Sherlock Homes: The Man with the Twisted Lip - Part 1 - Music Free

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Hello, and welcome to Shunal Comes and the man with a twisted lip.

This story begins when a friend of Dr. Watson's wife comes to Watson's house, frantic, because

her husband, Isaac, an opian addict, has gone missing.

In Watson, discover his disappearance, and perhaps he discovers someone he knows very

well in the opium den too.

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And let's begin.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the man with a twisted lip.

Isaac Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney D.D., principal of the Theological College

of St. George's, was much addicted to opium.

The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from some foolish freak when he was at college

for having read to Quincy's description of his dreams and sensations.

He had drenched his tobacco with lardinum in his attempt to produce the same effects.

He found, as so many more have done, that the practice is easier to attain than to get

rid of.

And for many years, he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object of mingled horror,

and pity to his friends and relatives.

I can see him now, with the yellow pasty face, drooping lids, and pinnip-point pupils,

all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a noble man.

One night, it was in June 89, there came a ring to my bell.

On the hour, when a man gives his first yaw and glances of the clock, I sat up in my chair

and my wife laid her needlework down in her lap, and made a little face of disappointment.

A patient said she, you'll have to go out.

I groaned, for I was nudy come back from a weary day.

We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick steps upon the linoleum.

Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad in some dark-coded stuff, with a black veil,

entered the room.

She will excuse my corning so late, she began, and then suddenly, losing her self-control,

she ran forward, threw her arms about my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder.

Oh, I'm in such trouble, she cried.

I do so want a little help.

Why, said my wife, putting up her veil, it has came with me.

How you startled me, Kate, I had no idea who you were when you came in.

I did not know what to do, so I came straight to you, she said.

This was always the way, folk who were in grief, came to my wife, like birds, to a light

house.

It was very sweet of you to come, now, you must have some wine and water, and sit here

comfortably and tell us about it, or should you rather, I sent James, off to bed.

No, no, no, I want the doctor's advice, and help too, is about Isa.

He has not been home for two days, I am so frightened about him.

It was not the first time that she had spoken to us of her husband's trouble, to me as

a doctor, to my wife, as an old friend, and school companion.

He served and coveted her, by such words, as we could find.

Did she know where her husband was?

Was it possible that we could bring him back to her?

It seems that it was.

She had the surest information that a light he had, when the fit was on him, made use

of an opian den, in the farthest east of the city.

Here the two, his activities, had always been confined to one day, and he had come back,

twitching and shattered in the evening, but now the smell had been upon him eight and

forty hours, and he lay there, doubtless among the drinks of the docks, breathing in

the poison, or sleeping of the effects.

Ma, he was to be found, she was sure of it, at the bar of gold, in upper swondom lane.

But what was she to do?

How could she, a young and timid woman, make her way into such a place, and pluck her

husband out from among the ruffians, who surrounded him?

There was the case, and of course there was, but one way out of it.

It had not escorted her to this place, and then, as a second thought, why would she come

at all?

I was eyes on Whitney's medical advisor, and as such I had influence over him.

I could manage it better, if I were alone.

I promised her, on my word, that I would send him a home, in a cab within two hours,

if he were in need and the address, which she had given me.

And so in ten minutes, I'd left my armchair, and cheery sitting room behind me, and was speeding

eastward, in a handsome, on a strange errand.

As it seemed to me at the time, though the future could show how strange it was to be.

But there was no great difficulty, in the first stage of my adventure.

Upper swondom lane, is a royal alley, lurking behind the high walls, which align the north

side of the river, to the east of London branch, between a slop shop and a gin shop, approached

by a steep flight of stairs, leading down to a black gap, like the mel, of a cave.

I found the den, of which I was in search, ordering my captain wait.

I passed down the stairs, worn hollow in the centre, by the cease-the-strend of drunken

feet, and by the light of a flickering oil lamp, I built the door, I found the latch,

and remained my way, into a long, low room, thick and heavy, with a brown, opium smoke,

and terraced, with wooden births, like the forecastle, of an emigrant ship.

Through the gloom, one could dimly catch a glimpse of bodies, lying in strange, fantastic

paces, bowed shoulders, bent knees, heads thrown back, and chins pointing upward, and

here and there, a dark, lackwester eye, turned upon the newcomer, out of the black shadows,

there glimmed, little red circles of light, now bright, now faint, as the burning poison

waxed all wane in the bowels of the metal pipes.

The most eye-signant, but some muttered to themselves, and others taught together, in

a strange oil monotonous voice, their conversation, coming in gushes, and then suddenly tailing

off into silence, each mumbling out his own thoughts, and paying with his will heed,

to the words of his neighbour.

To the farther end was a small brazier of burning charcoal, beside which, on a three-legged

wooden stall, there sat a tall, thin old man, with his jaw resting upon his two fists,

and his elbows upon his knees, staring into the fire.

As I entered, a salo melee attendant, had hurried upon with a pipe for me, at a supply

of the drug, beckoning me to an empty mirth, thank you, I have not come to stay, said

I, and there is a friend of mine, Mr. Isah Whitney, and I wish to speak with him, there

was a moment, and an exclamation from my right, and, peering through the gloom, I saw

Whitney, pale, hangered, and unkempt, staring out at me.

My God, is Watson, said he, he was in a pitiful state of reaction, with every nerve in a Twitter,

I say Watson, what a clock is it, nearly eleven, I said, of what day, of Friday, June 19th?

