The Darlington news. (Darlington, S.C.) 1875-1909, April 12, 1894, Image 3

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rABT X. ttinf c rtprint from Ikt rmlnitcmcn #/ Johb R Watsok, M O., UUt o' tlu Army Medical Department. CHAPTER L MB. U1BLOCK BOUin N the year 1878 I took my deRree of doctor of medicine of the university of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course pre scribed for sur- geons in the army. Having completed m y studies there I was duly attached to the Fifth North umberland fusiliers as assistant sur geon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before I could join it the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at Bombay I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes and was already deep in the enemy’s country. I fol lowed, however, with many other offi cers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once entered upon my new duties. The campaign brought honors and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but-misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a pack-horse and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines. Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had un dergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to the base hospital at Peshawur. Here I rallied, and had already improved so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little upon the veranda, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse of our Indian posses- siona For months my life was de- POR MOST ns ITT Lira WAS D«- SFAIRED or. aired of, and when at last I came to yself and became convalescent I ss so weak and emaciated that a edical board determined that not a ,y should be lost in sending me back England. I was dispatched, accord- □gly, in the troop-ship Orontes, and nded a month later on Portsmouth tty, with my health irretrievably lined, but with permission from a pa rtial government to spend the next ne months in attempting to im- v,. it. I had neither kith nor kin in Eng- nd. and was therefore as free as air or as free as an income of eleven lillings and sixpence a day will per- | it a man to be. Under such circum- I ances I naturally gravitated to Lon- | in, that great cesspool into which ! 1 the loungers and idlers of the em- re are irresistibly drained. There stayed for soma time at a private >tel in the Strand, leading a com- ; rtless, meaningless existence, and lending such money as I had con- • derably more freely than I ought. | } alarming did the state of my finances ecome that I soon realized that 1 must ther leave the metropolis and rusti- i ite somewhere in the country, or that ' must make a complete alteration in y sty Is of living. Choosing the lat- ir alternative, I jjeg*D by making up y mind to leave the hotel, find to ike up my quarters In some less p»a- mtious and less expensive domicile On the very day that I had come to its conclusion, I was stonding at the riterion bar, when some one tapped te on the shoulder, and turning mnd I recognized young Stamford, no had been a dresser under me at art's. The sight of a friendly face i the great wilderness of London is a leosant thing indeed to a lonely man. i old days Stamford had never been particular crony of mine, but now 1 ailed him with enthusiasm, and he, l turn, appeared to be delighted to see ia. In the exuberance of my joy I sked him to lunch with me at the lolborn, and w# itarted off together in hansom. “Whatever have you been doing dth yourself, Watson?” be asked, in ndisguised wonder, as we rattled lirough the crowded London streets- You are as thin as a lath and as brown • a nut.” I gave him a short sketch of my ad- entures, and had hardly concluded it y the time that we reached our des- i nation. “Poor devil!” he said, commisarating• p, after be had listened to my misfor- unes. "What are you «p to now?" “Looking for lodgings.” I answered. Trying to solve the problem as to rhether it is possible to get comfort*- de rooms at a reasonable price." “That’s a strange thing,” n marked ay companion; “you are the second nan to-day that has used that exprea- ion to me." i the first?" I asked. “A fellow who is workihg at the chemical laboratory up at tbe nospuai. He was bemoaning himself this morn ing because he could not get some one to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which were too much for his purse." “By Jove!” I cried; “if he really wants some one to share the rooms and the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner to be ing alone.” Young Stanford looked rather strangely at me over his wineglass. "You don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care for him as a constant companion.” “Why, what is there against him?” “Oh, I didn't say there was any thing against him. He is a little queer in his ideas—an enthusiast in some branches of science. As far as I