The Scottish Ploy
“I lay in the state half-way between sleep and rising, aware of my sheets and blankets bur still haunted by the last vestige of my dream. The steady whisper of rain augmented the call of the bells and gave me a sense of being suspended in space, which I relished for as long as I could persuade myself to indulge my torpor. Finally I rid myself of the last of my woolgathering and sat up in bed. It was not quite seven in the morning and the sky was just beginning to lighten, lending the clouds a ca...st of tarnished silver. As I got out of bed, I sighed at the luxury of six hours’ actual slumber—a rare event for anyone in the employ of Mycroft Holmes.
I washed and dressed, making as little noise as possible, for I was aware that Missus Coopersmith had not yet wakened; she would be up soon enough, readying herself for her weekly spiritual exercises. I held off donning my boots until I was almost ready to depart. Then I gathered up my over-coat, my portfolio, and my umbrella and went down the stairs as quietly as I was able.MoreLess
I washed and dressed, making as little noise as possible, for I was aware that Missus Coopersmith had not yet wakened; she would be up soon enough, readying herself for her weekly spiritual exercises. I held off donning my boots until I was almost ready to depart. Then I gathered up my over-coat, my portfolio, and my umbrella and went down the stairs as quietly as I was able.MoreLess
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