“Very interesting reading it might be made, too,” remarked Sherlock Holmes, sticking a small piece of plaster over the prick on his finger. “I have to be careful,” he continued, turning 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 similar pieces of plaster, and discoloured with strong acids.

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high 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 smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see — what are my 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 right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly 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?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “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 consider the thing as settled — that is if the rooms are agreeable to you.”

“When shall we see them?”

“Call for me here at noon to-morrow, and we’ll go together and settle everything,” he answered.

“All right — noon exactly,” said I, shaking his hand.

We left him working among his chemicals, and we walked together towards my hotel.

“By the way,” I asked suddenly, stopping and turning upon Stamford, “how the deuce did he know that I had come from Afghanistan?”

My companion smiled an enigmatical smile. “That’s just his little peculiarity,” he said. “A good many people have wanted to know how he finds things out.”

“Oh! a mystery is it?” I cried, rubbing my hands. “This is very piquant. I am much obliged to you for bringing us together. ‘The proper study of mankind is man,’ you know.”

‘One has to wait,’ said Birkin.

‘Ah God! Waiting! What are we waiting for?’

‘Some old Johnny says there are three cures for ENNUI, sleep, drink, and travel,’ said Birkin.

‘All cold eggs,’ said Gerald. ‘In sleep, you dream, in drink you curse, and in travel you yell at a porter. No, work and love are the two. When you’re not at work you should be in love.’

‘Be it then,’ said Birkin.

‘Give me the object,’ said Gerald. ‘The possibilities of love exhaust themselves.’

‘Do they? And then what?’

‘Then you die,’ said Gerald.

‘So you ought,’ said Birkin.

‘I don’t see it,’ replied Gerald. He took his hands out of his trousers pockets, and reached for a cigarette. He was tense and nervous. He lit the cigarette over a lamp, reaching forward and drawing steadily. He was dressed for dinner, as usual in the evening, although he was alone.

‘There’s a third one even to your two,’ said Birkin. ‘Work, love, and fighting. You forget the fight.’

‘I suppose I do,’ said Gerald. ‘Did you ever do any boxing—?’

‘No, I don’t think I did,’ said Birkin.

‘Ay—’ Gerald lifted his head and blew the smoke slowly into the air.

‘Why?’ said Birkin.

‘Nothing. I thought we might have a round. It is perhaps true, that I want something to hit. It’s a suggestion.’

‘So you think you might as well hit me?’ said Birkin.

‘You? Well! Perhaps—! In a friendly kind of way, of course.’

‘Quite!’ said Birkin, bitingly.

Gerald stood leaning back against the mantel–piece. He looked down at Birkin, and his eyes flashed with a sort of terror like the eyes of a stallion, that are bloodshot and overwrought, turned glancing backwards in a stiff terror.

‘I fell that if I don’t watch myself, I shall find myself doing something silly,’ he said.

‘Why not do it?’ said Birkin coldly.

Gerald listened with quick impatience. He kept glancing down at Birkin, as if looking for something from the other man.

‘I used to do some Japanese wrestling,’ said Birkin. ‘A Jap lived in the same house with me in Heidelberg, and he taught me a little. But I was never much good at it.’

‘You did!’ exclaimed Gerald. ‘That’s one of the things I’ve never ever seen done. You mean jiu–jitsu, I suppose?’

‘Yes. But I am no good at those things—they don’t interest me.’

‘They don’t? They do me. What’s the start?’

‘I’ll show you what I can, if you like,’ said Birkin.

‘You will?’ A queer, smiling look tightened Gerald’s face for a moment, as he said, ‘Well, I’d like it very much.’

‘Then we’ll try jiu–jitsu. Only you can’t do much in a starched shirt.’