“Very sorry, Mr. Thaddeus,” said the porter inexorably. “Folk may be friends o’ yours and yet no friend o’ the master’s. He pays me well to do my duty, and my duty I’ll do. I don’t know none o’ your friends.”

“Oh, yes you do, McMurdo,” cried Sherlock Holmes genially.  “I don’t think you can have forgotten me. Don’t you remember that amateur who fought three rounds with you at Alison’s rooms on the night of your benefit four years back?”

“Not Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” roared the prize-fighter. “God’s truth! How could I have mistook you? If instead o’ standin’ there so quiet you had just stepped up and given me that cross-hit of your under the jaw, I’d ha’ known you without question. Ah, you’re one that has wasted your gifts, you have! You might have aimed high, if you had joined the fancy.”

—The Sign of Four