Sherlock Holmes

Yes, though I must admit most of them are clients of Sherlock Holmes rather than grateful patients of mine.

I beg you.

Holmes and I always referred to the gentleman questioned merely as Mr. Edwards.

Oh, nothing of any great importance, I assure you.

Merely that Mr. Edwards had become a trifle entangled, shall we say, with a little dancer at Maxim's in Paris.

A young lady rejoicing in the appellation of Fru-Fru.

Quite a delightful little bit of fluff, too.

Very easily and very discreetly.

But it led us into one of the most curious and singular affairs of Sherlock Holmes' career, and one which I don't believe would ever have been solved had Holmes not been a distinguished amateur on the violin.

I call it the adventure of the genuine Guarnerius.

Go ahead.

Well, the British ambassador to France, Sir Hubert Ashley, had invited Holmes and myself to a reception at the embassy in Paris in order to thank us both for successfully concluding the rather delicate affair of Mr. Edwards.

The ballroom was ablaze of light.

The guests were dancing.

By Jove, Holmes, have you ever seen anyone more attractive than our host's wife?

I must say that Lady Ashley is really the finest type of English beauty.

Sometimes, Watson, I envy the directness of your mind.

What do you mean?

When you look at a beautiful woman, you see only beauty.

Well, what on earth would you expect me to see?