I smiled and shook my head.  “I can quite understand your thinking so,” I said.  “Of course, in your position of unofficial adviser and helper to everybody who is absolutely puzzled, throughout three continents, you are brought in contact with all that is strange and bizarre.  But here”—­I picked up the morning paper from the ground—­“let us put it to a practical test.  Here is the first heading upon which I come.  ’A husband’s cruelty to his wife.’  There is half a column of print, but I know without reading it that it is all perfectly familiar to me.  There is, of course, the other woman, the drink, the push, the blow, the bruise, the unsympathetic sister or landlady.  The crudest of writers could invent nothing more crude.”

“Indeed your example is an unfortunate one for your argument,” said Holmes, taking the paper, and glancing his eye down it.  “This is the Dundas separation case, and, as it happens, I was engaged in clearing up some small points in connection with it.  The husband was a teetotaler, there was no other woman, and the conduct complained of was that he had drifted into the habit of winding up every meal by taking out his false teeth and hurling them at his wife, which you will allow is not an action likely to occur to the imagination of the average story teller.  Take a pinch of snuff, doctor, and acknowledge that I have scored over you in your example.”

He held out his snuffbox of old gold, with a great amethyst in the center of the lid.  Its splendor was in such contrast to his homely ways and simple life that I could not help commenting upon it.

“Ah!” said he, “I forgot that I had not seen you for some weeks.  It is a little souvenir from the King of Bohemia, in return for my assistance in the case of the Irene Adler papers.”

“And the ring?” I asked, glancing at a remarkable brilliant which sparkled upon his finger.

“It was from the reigning family of Holland, though the matter in which I served them was of such delicacy that I cannot confide it even to you, who have been good enough to chronicle one or two of my little problems.”

“And have you any on hand just now?” I asked with interest.

“Some ten or twelve, but none which present any features of interest.  They are important, you understand, without being interesting.  Indeed I have found that it is usually in unimportant matters that there is a field for the observation, and for the quick analysis of cause and effect which gives the charm to an investigation.  The larger crimes are apt to be the simpler, for the bigger the crime, the more obvious, as a rule, is the motive.  In these cases, save for one rather intricate matter which has been referred to me from Marseilles, there is nothing which presents any features of interest.  It is possible, however, that I may have something better before very many minutes are over, for this is one of my clients, or I am much mistaken.”