know, he is a decent fellow enough.” “A medical student, I suppose?" said L “No—I have no idea what he intends to go in for. I believe he is well up in anatomy, and he is a first-class chemist; but, as far as I know, he has never taken out any systematic medi cal classes. His studies are very desultory and eccentric, but he has amassed a lot of out-of-the-way knowledge which would astonish his professors.” “Did you never ask him what he was going in for?” I asked. “No; he is not a man that it is easy to draw out, though he can be com municative enough when the fancy seizes him.” “I should like to meet him,” I said. “If I am to lodge with anyone, I should prefer a man with studious and quiet habits. I am not strong enough yet to stand much noise or excitement. I had enough of both in Afghanistan to last me for the remainder of my natural existence. How could I meet this friend of yours?” “He is sure to be at the laboratory. He either avoids the place for weeks, or else he works there from morning to night. If you like, we shall drive round together after luncheon.” “Certainly,” I answered, and the conversation drifted away into other channels. As we made our way to the hospital after leaving the Holborn, Stamford gave me a few more particulars about the gentleman whom I proposed to take as a fellow lodger. “You mustn't blame me if you don't get on with him,” he said; “I know nothing more of him than I have learned from meeting him occasional ly in the laboratory. You proposed this arrangement, so you must not hold me responsible.” “If we don’t get on it wiU be easy to part company,” I answered. “It seems to me, Stamford,” I added, looking hvd at my companion, “that you have some reason for washing your hands of the matter. Is this fellow’s tempe r bo formidable, or what is it?. Don’t be mealy-mouthed about it." “It is not easy to express the inex pressible,” he answered, with a laugh. “Holmes Isa little too scientific for my tastes—it approaches to cold-blooded ness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vege table alkaloid not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge. ” “Very right, too.” “Yes; but it may be pushed to ex cess. When it cOmes to beating the subjects in the dissecting-rooms with a stick it is certainly taking rather a bizarre shape.” “Beating the subjects!” “Yes, to verify how far bruises may be produced after death. I saw him at it with my own eyes.” “And yet you say he is not a medical student?” “No. Heaven knows what the ob jects of his studies are! But here we are, and you must form your own im pressions about him.” As he spoke we turned down a narrow lane and passed through a small side door which opened into a wing of the great hos pital. It was familiar ground to me and I needed no guiding as we as cended the bleak stone staircase and made our way down the long corridor with its vista of whitewashed wall and dun-colored doora Near the farther end a low, arched passage branched away from it and led to the chemical laboratory. This was a lofty chamber, lined and littered with countless bottles. Broad, low tables were scattered about, whioi* bristled with retorts, test-tubes anil little Bunsen lamps, with their blue flickering Games. There was only on# Itudent in the room, who was bending over a distant table absorbed in hi# work. At the sound of our stops h# glanced rounu ana spr».. s i with s cry of pleasure I ve found it! I’ve found it!” he .houted to my com panion, running toward us with a test- tube in his hand. “I have found a reagent which is precipitated by hsemoglobin, and by nothing else.” find he discovered a gold mine, great er delight could not have shone upon bis features. “Dr. Watson- Mr. Sherlock Holmea, r Stamford, introducing US- laid, i me over to the table at which he nan been working. “Let us have some fresh blood,” he said, digging a long bodkin into his finger, and drawing off the resulting drop of blood in a chem ical pipette. “Now, I add this small quantity of blood to a litre of water. You perceive that the resulting mix ture has the appearance of true water. The proportion of blood cannot be more than one in a million. I have no doubt, however, that we shall be able to obtain the characteristic reaction." As he spoke, he threw into the vessel a few white crvstals. and then added sat. . , Bow are you?” he said, cordially, griping my hand with a strength for which I should hardly have given him credit. “You hare been in Afghani#- tan, I peroeiv#.” “How on earth did you know that?" I asked, in astonishment. "Never mind," said he, chuckling to himself. "The question now is about hemoglobin. No doubt you see the signlflCfiUC# of this discovery of mine?" “It is interesting, chemically, no doubt," I answered; "but practically . , M “Why, man, it is the most practical medico-legal discovery for yeai-s. Don't you see that it