Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is waiting at a taxi stand outside the railway station in Paris. When a taxi pulls up, he puts his suitcase in the front seat and gets in the back. As he is about to tell the taxi driver where he wants to go, the driver asks him, "Where can I take you, Mr. Doyle?"
Doyle is flabbergasted. He asks the driver whether he knows him by sight. The driver says, "No, sir, I have never seen you before."
The puzzled Doyle asks him what makes him think that he is Conan Doyle. The driver replies, "this morning's paper had a story about you 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 you are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."
Doyle says, "This is a truly amazing deduction. You are a real-life counter-part to my fictional creation, Sherlock Holmes."
'There is one other thing,' the driver says.
"what is that?" Doyle asks.
'Your name.' the driver replies, 'is on the front of your suitcase.'
:) :) hahaha ... ha ha
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