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"Well, his position is unique. He has made it for himself.
There has never been anything like it before, nor will be again.
He has the tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest
capacity for storing facts, of any man living. The same great
powers which I have turned to the detection of crime he has used
for this particular business. The conclusions of every
department are passed to him, and he is the central exchange, the
clearinghouse, which makes out the balance. All other men are
specialists, but his specialism is omniscience. We will suppose
that a minister needs information as to a point which involves
the Navy, India, Canada and the bimetallic question; he could get
his separate advices from various departments upon each, but only
Mycroft can focus them all, and say offhand how each factor would
affect the other. They began by using him as a short-cut, a
convenience; now he has made himself an essential. In that great
brain of his everything is pigeon-holed and can be handed out in
an instant. Again and again his word has decided the national
policy. He lives in it. He thinks of nothing else save when, as
an intellectual exercise, he unbends if I call upon him and ask
him to advise me on one of my little problems. But Jupiter is
descending to-day. What on earth can it mean? Who is Cadogan
West, and what is he to Mycroft?"
"I have it," I cried, and plunged among the litter of papers upon
the sofa. "Yes, yes, here he is, sure enough! Cadogen West was
the young man who was found dead on the Underground on Tuesday
morning."
Holmes sat up at attention, his pipe halfway to his lips.
"This must be serious, Watson. A death which has caused my
brother to alter his habits can be no ordinary one. What in the
world can he have to do with it? The case was featureless as I
remember it. The young man had apparently fallen out of the
train and killed himself. He had not been robbed, and there was
no particular reason to suspect violence. Is that not so?"
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