I Do Hate The City

The Goose We Retained Until This Morning, When There Were Signs That, In Spite Of The Slight Frost, It Would Be Well That It Should Be Eaten Without Delay. Its Finder Has Carried It Off Therefore To Fulfil The Ultimate Destiny Of A Goose.

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.

The Man Might Have Died In A Fit; But Then The Jewels Are Missing," Mused The Inspector, "ha! I Have A Theory. These Flashes Come Upon Me At Times... What Do You Think Of This, Holmes? Sholto Was, On His Own Confession, With His Brother Last Night. The Brother Died In A Fit, On Which Sholto Walked Off The Treasure! How's That?" "on Which The Dead Man Very Considerately Got Up And Locked The Door On The Inside," Said Holmes.

It's A Wicked World, And When A Clever Man Turns His Brain To Crime It Is The Worst Of All.

He [professor Moriarty] Is The Napoleon Of Crime, Watson. He Is The Organizer Of Half That Is Evil And Of Nearly All That Is Undetected In This Great City. He Is A Genius, A Philosopher, An Abstract Thinker. He Has A Brain Of The First Order.