gives ns an in fallible test for blood-stains? Come over nere, now!" He seized me by th# coat-sinew ia hU eagerness, sad drew THERE WAS OXI.T ONE STUDEST UT TUX ROOM. some drops o* a transparent fiuld. in an instant the contents assumed a dull mahogany color, and a brownish dust was precipitated to the bottom of the glass jar. “Ua! ha!” he cried, clapping his hands, and looking as delighted as a child with a new toy. "What do you think of that?” “It seems to be a very delicate test," I remarked. “Beautiful! beautiful! The old guaiacum test war, very clumsy and un certain. So is the microscopic exami nation for blood-corpusclea The lat ter is valueless if the stains are a few hours old. Now, this appears to act as well whether the blood is old or new. Had this test been invented, there are hundreds of men now walk ing the earth who would long ago have paid the penalty of their Crimea” “Indeed!” I murmured. “Criminal cases are continually hinging upon that one point A man is suspected of a crime months per haps after it has been committed. His linen or clothes are examined, and brownish stains discovered upon them. Are they blood-stains, or mud-stains, or rust-stains, or fruit-stains, or what are they? That is a question which has puzzled many an expert, and why? Because there was no reliable test Now we have the Sherlock Holmes test, and there wiU no longer be any difficulty.” His eyes fairly glittered as he spoke, and he put his hand over his heart and bowed as if to some applauding crowd conjured up by his imagination. "You are to be congratulated,” I re marked, considerably surprised at his enthusiasm. “There was the case of Von Bischoff at Frankfort last year. He would cer tainly have been hung had this test been in existence. Then there was Mason, of Bradford, and the notorious Muller and Lefevrc, of Montpelier, and Samson, of New Orleana I could name a score of cases in which it would have been decisive.” “You seem to be a walking calendar of crime,” said Stamford, with a laugh. “You might start a paper on those lines. CaU it the Police News of th# Past.” “Very interesting reading it might be made, too," remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plas ter over the prick on his finger. “I have to be careful,” he continued, turn ing to me with a smile, "for I dabble with poisons a good deal.” He held out his hand as he spoke, and I noticed that it was all mottled over with simi lar pieces of plaster and discolored with strong acida “We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a three- legged stool and pushing another one in my direction with his foot "My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.” Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker street," he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don't mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?” "I always smok# ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered. “That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasional ly do experiment* Would that annoy you?” “By no mean*" ■: »•.,.’€*»J “Lei me m-c—»r!i„-. ese u’.y other shortcomings? I get in the dumps at times and don't open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone and I’ll soon be all right. What have you to confess, now? It’s Just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they be gin to live together." I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull-pup,” I said, “and ob ject to rows, becaus# mv nerves ar# shaken, and I get up at all sorts of un godly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I'm well, but those are the principal ones at present.” “Do you Include violin-playing In your category of rows?” ne asked, anxiously. “It depends on the player,” I an swered. “A well-played violin is a treat for the gods; a badly played one—” “Oh, that's all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may con sider the thing as settled—that is, U the rooms are agreeable to you.” "When shall we see them?” "Pall for me here at noon to-morrow, and we'U go together and settle every thing," he answered. "All righv—noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand. We left him working among hi( chemicals, and we walked together to ward my hotel. “By the way,” I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, "how the deuce did he know that I hiuj come from Afghanistan?” My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That's just his little pecul iarity," he said- ‘‘A good many peo- le have wanted to know how he finds ings out” “Oh! a mystery, is it?” I cried, rub bing my hand* “This is very piquant 1 am much obliged to you for bringing us together. The proper study ad mankind U man.' you know.” - , pie Dili "You'must study mm, tnen," Stam ford said, as he bsde me good-by. “You'll find him a knotty proh'em, though. I'll wager he learns more