The Red-Headed League (Easy English)

One autumn day, I found Holmes in deep conversation with a fat, red-faced, elderly gentleman with the most extraordinary hair I had ever seen. It was not orange, not ginger. It was the bright red of a fire.

"Watson, you could not have come at a better time," said Holmes. "This is Mr. Jabez Wilson, and he has a most unusual story. Mr. Wilson, would you begin again?"

Mr. Wilson took a folded newspaper from his coat and pointed to an advertisement.

TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: A vacancy is now open for a member of the League. Salary: £4 a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men over twenty-one are eligible. Apply in person on Monday at eleven o'clock to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street.

"And what is this League?" I asked.

"That is exactly the question," said Holmes, rubbing his hands. "Tell us about yourself first, Mr. Wilson."

Mr. Wilson owned a small pawnbroker's shop near the City of London. Business was not very good. He had only one assistant, a young man called Vincent Spaulding, who worked for half the normal wages because he wanted to learn the trade.

"He is a very good worker," said Mr. Wilson. "His only fault is photography. He is always running down into the cellar to develop his pictures, like a rabbit into its hole."

It was Spaulding who had shown him the advertisement.

"I wish I had red hair," Spaulding had said. "Four pounds a week for doing almost nothing! And there are very few jobs where your hair is an advantage."