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Sherlock Holmes still lives in our old rooms at 221B Baker Street. I visited him there one day last autumn.

When I entered the room, I saw that Holmes was deep in conversation with a fat old man who had bright red hair.

I said sorry for interrupting and tried to leave the room so I can let them speak. But Holmes jumped out of his chair and cried “Come in, Dr. Watson!”. “Meet Mr. J. B. Wilson. Mr. Wilson, this is Dr. Watson. He works with me on many of my cases.”

The fat man got up and nodded. Holmes sat back down in his chair. He put his fingers together. (He often does that when he is thinking.) He smiled.

“Watson, I know you love strange stories as much as I do. Mr. Wilson here has just started telling his tale. And it’s one of the strangest stories I have ever heard.”

Mr. Wilson looked proud as Holmes showed such interest in his story. He pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “Look at this notice, Dr. Watson,” he said. “You can read it for yourself.”

As I took the paper from him, I took another look at Mr. Wilson. He was wearing baggy trousers, a dirty coat, a dark waistcoat with a large watch with a watch chain. Holmes saw me looking at the red-headed man and laughed. “Apart from that he went to China, he has done manual labour and does a lot of writing, there’s not much to say.”

Mr. Wilson looked shocked and said, “how on earth did you know all that?”

Holmes laughed as he said, “it is very easy Mr. Wilson. The tattoo above your right hand could only have been done in China. Plus, the Chinese coin hanging from your watch chain makes it even easier.”

“But manual labour? It is true that I worked on a ship when I was younger.”

“Your right hand is much bigger than your left. That shows you often worked with your hands.”

“But…but….a lot of writing?”

“Your coat’s elbow is very shiny which shows that you rest your arm when you are writing.”

“I see”, Mr. Wilson laughed, “I thought you had done something clever but I realized that it was so obvious.”

Holmes gave a smile and said, “Maybe, I should not be so honest otherwise no one will ever come to me for help. Watson, can you read out the advert?”

“To All Red-headed Men”, I began to read out.

“There is a job open at the Red-headed League. The pay is 4 pounds a week. The work is not very hard. To get the job you must have red hair. You must be a man over 21 years old. Come in person on Monday, at 11 o’clock, to 7 Fleet Street. Ask for Duncan Ross.”

“What can it mean?” I asked.

“Holmes laughed. “It is a little odd, isn’t it? Do tell us more, Mr. Wilson.”

“I own a store at Coburg Square,” said Wilson. “It’s a very small place and recently business has not been very good. I used to have two helpers. Now I can pay only one. I can pay him only because he will work for half pay. I don’t know what I would do without him.”

“Hmm. A good helper who works for half pay,” said Holmes. “And what is the name of this nice young man?”

“Vincent Spaulding,” replied Wilson. “He isn’t that young though. Vincent is very smart, and I know that he could easily get more money if he goes to another shop. But, Vincent does have his problems. He is always down in the basement. He plays with all those cameras of his down there. He is mad about taking photos. But on the whole he’s a very good worker.”