THE
RED-HEADED
LEAGUE
The
Red-Headed
League
A Strange Advertisement
A
fter my marriage, I lived with my wife in another part of
London. My friend, Sherlock Holmes, continued to live in
his apartment in Baker Street.
One day, in the autumn of
1890,1
decided to visit my friend.
But when I arrived at his apartment, I found he already had a
visitor.
This visitor was an old man. He was fat, with a red face. But
the most unusual thing about him was his hair. The colour of the
old man's hair was bright red.
'I'm
sorry,
Holmes,'
I said.
'I
didn't know you were busy. I'll
wait in the next
room.'
But Holmes didn't want me to leave. He pulled me into the
room and closed the door.