about you than you about him. Good- by.” “Good-by,” I answered, and strolled on to my hotel, considerably inter ested in my new acquaintance. CHAPTER a TBX SCIBHCX or DIDDC-TIOR We met next day as he had ar ranged, and inspected the rooms st No. 281b Baker street, of which he had spoken at our meeting. They con sisted of a couple of comfortable bed rooms and a single large, airy sitting- room, cheerfully furnished, and il luminated by two broad windows So desirable in every way were the apart ments, and so moderate did the terms seem when divided between ua that the bargain was concluded upon the spot, and we at once entered into poa- aeseion. That very evening I moved my things round from the hotel, and on the following morning Sherlock Holmes followed me with several boxes and portmanteaus. For a day or two we were busily employed in un packing and laying out our property to the best advantage. That done, we gradually began to settle down and to accommodate ourselves to our new sur roundings. Holmes was certainly not a difficult man to live with. He was quiet in his ways and his habits were regular. It was rare for him to be up after ten at night, and he had invariably break fasted and gone out before I rose in the morning. Sometimes he spent his day at the chemical laboratory, some times in the dissecting-rooms and oc casionally in long walks, which ap peared to take him into the lowest por tions of the city. Nothing could ex ceed his energy when the working fit was upon him, but now and again a re action would seize him and for days on end he would lie upon the sofa in the sitting-room, hardly uttering a word or moving a muscle from morn ing to night. On these occasions 1 have noticed such a dreamy, vacant expression in his eyes that I might have suspected him of being addicted to the use of some narcotic had not • the temperance and cleanliness of his whole life forbidden such a notion. As the weeks went by, my interest in him and my enriosity as to his aims in life gradually deepened and in creased. His very person and ap pearance were such as to strike the at tention of the most casual observer. In height he was rather over six feet, and so excessively lean that he seemed to be considerably taller. His eyes were sharp and piercing, save during those intervals of torpor to which I have alluded; and his thin, hawk-like nose gave his whole expression an air of alertness and decision. His chin, too, had the prominence and square ness which mark the man of determina tion. His hands were invariably blotted with ink and stained with chemicals, yet he was possessed of extraordinary delicacy of touch, as I frequently had occasion to observe when I watched him manipulating his fragile philo sophical instrument* The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity and how often I endeavored to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned him self. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered how object less was my life and how little there was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances I eagerly hailed the lit tle mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it. He was not studying medicine. He had himself, in reply to a question, confirmed Stamford's opinion upon that point. Neither did he appear to have pursued any course of reading which might fit him for a degree in science or any other recognized portal which would give him an en trance Into the learned world. Yet hi# zeal for certain studies was re markable, and within eccentric limits his knowledge was so extraordinarily ample and minnte that his observa tions have fairly astounded me. Sure ly no man would work so hard to at tain such precise information unless he had some definite end in view. Desultory readers are seldom remark able for the exactness of their learn ing. No man burdens his mind with small matters unless he has some very good reason for doing so. His ignorance was as remarkable as his knowledge. Of contemporary lit erature, philosophy and polities he appeared to know next to nothing. Upon my quoting Thomas Carlyle, he inquired in the naivest way who he might be and whfifi he had done. My surprise reached a climax, however, when I found Incidentally that he was ignorant of the Copernican theory and of the composition of the solar sys tem. That any civilized human being in this nineteenth centnry shonld not be aware that tbe earth traveled round the sun appeared to be to me such an extraordinary fact that I coqid hardly realize jlj. “You appear to be astonished,” hs said, smiling at my expression of sur prise. “Now that I do know it I shall do my best to forget it.” “To forget it!” “You see,” he explained, “I consider that a man’s brain originally is like a little empty attie, and yon have to stock it with such furniture ss you choose. A fool takes In all the lumber of every sort that he oomes across, so thst the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lo^ qf other things, so that ft# h*» a difficulty in (living his hands upon It Now the skillful workman is very careful indeed as to what he takes into his brain- attic. H* will h»ve nothing but the tools which may help him in doing hi# work, hut of these he h»s a large assortment, and all in the most perfect order. It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent Depend upon It, there comes a time when for every additlqp «| knowledge you for get wmethlng that you knew before. It is of the highest importance, there* fore, not to h*ve U*el{!