Sherlock Holmes and the Engineer's Thumb 1 | Page 18

garner interest. His hair that morning was rustled, as if he had just woken from a
night of deep (yet somehow still fretful) sleep, although he had been awake for most
of the morning, pacing the floor in anguish at the situation presented.
“What is it this time?”
I spoke in a tone of considerable disdain, for he had plagued me during the hours in
which I had bothered to listen. I somehow knew that I was not the only one who was
not pleased, for I couldn’t help but notice a frosty tone in his burning glare. It was
most ironic.
“I’m bored!’
He snapped at me, very much in the barbaric style and tastes of an animal. Having
lived with this man for years, I had grown accustomed to his bizarre tendencies,
often becoming intrigued by his practices. He ran much like the machines of the
industrial era, and was perhaps just as enigmatic as they were indeed.