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The Man with the Twisted Lip
The Man with the Twisted Lip
The Man with the Twisted Lip
Ebook38 pages32 minutes

The Man with the Twisted Lip

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In The Man with the Twisted Lip, Dr Watson is called upon late at night by a female friend of his wife whose husband has been absent for several days. Frantic with worry, she seeks help in fetching him home from an opium den. Watson finds his friend Sherlock Holmes in the den, disguised as an old man, trying to extract information about a new case from the addicts therein. The case of double identity and potential murder presents Holmes with a task that is anything but elementary. This is the sixth of the twelve stories in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, originally published in 1891.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateAug 1, 2017
ISBN9781974996971
Author

Arthur Conan Doyle

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born on May 22, 1859. He became a doctor in 1882. When this career did not prove successful, Doyle started writing stories. In addition to the popular Sherlock Holmes short stories and novels, Doyle also wrote historical novels, romances, and plays.

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    Dr. Watson goes to an opium den to retrieve a patient for his distraught wife. As he is leaving with his mission accomplished, he is astonished to hear his friend Sherlock Holmes’s voice from an unfamiliar face. Of course Holmes is there working on a case, and he draws Watson into his confidence. A businessman has disappeared, and his wife claims that she last saw him in the window of the opium den. When the authorities searched for him, they found a beggar in the room with the missing man’s clothing. The conclusion was that the beggar had murdered the missing man. But where was the body?Naturally all was not as it seemed, and it took Sherlock Holmes’s powers of observation and deduction to get to the truth. The real story is one of the funniest of Holmes’s cases. The beggar was the missing man. He had discovered that he could make more money from begging than he could earn as a professional man, so he had been leading a double life. He was cornered by his wife’s unexpected appearance, and he needed Holmes’s help to extract himself from a delicate situation.

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The Man with the Twisted Lip - Arthur Conan Doyle

cover.jpg

THE MAN WITH

THE TWISTED LIP

By

SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

This edition published by Dreamscape Media LLC, 2017

www.dreamscapeab.com * info@dreamscapeab.com

1417 Timberwolf Drive, Holland, OH 43528

877.983.7326

dreamscape

THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP

Isa 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 De Quincey’s description of his dreams and sensations, he had drenched his tobacco with laudanum in an 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 yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-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, about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at the clock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-work 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 newly 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-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.

You will excuse my calling 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, pulling up her veil, it is Kate Whitney. How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were when you came in.

I didn’t know what to do, so I came straight to you. That 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 all about it. Or should you rather that I sent James off to bed?

"Oh, no, no! I want the doctor’s advice and help, too. It’s about Isa. He has not been home for two days. I am so frightened about

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