«a (fiets elbowing OUt the useful one*” “But the solar system!” I protested. “What the deuce U It to me?" he In terrupted impatiently; “you say that we go round the sun. If we went round the moon it would not make a pennyworth of difference to me or to my work." I was on the point of asking him what thst work mlcftif be, fit some thing in his manner showed me that the question would be an unwelcome one. I pondered over our short con versation, however, and endeavored to draw my deductions from it. He said that he would acquire no knowledge which did not bear upon his object. Therefore all the knowledge which he possessed was such as would be useful to him. I enumerated in my own mind all the various points upon which he had shown me that he was exception ally well Informed. I even took a pencil and jotted them down. I could not help smiling at the document when I had completed it. It ran in this way: SasKLocx Homis—his limits L Knowledge of Literature.—Nil X Knowledge of Philosophy.—NIL X Knowledge of Astronomy —NIL A Knowledge of Polities—Feebls A Knowledge of Botsny.—Vsrlslils Well np In belladonna, opium and poisons generally. Knows nothing of practical gardening. A Knowledge of Geology — Practical, bnt limited. Telia st a glance different soils from each other. After walks has shown ms splashes upon his trousers and told me by their color and consistence In what par*, of London he had received them. T. Knowledge of Chemistry.—Profound t Knowledge of Anatomy.—Accurate, but un systematic It Knowledge ot Sensational Literature — Immense. He appears to know every detail of every horror perpetrated In the century. Itt Plays the violin well 11. Is an expert alngle-stlck player, boxer and swordsman. It Has a good practical knowledge of British law. When I had got so far in my list I threw it into the fire in despair. “If I can only find what the fellow is driv ing at by reconciling all these accom plishments, and discovering a calling HI WOULD CLOSE HIS EVES AND SCRAPE CARELESSLY AT TUX FIDDLE. which needs them all,” I said to my self, “1 may as well give up the at tempt at once.” I see that I have alluded above to his powers on the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lleder and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any rec ognized air. Leaning back in his arm chair of an evening he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonor ous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had It not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession • whole series of my favorite airs as a alight compensation for the trial upon my patience. During the first week or so we had no callers, and I had begun to think tb#t my companion was as friendless a man as I was myself. Presently, however, I fonnd that he had many acquaint ances, and those in most different classes of society. There was one lit tle, sallow, rat-faced, dark-eyed fellow who was introduced to me as Mr. Lee- trade, and who came three or four times in a single week. One morning a young girl called, fashionably dressed, and stayed for half an hour or more. The same afternoon brooght a gray-headed, seedy visitor, looking like a Jew peddler, who appeared to me to be much excited, and who was closely fol lowed by a slip-shod elderly woman. On another occasion an old white- haired gentleman had an interview with my companion; and on another a railway porter In his velveteen uni form. When any of these nondescript Individuals put in an appearance, Sher lock Holmes nsed to beg for the use of the sitting-room, and I would retire to my bedroom. He always apologized to me for putting me to this Inconven ience. “I have to use this room as a place of business,” he said, "and thee* ONE MORNING A YOUNG GIRL CALLED FASHIONABLY DRESSED. people are my clients.” Again I had an opportunity of asking him a point- blank question, and again my delicacy prevented me from forcing another man to confide In me. I imagined at tiie time that he had some strong rea son for not alluding to it, but he soon dispelled the idea by coming round to ti>e subject of his own accord. It was upon th* 4th of March, as 1 have good reason to remember, that 1 Foe# somewhat earlier than