After reading this, I was happier than I had been for
many weeks. Mary and I finished our holiday and
moved to a house in London, not far from Baker
Street. I was busy with my work as a doctor, and we
lived quietly and happily together.
During this time I was sent two wonderful letters by
Holmes.
He had brought his work on the Russian mystery to a
successful end, and had gone from Russia to Ceylon,
where the sudden death of a rich tea-planter
offered him the interest and excitement he needed.
The Holmes who wrote these letters to me sounded
like the old Holmes that I knew.
'He is dangerous when he is bored and uses
cocaine,' I thought. 'When he is enjoying his work,
London is safe.'