Dr. Watson

And when I was going over my notes on the case just before you arrived, I came across this white feather.

It played a prominent part in tonight's adventure.

Yes, it can, it can, Mr. Bell, it can.

But this is a very special feather.

It was plucked from a white cockerel, and it helped Sherlock Holmes to foil one of the most diabolical plots that we ever encountered.

But first, don't you want to have your usual word with our listeners?

Well, Mr. Bell, that adventure took place after Sherlock Holmes had given up his regular practice and retired to his bee farm on the Sussex Downs.

I was staying with him there for a few weeks' holiday, and I remember coming down to breakfast one morning to find my old friend, his pipe clenched between his teeth, squatting on a stool, examining the contents of a large metal box at his feet.

As he threw back the lid, I could see that the box was half full of papers, papers tied up with red tape in separate packages.

After sorting through them for a few moments, he turned to me and said,

Are they the records of your early cases, Holmes?

I've often wished that I had the notes on them.

My stories aren't florid.

They're factual accounts of what happened.

Oh, rubbish.

I'm quite sure that if a case were to present itself at this moment, you'd be totally unable to resist.

May I see it?

Here.

Dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I need your help desperately.

Have the goodness to call on me as soon as convenience permits.