Stepping into a cab, he dropped his suitcase onto the street next to him and sat down, but before he could tell
the driver his destination, the cabby asked, “Where would you like to go, Mr. Doyle?”
Surprised, Doyle asked whether he’d ever met the driver before.
“No, sir,” the driver said. “I don’t believe so.”
“Then how do you know my name?”
The driver replied, “This morning’s paper had a story about your being on vacation in Marseilles. This is the taxi
stand where people who return from Marseilles always come to. Your skin color tells me you have been on
vacation. The ink spot on your right index finger suggests to me that you are a writer. Your clothing is very
English, and not French. Adding up all those pieces of information, I deduce that your are Sir Arthur Conan
Doyle.”
Doyle was amazed at the driver’s deductive abilities.
“That, and your name is on your suitcase.”