Sherlock Holmes and the Engineer's Thumb 1 | Page 37

The doorbell rang, again. Like an injured chicken, Sherlock tumbled hurriedly over,
and slammed the door open, revealing a black-haired man, in a dark coat, which was
rather an ocean of muck. In a shout, Holmes welcomed this new man, with his arms
spread wide, in a rather forced manner. I was in awe. When had Sherlock ever made
such an effort, for anyone… especially, a client?
“Come in, come in!” he began, excitedly, yet seemingly afraid, at the same time “Get
out of the cold; you’ll catch your death!” Holmes grasped the man’s shoulders, and
ushered him inside, then practically forced him into the seat.
“Your hand shakes. I presume you haven’t been to this part of London, before?” I
expressed.
Sherlock’s eyes darted at me.
“Goodness, Watson, have you leant nothing?” his voice was sarcastic and
judgemental. “By the rate his hand is shaking (approximately three ‘shakes’, per
second) it’s a murder.