisarmchairandputtinghisfingertipstogether,aswashiscustomwheninjudicialmoods. "Iknow,mydearWatson,thatyousharemyloveofallthatisbizarreandoutsidetheconventionsandhumdrumroutineofeverydaylife. Youhaveshownyourrelishforitbytheenthusiasmwhichhaspromptedyoutochronicle,and,ifyouwillexcusemysayingso,somewhattoembellishsomanyofmyownlittleadventures." 

           "Yourcaseshaveindeedbeenofthegreatestinteresttome,"Iobserved.