Certainly a grey mist swirled before my eyes, and when it cleared I found my collar-ends undone and the tingling after-taste of brandy upon my lips.
Holmes was bending over my chair, his flask in his hand.
"My dear Watson," said the well-remembered voice, "I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected."
I gripped him by the arm.
"Holmes!" I cried. "Is it really you? Can it indeed be that you are alive? Is it possible that you succeeded in climbing out of that awful abyss?"
"Wait a moment," said he. "Are you sure that you are really fit to discuss things? I have given you a serious shock by my unnecessarily dramatic reappearance."
"I am all right, but indeed, Holmes, I can hardly believe my eyes.
Good heavens, to think that you - you of all men - should be standing in my study!" Again I gripped him by the sleeve and felt the thin, sinewy arm beneath it.
"Well, you're not a spirit, anyhow," said I.
"My dear chap, I am overjoyed to see you.