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Granada TV adaptation discussion is available in the Granada discussion post.
( Onward to canon talk - The Sign of the Four, Ch. 7-12 )
I may not be the most attractive of dogs, but Mr Holmes values me highly. You see, we think in the same way; give me a trail to follow and I will stick at it to the end. Sometimes I need to cast around to find the way forward, but once back on the track I do not give up.
We’ve seen Mr Holmes here a number of times. Of course, Toby is his favourite, but he has been known to borrow the other dogs too. And there was the occasion when he took the stoat; goodness know why, but Mr Holmes was extremely pleased when he brought it back and the stoat had a happy smile on its face.
I tightened my hands together as the chest was opened. What would I do with such riches? It could not bring me friendship, or joy, or family. It would be an empty fortune. It was a selfish and unhappy thought, that what was in that box could drive away the golden-hearted man who had chanced to fall into my life.
SIGN, Part 2: According to His Lights
No, Toby was not to blame. Nor was Watson; he slowed our progress, but it did not affect the case.
I had ample time to reflect as I played him into slumber. I knew that Miss Morstan had ambitions to take on my friend’s care, as Watson had taken on her cause.
Dare I entrust my Watson’s care to her?
Extended-play version (200 words):
No, Toby was not to blame. Nor was Watson, who valiantly attempted to conceal his flagging energies and increasing pain as we followed Toby to the wharf. He slowed us, but it did not affect the case.
It did, however, affect me, and even more so when I saw him struggling to stay awake. I had ample time to reflect on this as I played him into slumber. I knew –who better? – that I was at best an erratic companion, often neglecting my own health, not to mention his. I saw – how could I not? – that Miss Morstan had ambitions to take on my friend’s care, as Watson had taken on her cause. He was already in love with her, and though I had observed her less, and women were in any case largely inscrutable, I was fairly certain that my friend’s kindness and virtues had won her affections.
Dare I entrust my Watson’s care to her? She would certainly have far more care for him. And he was a man who deserved every care, every consideration, ever comfort that life could offer.
Could I give him up to matrimony? Could I not, and still call myself truly his friend?