It can’t hurt now,” was Mr. Sherlock Holmes’s comment when, for the tenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal the following narrative. So it was that at last I obtained permission to put on record what was, in some ways, the supreme moment of my friend’s career.
Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over a smoke in the pleasant lassitude
of the drying-room that I have found him less reticent and more human than anywhere else.
On the upper floor of the Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated corner where two
couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we lay upon September 3, 1902, the day when my
narrative begins. I had asked him whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his
long, thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawn an envelope from
the inside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.
“It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matter of life or death,” said he as he handed me the note. “I know no more than this message tells me.”
It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. This is what I read:
Dit is het begin van “The adventure of the illustrious client” . Een uitstekend verhaal voor op een regenachtige dag .
Maar laten we het nu even over cijfers hebben :
1386 – 1457 – 1633 – 1442 – 1133 – 1452 – 1650 – 1516 – 1312 – 1491 – 1367 – 1386
Hieruit haalt u de noord en west coordinaat die nodig zijn om de checker op groen te zetten
Veel geluk .
