with one hand on a hexagram and one hand on a girl

(Em Am, F Am) x2

dust that's been disturbed upon the bookshelf

Ash from someone smoking in the hall

Oh the devil and deduction’s in the details

and a master of the craft observes them all

A story can be writ in knots of neckties

and in mud upon the shoes as well as ink

but facts should never twist to fit your theories

No matter what the good inspector thinks

(G F, Em F) X2, Am F

I tell him that a mystery is like a book

It's all there if you can see the signs

And Scotland Yard may even make

a fool out of me yet

but they’ll have to learn to read between the lines

between the lines

Tobacco stored inside a Persian slipper

Papers in a heap upon the chair

A jackknife through the letters on the mantel

A cloud of black shag smoke upon the air

A pocketful of coppers for the urchins

A book of Petrarch's sonnets for the train

For a cold and logical deductive engine

Some might consider such behavior strange

I am told that I am quite the mystery

an enigma that few men can divine

My Boswell, in your quest to document me

You'll have to learn to read between the lines

Between the lines

Toast and coffee in the mornings before cases

playing violin for you before the fire

long train rides to far off investigations

glances longer than the moment should require

And I might tell you, Watson, I have never loved

Though you may make such judgements for yourself

By now you know the difference

tween what I say and what I mean

I wonder if your readers do as well

For I have learned a book is like a mystery

and the mysteries are changing with the times

Someday my dear doctor

the true story may be told

but til then they'll have to read between the lines

Between the lines