usual, and found that Sherlock Holmes had not yet finished his breakfast The landlady had become so accustomed to my late habltfl that my place had not been laid *«» my coffee prepared. With the un reasonable petulance of mankind I tang the h«U and gave a curt intima tion that 1 waa ready. Then I picked Vp h magazine from the table and at tempted to while away the time with it, while my companion munched si lently at hla toast One of the articles had a pencil mark at the heading, and I naturally began to run my eye through it Its somewhat ambitions title was “The Book of Life,” and it attempted to show how much an observant man might learn hr an accurate am tematlo examination of AD that came in his way. It struck me aa being a re markable mixture of shrewdness and absurdity. The reasoning waa close and intense, but the deductions ap peared to be far-fetched and exagger ated. The writer claimed by a mo mentary expression, a twitch of a muscle or a glanoe of an eye, to fathom a man’s Inmost thoughts. Deceit, ac cording to him, was an Impossibility in the case of one trained to observa tion and analysis. His conclusions were aa Infallible as so many propo sitions of Enclid. So startling would his results appear to the uninitiated that, nntU they learned the processes by which he hod arrived at them, they might well consider him a necromancer. “From a drop of water,” said the writer, “a logician could infer the pos sibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. So all life is a great chain, the nature of which is known whenever we are shown a single link of It. Like all other arts, the science of deduction and analysis is one which can only be acquired by long and patient study, nor is life long enough to allow any mortal to attain the highest possible perfection in It. Before turning to those moral and mental aspects of the matter which present the greatest dif ficulties, let the inquirer begin by mas tering more elementary problems. Let him, on meeting a fellow-mortal, learn at a glance to distinguish the history of the man, and the trade or profession to which he belongs. Puerile ae such an exercise may seem, It sharpens the faculties of observation and teaches one where to look and what to look for. By a man’s finger-nails, by his coat-sleeve, by his boot, by his trouser- knees, by tbe callosities of his fore finger and thumb, by his expression, by his shirt-cuffs—by each of these things a man s calling is plainly re vealed. That all united should fail to enlighten the competent Inquirer In any case is almost Inconceivable.” “What ineffable twaddle!” I cried, slapping the magazine down on the table; “I never read such rnbbish in my life." "Whatis it? "asked.Sherlock Holme* TWiy, this nrttele," I said, pointing at ft with my egg spoon as I sat down to my breakfast “I see that you have read it, since you have marked it I don’t deny that it is smartly writ ten. It irritates me, though. It la evidently the theory of some arm-chair lonnger who evolves all these neat lit tle paradoxes in the seclusion of hla own study. It is not practical. I should like to see him clapped down In a third-class carriage on the Under ground, and asked to give the trades of all his fellow traveler* I would lay a thousand to one against him.” “You would lose your money,” Sher lock Holmes remarked, calmly. “As for the article, I wrote It myself.” “You!” "Yes, I have a turn both for observa tion and for deduction. The theories which I have expressed there, and which appear to yon to be so chimeri cal, are really extremely practical—eo practical that 1 depend upon them for my bread and cheese.” “And how?” I asked, involuntarily. “Well, I have a trade of my own. I suppose I am the only one in the world. I’m a consulting detective, if yon ^.n understand what that i* Here in Lon don we have lota of government detec tives and lots >f private one* When these fellows n re at fault they come to me, and 1 manage to put them on the right scent They lay aU the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by tbe help of my knowledge of the his tory of crime, to set them straight There is a strong family resemblance about misdeeds, and if you have all the details of a thousand at your finger- ends. it is odd if you can’t unravel the thousand and first Lestrade is a well- known detectiv He got himself into a fog recently ovi a forgery case, and that was what b. *ht him here.” “And these othc »eople?” “They are most mt out by private inquiry ageneie* 1 »y are all people who are in troubl a xmt something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, and then I pocket ray fee.” “But do you mean to say,” I said, “that without leaving your room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for them- — Ivav?" Can You Read The Future ? Do you know what your con dition will be 20 years hence? Will your earning capacity be equal to the support of yourself and family? This is a serious quev < n, yet, you could confident answer “yes” if you had r twenty- years Tontine Policy in the Equitable Life A method which guarantees all the protection furnished by any kind of life insurance, and in addition the largest cash returns to those policy holders whose lives are pro longed, and who then need money rather than assurance. For facts and figures, address W. J. RODDEY, Manager, For the CeroUnae, ROCK HILL, 8. C. CHARLESTON, SUMTER AND ^ NORTHERN RAILROAD CHARLES E. KIMBALL Receiver NORTH. xcui, uau. IV, lOW**. SOUTH. 