James M. Dodd

For a long time, my friend Watson has worried me to write down an experience of my own.

I have often had occasion to point out to him

how superficial are his own accounts, and to accuse him of pandering to popular taste, instead of confining himself rigidly to facts and figures.

Try it yourself, Holmes, he's retorted.

And, yes, I'm compelled to admit, I do begin to realize that the matter must be presented in an interesting way.

I find from my notebook that it was just at that time, January 1903, soon after the conclusion of the Boer War,

that I had a visit from a certain Mr. James M. Dodd.

It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place my visitors in the opposite chair where the light falls full upon them.

Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the interview, so I gave him some of my conclusions.

From South Africa, sir, I perceive.

Oh, why, yes, sir.

Imperial yeomanry, I fancy.

Exactly.

The middle sex, no doubt.

Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard.

When a gentleman of virile appearance enters my room with such a tan upon his face as an English son could never give, and with his handkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is not difficult to place him.

You wear a short beard which shows that you are not a regular.

You have the cut of a riding man.

As to Middlesex, your card has already shown me that you are a stockbroker from Frog Morton Street.

What other regiment could you have chosen?