In one situation, he was waiting at a taxi stand outside the railway station in Paris. When a taxi pulled up, he placed his suitcase in the car and took a seat next to it.

"Where can I take you, Mr. Doyle?" asked the taxi driver.

Doyle was flabbergasted. He asked the driver whether he knew him by sight.

"No, sir, I have never seen you before."

The puzzled Doyle asked him how he knew who he was.

"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're a writer. Your clothing is very English, and not French. And so, I deduced that you are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."

Doyle remarked, "This is truly amazing. You are a real-life counterpart to my fictional creation, Sherlock Holmes."

"There is one other thing," the driver said.

"What is that?"

"Your name is on the front of your suitcase."