ached wearily at every change of the weather.

"My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said
Holmes, after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I
was consulted last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you
probably know, has come rather to the front lately in the French
detective service. He has all the Celtic power of quick
intuition, but he is deficient in the wide range of exact
knowledge which is essential to the higher developments of his
art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some
features of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel
cases, the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in
1871, which have suggested to him the true solution. Here is the
letter which I had this morning acknowledging my assistance." He
tossed over, as he spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper.
I glanced my eyes down it, catching a profusion of notes of
admiration, with stray "magnifiques," "coup-de-maitres," and
"tours-de-force," all testifying to the ardent admiration of the
Frenchman.

"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.

"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes,
lightly. "He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two
out of the three qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He
has the power of observation and that of deduction. He is only
wanting in knowledge; and that may come in time. He is now
translating my small works into French."

"Your works?"