Sherlock Holmes

All day the wind had howled and the rain had beaten against the windows of our Baker Street lodgings.

Finally, it was midnight as far as I remember, the storm grew higher and louder and the wind in the chimney sobbed like a child.

Suddenly...

Much to our surprise, the doorbell jangled, and a few moments later, our midnight visitor stood before us.

He was a man of about fifty-five, and as he looked about him anxiously in the glare of the lamp, I could see that his face was pale and that his eyes heavy, like those of a man who is weighed down with some great anxiety.

And yet when he spoke, his tone was businesslike and almost aggressive.

Here you are, sir.

Let me hang it up for you.

Oh, come, come, come.

Well, I'll wager that my friend's right, though, isn't he, Mr. Lovelace?

Perfectly.

Yes, but how about the dog?

Well, what happens if one of you dies, Mr. Loveless?

Sounds like a jolly household, I must say.

Yes, it seems odd that you didn't come directly to Mr. Holmes as soon as you'd made the discovery, Mr. Loveless.

After all, if a potential murderer is walking about with a pocket full of cyanide, I should have thought that itself was more important than business.

Well, I...

Now I see how you've deduced that Mr. Loveless had a dog, Holmes.

He sounds an extremely unpleasant person to me.

The poor fellow doesn't understand the conditions of the world, I suppose.