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For all the preposterous hat and the vacuous face, there was

something noble in the simple faith of our visitor which

compelled our respect. She laid her little bundle of papers upon

the table and went her way, with a promise to come again whenever

she might be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes sat silent for a few minutes with his fingertips

still pressed together, his legs stretched out in front of him,

and his gaze directed upward to the ceiling. Then he took down

from the rack the old and oily clay pipe, which was to him as a

counsellor, and, having lit it, he leaned back in his chair, with

the thick blue cloud-wreaths spinning up from him, and a look of

infinite languor in his face.