Good heavens, I thought it was Wednesday, it is Wednesday, what do you do want to fright

in a chatphone, he sank his face, onto his arms, and began to saw, in a high treble

key, I tell you that it is Friday man, your wife has been waiting, this two days for you,

you should be ashamed of yourself, so I am, but you have got mixed Watson, but I only

have been here a few hours, three pipes, four pipes, I forgot how many, but I will go

home with you, I wouldn't write in Kate, Paul is will Kate, give me your hand, have you

a cab, yes, I have one waiting, then I shall go into it, but I must owe something, find

what I owe Watson, I am all of colour, I can do nothing for myself, I walk down the

narrow passage between the double rev sleepers, holding my breath, to keep out the vile,

stupor-fying fumes of the drug, and looked about for the manager, as I passed the tall man

who sat by the brazier, I felt a sudden pluck at my skirt, and a low voice whispered,

walk past me, and then look back at me, the words fell quite distinctively upon my ear,

I glanced down, they could have only come from the old man at my side, and yet he sat

now, as absorbed as ever, very thin, very wrinkled, bent with age, an opium pipe dangling

down from between his knees, as though it had dropped in sheer massitude from his fingers,

I took two steps forward, and looked back, it took all myself control, to prevent me

from breaking out, into a cry of astonishment, he had turned his back, so that none could

see him but I, his form had filled out, his wrinkles were gone, the delights had regained

their fire, and there sitting by the fire, grinning at my surprise, was none other than Sherlock

Holmes, he made a slight motion to me to approach him, and instantly, as he turned, his face half

round to the company once more, subsidized into a daughtering, loose-lipped, senility,

Holmes, I whispered, what on earth are you doing in this den?

As though as you can, he answered, I have excellent ears,

if you would have the great kindness, to get rid of that sottish friend of yours,

I should be exceedingly glad to have a little talk with you, I have a cab outside,

then pray, send him home in it, you may safely trust him, for he appears to be too limp,

to get in to any mischief, I should recommend you also to send a note by the cabman

to your wife to say that you have thrown in your lot with me, if you will wait outside,

I shall be with you in a five minutes, it was difficult to refuse any of Sherlock Holmes requests,

for they were always so exceedingly definite, and put forward with such a quiet air of mastery,

I felt however that when Whitney was once confined in the cab, my mission was practically accomplished,

and for the rest, I could not wish anything better, to be associated with my friend,

in one of those singular adventures which were the normal conditions of his existence,

in a few minutes, I'd written my note, paid Whitney's bill,

led him out to the cab, and seen him driven through the darkness,

in a very short time, a decrepit figure had emerged from the opian den,

when I was walking down the street with Sherlock Holmes, but two streets he shuffled along with a

bent back, and an uncertain foot, then glanced and quickly round, he straightened himself out,

and burst into a hearty fit of laughter, I suppose Watson said he,

then to imagine that I have added opium smoking to cocaine injections,

and all the other, little weaknesses on which you have favored me with your medical views.

I was certainly surprised to find you there, but not more so than I to find you,

said Holmes, I came to find a friend, and I to find an enemy, an enemy?

Yes, one of my natural enemies, or shall I say, my natural prey, briefly Watson,

I am in the midst of a very remarkable inquiry,

and I have hoped to find a clue in the incoherent rublings of these salts, as I have done before now,

and I have been recognised in that den my life would not have been worth an hour's purchase,

for I have used it before now, for my own purposes, and the rascally the scar who runs it,

has sworn to have vengeance upon me. There is a trump door at the back of that building,

near the corner of Paul's wall, which could tell some strange tales of what has passed through it

upon the moonless nights. What do you mean bodies? I, bodies Watson, we should be rich men,

if we had £1,000, for every poor devil who had been done to death in that den.

It is the vyingest murder trap of the whole riverside, and I fear that Neville St.

Clare hasn't did, never to leave it more, but our trap should be there. He put his two forefingers

between his teeth and the whistleed shrilly, a signal which was answered by a similar whistle

from a distance, followed shortly by the rattle of wheels and the clink of horses hooves.

Now Watson, sometimes, as a tall dog cart dashed up through the glue,

throwing out two golden tunnels of yellow light from its side mountains, you'll come with me,

won't you? If I can be of use, oh, a trusty comrade is always of use, and a chronicler

still morseau. My room at the cedars is a double-bedded one. The cedars?

Yes, that is Mr. St. Clare's house. I am staying there while I can look at the inquiry.

Where is it then? Nearly incant. We have a seven-mile drive before us.

But I am all in the dark. Of course you are. You will know about it presently.

Jump up here. All right, John, we shall not need you. Here's half a crown. Look out for me

tomorrow, about eleven. Give her her head. So long then. He flicked the horse with his whip,

and we dashed away through the endless succession of sunba and deserted streets,

which widened gradually, until we were flying, across a broad,

balustrated bridge, with a murky river flowing sluggishly beneath us. Beyond they,

another dull wilderness of bricks and mortar is silence broken, only by the heavy,

regular footfall of the policeman, of the songs and the shouts of symbolated party of

revenues. A dull rack was drifting slowly across the sky and a star or two twinkled dimly here

all there through the rifts of the clouds. Holmes drove in silence with his head sunk upon his

breast, and the air of a man who was lost in thought. While I supposite him, here is to learn,

what his new quest might be, which seemed to tax his powers so sorely,

and yet afraid to break in a polar current of his thoughts. We had driven several miles,

and were beginning to get to the fringe of the melt of suburban Vedas, when he shook himself,

shrugged his shoulders and lit up his pipe with the air of a man who was satisfied that he was acting

for the best.