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    My Friend The Murderer
    My Friend The Murderer
    My Friend The Murderer
    Ebook49 pages36 minutes

    My Friend The Murderer

    By Arthur Conan Doyle

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateNov 27, 2013
    My Friend The Murderer
    Author

    Arthur Conan Doyle

    Arthur Conan Doyle was a British writer and physician. He is the creator of the Sherlock Holmes character, writing his debut appearance in A Study in Scarlet. Doyle wrote notable books in the fantasy and science fiction genres, as well as plays, romances, poetry, non-fiction, and historical novels.

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      Book preview

      My Friend The Murderer - Arthur Conan Doyle

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of My Friend The Murderer, by A. Conan Doyle

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: My Friend The Murderer

      Author: A. Conan Doyle

      Release Date: October 17, 2007 [EBook #23059]

      Last Updated: December 17, 2012

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MY FRIEND THE MURDERER ***

      Produced by David Widger

      MY FRIEND THE MURDERER

      By A. Conan Doyle

      Number 481 is no better, doctor, said the head-warder, in a slightly reproachful accent, looking in round the corner of my door.

      Confound 481 I responded from behind the pages of the Australian Sketcher.

      And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn't you do anything for him?

      He is a walking drug-shop, said I. He has the whole British pharmacopaæ inside him. I believe his tubes are as sound as yours are.

      Then there's 7 and 108, they are chronic, continued the warder, glancing down a blue slip of paper. And 28 knocked off work yesterday—said lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want you to have a look at him, if you don't mind, doctor. There's 81, too—him that killed John Adamson in the Corinthian brig—he's been carrying on awful in the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no stopping him either.

      All right, I'll have a look at him afterward, I said, tossing my paper carelessly aside, and pouring myself out a cup of coffee. Nothing else to report, I suppose, warder?

      The official protruded his head a little further into the room. Beg pardon, doctor, he said, in a confidential tone, but I notice as 82 has a bit of a cold, and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him and have a chat, maybe.

      The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my lips as I stared in amazement at the man's serious face.

      An excuse? I said. An excuse? What the deuce are you talking about, McPherson? You see me trudging about all day at my practise, when I'm not looking after the prisoners, and coming back every night as tired as a dog, and you talk about finding an excuse for doing more work.

      You'd like it, doctor, said Warder McPherson, insinuating one of his shoulders into the room. That man's story's worth listening to if you could get him to tell it, though he's not what you'd call free in his speech. Maybe you don't know who 82 is?

      No, I don't, and I don't care either, I answered, in the conviction that some local ruffian was about to be foisted upon me as a celebrity.

      He's Maloney, said the warder, him that turned Queen's evidence after the murders at Bluemansdyke.

      You don't say so? I ejaculated, laying down my cup in astonishment. I had heard of this ghastly series of murders, and read an account of them

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