1 2 A.M. P.M. Lv 7.80 Charleston 8.45 Ar 8.40 Pregnall's 7.27 10.47 Sumter 5.27 12.05 Darlington 4.12 12 56 Bennettsville 8.21 1.20 Gibson 2.57 1.47 Hamlet 2.30 Ar 6.00 Raleigh 10.15 Lv P.M. P.M. No. 1 connuects with Seaboard Air Liae at Hamlet for Raleigh Wilmington, Charlotte, Shel by, Rout herfordton ; and at Charlotte with K. & D. Vestibule Limited for Washington and New York. Passen gers can take sleepers at Charlotte at 8 :89 p. m. No. 2 passengers by this train have through Sleepers. New York to Char lotte, connects with S. A. L. at Ham let from Charlotte, Raleigh and North, and from Wilmington, con nects with S.C. Ry. at Pregnalls for Charleston, Columbia, Angngtu and the West. Dinner at Hamlet. C. MILLARD, Superintendent C & D. and C. A S. RAILROADS. • In effect Dec 3, 1893. Through Passenger Train. Leave Wadesboro 4.80 a m Bennett’s 4.51 a n: Morven'g 5.04 a in McFarland 5 17am Cheraw 6.00 a m Cash's 6.12 a m Society Hill 6.26 a m Dove's 6.44 a in Floyd’s 6.49 a m Darlington 7.00 a m Palmetto 7.11 a m Arrive Florence 7.25 a m Leave Florence 7.15 p m Palmetto 7.28 p m Darlington - 7.38 p m Floyd’s 7.50 pm Dove’s 7 55 p m Society.Hill 8.18 p m Cash’s..'. 8.27 p m Cheraw 8.50 p m McFarland 9.13 p m Morven's 9.39 p m Bennett’s 9.54 p m Arrive Wadesboro 10.15 p m Freight Train. Leave Florence 7.30 a m Darlington 8.40 a m Arrive Cheiaw 11.20 a m Leave Cheraw 1.00 p m Darlington 4.00 p m Arrive Florence 5.00 p m A. F. RAVENEL, President. H ARTSVILLE RAILROAD. In effect Dec 8,1898. DAILY MIXED TRAIN Leave Harter He 6.00 a m Jovann 6.20 a m Floyd’s 6.35 a m ArriveDarling’on 7.20 am Leave Darlington 6.80 p m Floyd’s 8.00 p m Jovann. 8.20pm Arrrive Hartsville 8.40 p m J, F. DIVINE, Oea. Bofn. N ORTHEASTERN RAILROAD. In effect Jan. 11,1894. SOUTH BOUND. No. 61 Leave Florence. Kingstree 8.58 a m Lanes Arrive Charleston 11.20 a m No. 85. Leave Florence 8.37 a m Lanes 4.52 a m Arrive Charleston 6.50 a m No. 23. Leave Florence 7.25 p m Kingstree 8.37 p m Lanes 9.00 p m Arrive Charleston .11.00 p m No. 53. Leave Lanes 7.05 p m Arrive Charleston 8.45 p m Train on C. A D. R. R. connects at Florence with No. 61 Train. NORTH BOUND. No. 78. Leave Charleston — . 3.35 a m Lanes 5.30 a m Kingstree 5.52 a m Arrive Florence 7.10 a m No. 60 Leave Charleston Lanes Kingstree Arrive.Florence 5.00 p m 7.05 p in 7.25 p m . 8.50 p m No. 14. Leave Charleston 8.30 p m L&I168 •••••• *•••*••**»»**••••* 5.29 p m Kingstree 5.45 p m Arrive Florence 6.45 p m No. 52. Leave Charleston 7.00 am Arrive Lanes No. 52 runs through to Colombia via Central R. R. of S. C. No. 78 runs solid to Wilming ton, N. C., making close connection with W. A W. R. R. for all points North. Train No. 14 rnns via Wilson and Fayetteville—Short Line—and makes close connection for all points North. J. F. DIVINE, Gen. Snpt. W ILMINGTON, COLUMBIA A AUGUSTA RALROAD. In effect Dec. 8, 1893. SOUTH BOUND. No. 55. Leave Wilmington •**##••##«*•••• 3* 20 p m Marion 6.11 p m Arrive Florence 6.50 p m No. 60. Leave Florence 7.10 pm Snmter 8.28 p m Arrive Colombia 10.00 p m No. 58. Leave Florence 7.45 a m Arrive Sumter 9 20 a m No. 52. Leave Sumter 9.58 am Arrive Columbia 11.06 a m No. 52 runs through from Charles ton via Central Railroad: leaving Lane* $.40 a m, Maiming 2 18 a m. ■ORTH BOUND. No. 51. Leave Colombia 4.30 a m Sumter 0.57 a m Arrive Florence — 7.15 a m No. 56. Leave Florence 7.40 a m Marion 8.23 a m Arrive Wilmington 11.10 a m No. 68. Leave Columbia 4.20 p m Arrive Snmter eeeees*************** 6.85 p m No. 59. Leave Columbia— — Snmter 5.46 p m Arrive Florence.... —... 6.66 p m No- 68 rnns thiouuu to cnarleston via central Railroad, arriving Man ning 6.16 p m. Lanes 7.00 p m, Charleston8.46 pm. Trains on Manchester and Angnsta B. R-, leave Snmter dally except Sun day, 10.60 a. m. arrive Rimini 11:69 a. m. Returning leave Rlmlnl 1.00 p. m.. arrive Snmter 2:10 p. m. Trains on Wilmington, Chadbonra and Conway Railroad leave Chad- bourn at 10.10 a m, arrive at Conway 12.80 p m, returning leave Conway at 2KK) p. in., arrive Chad bourn 4:60 p. m. Leave Chadbourn 7.00 a m and 6.16 p m, arrive at Hub 7.46 a ui and 6.00 p m. Returning leave Hnb 8.16 a m and 6.80 p m, arrive at Chadbourn 9.00 a m ana 7.16 p m. Dally except 8 “J66» F, DIYINB. Gent BtfpT .