1 Mr. Jabez Wilson

THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.

Chapter 1 Mr. Jabez Wilson It was a fine October day in the year 1887. I had no appointments to see patients that morning and decided to take the opportunity to visit my old friend, the famous detective Sherlock Holmes. I arrived at his home at 221B Baker Street to find him deep in conversation with a large, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. The man was holding in his hands a dirty, wrinkled newspaper. "I'll come again another time," I said, but before I could back out of the room, Holmes pulled me inside and closed the door. "Your timing is perfect," he said.

"You look like you are busy with someone else," I said. "So I am," said Holmes. "His name is Mr. Jabez Wilson. Mr. Wilson, may I introduce Dr. Watson, who has assisted me on many of my greatest cases, and I am sure he will be most helpful in yours." The stout gentleman nodded his greeting, and I took a seat on the sofa. "Mr. Wilson," said Holmes. "From your appearance I deduce that you have done manual work at some point in your life, that you have been to China, and that you have done a great deal of writing lately."

Wilson started up from his chair in surprise. "How did you know all that?" he asked. "It's true I did manual work—I started my working life as a ship's carpenter." "That's why your right hand is bigger than your left," said Holmes. "You have worked with it and the muscles are more developed." "But how did you know I'd been to China?" "The fish tattoo above your right wrist could only have been done in that country. Nowhere else in the world can they achieve the delicate pink of those fish scales." Wilson nodded, laughing. "Well I never! And the writing?"

"There are smooth patches on the right cuff and left elbow of your coat where they have become worn from resting on a desk." "Impressive!" said Wilson. "I am beginning to see why you are such a famous detective!" "Now please go on with your story, Mr. Wilson," said Holmes. "You were about to show me an advertisement when my friend arrived." "Indeed," said Wilson. He adjusted his reading glasses and squinted at the tatty old newspaper he was carrying, then cleared his throat and began to read. TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE A job vacancy has opened up for members of the Red-Headed League. The job has a salary of ￡4 a week and will involve very little work. All redheaded men who are healthy in body and mind and above 21 years of age are invited to apply. If you are interested, please come to the League's offices at 7, Pope's Court, Fleet Street, on Monday morning at eleven o'clock and ask for Duncan Ross.

When Wilson had finished, I asked if I could see the advertisement myself just to be sure I hadn't misheard him. "What on Earth can this mean?" I gasped after reading it twice. Holmes smiled to himself. "It is rather extraordinary, isn't it? What's the name of the newspaper and the date, Watson?" "It's The Morning Chronicle of August 12, 1890—two months ago." "Very good," said Holmes. "Now, Mr. Wilson, I think we need a little background to all this. Could you start by telling us about yourself?"