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"Do you know, Watson," said he, "that it is one of the curses of

a mind with a turn like mine that I must look at everything with

reference to my own special subject. You look at these scattered

houses, and you are impressed by their beauty. I look at them,

and the only thought which comes to me is a feeling of their

isolation and of the impunity with which crime may be committed

there."

"Good heavens!" I cried. "Who would associate crime with these

dear old homesteads?"

"They always fill me with a certain horror. It is my belief,

Watson, founded upon my experience, that the lowest and vilest

alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin

than does the smiling and beautiful countryside."

"You horrify me!"