’But why Turkish?’ asked Mr. Sherlock Holmes, gazing fixedly at my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at the moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention.
'English, ’ I answered in some surprise. 'I got them at Latimer’s, in Oxford Street.’
Holmes smiled with an expression of weary patience.
'The bath!’ he said; 'the bath! Why the relaxing and expensive Turkish rather than the invigorating home-made article?’
'Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alterative in medicine–a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system.
'By the way, Holmes, ’ I added, 'I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it.’
'The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson, ’ said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle. 'It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning.’
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