The Complete Sherlock Holmes, Volume I Part 1

The Complete Sherlock Holmes.

Volume I.

by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

GENERAL INTRODUCTION.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle lived an interesting life by any standard. As a young s.h.i.+p's surgeon he sailed the Arctic in a whaling s.h.i.+p, and later he steamed down the west coast of Africa on a cargo vessel. In midlife his fame as a writer opened doors all over the world. He showed some finer points of golf to Rudyard Kipling in a Vermont field, and argued in the newspapers with his neighbor, Bernard Shaw, about the t.i.tanic t.i.tanic. He climbed the top of the Great Pyramid in Giza, and lectured the deacons in the Great Mormon Tabernacle in Utah. As a champion of spiritualism he proclaimed that a pharaoh's curse could indeed have caused the death of Lord Carnarvon, the patron of the Tutankhamun expedition, and a.s.sured the public that Agatha Christie, who had mysteriously disappeared, would show up safe and sound because a psychic to whom he had taken one of her gloves predicted it. He was knighted by King Edward VII for writing a pamphlet justifying the British cause in the Boer War. He wrote what he thought were important historical novels in the manner of Sir Walter Scott and through them hoped to establish his legacy. Ironically enough, all these events have a chance to be remembered only because he also created what he regarded as "a lower stratum of literary achievement," his peerless detective, Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes has become as famous as any character in literature. His name is synonymous with brilliant deduction. Call someone "Sherlock" and everyone knows what you mean. The stories have been in print continuously since the time the first one, A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet, was published in 1887. In addition Holmes has been the leading character in hundreds of plays, films, and television shows. He made his debut in films even before Conan Doyle had finished writing the stories. Long before Basil Rath-bone and Nigel Bruce created their memorable roles of Holmes and Watson in films of the late 1930s and the 1940s, the celebrated sleuth had already been played by a host of actors on stage and screen. The stories continue to be filmed today. You have probably seen one of the excellent Granada Television episodes with Jeremy Brett, which may well be the reason you are reading this book.

Sherlock Holmes has such a strong hold on the popular imagination that he is no longer moored to the books in which he first appeared. Not satisfied by the fifty-six short stories and four novellas of the Holmes canon, writers first adopted the character by completing cases Dr. Watson had mentioned only in pa.s.sing. Soon they constructed new episodes for the master detective. Film directors followed suit. Though many films have been scrupulously true to the plots of the stories, some have created their own plots. Such films include Young Sherlock Holmes Young Sherlock Holmes (1985), which invented a childhood for the detective. In it Holmes and Watson meet as teenagers at a boarding school where Professor Moriarty, Holmes's great nemesis in the books, is an encouraging teacher. It also introduces a love interest for Holmes, a young girl whose death at the hands of Moriarty, who turns into a deadly foe, explains why Holmes was never the marrying kind. (1985), which invented a childhood for the detective. In it Holmes and Watson meet as teenagers at a boarding school where Professor Moriarty, Holmes's great nemesis in the books, is an encouraging teacher. It also introduces a love interest for Holmes, a young girl whose death at the hands of Moriarty, who turns into a deadly foe, explains why Holmes was never the marrying kind. The Seven-Per-Cent Solution The Seven-Per-Cent Solution (1976) sends Holmes to Vienna to meet Sigmund Freud, who traces Holmes's obsession with Moriarty to a repressed memory of his mother in the arms of the professor. In perhaps the boldest reimagining of the stories, and certainly the most amusing, (1976) sends Holmes to Vienna to meet Sigmund Freud, who traces Holmes's obsession with Moriarty to a repressed memory of his mother in the arms of the professor. In perhaps the boldest reimagining of the stories, and certainly the most amusing, Without a Clue Without a Clue (1988) reveals that Watson was the real detective genius and that Holmes was his fictional creation; when the public clamored to meet Holmes, Watson hired a dim-witted actor to play the role. (1988) reveals that Watson was the real detective genius and that Holmes was his fictional creation; when the public clamored to meet Holmes, Watson hired a dim-witted actor to play the role.

So powerful is the Holmes persona that even tangential connections attract viewers. In 2000 and 2002 the Public Broadcasting System aired a joint British-American series of mysteries that featured Conan Doyle and his teacher, Dr. Joseph Bell, on whom Holmes was partly modeled, as characters solving crimes in the manner of Holmes and Watson. Called Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes Murder Rooms: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes, the episodes weave incidents from Conan Doyle's life into fictional plots that foreshadow the great stories to come. But clearly the draw for the series is the name of the immortal detective.

So how did this all begin? While the springs of creation are always ultimately mysterious, they are never entirely hidden. As with every mystery, there are clues. The most promising sources, as with most writers, are biographical.

Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1859. He was a healthy, athletic lad, who appeared to have a happy childhood. He grew up in a middle-cla.s.s family with a keen sense of its place in society and history. His family was originally from Ireland. His grandfather, John Doyle, like many gifted Irishmen, had moved to London, where he made his name as a political cartoonist. His four sons all became artists of one sort or another. Conan Doyle's Uncle Richard knew d.i.c.kens; a warm letter from the great novelist survives in the family archives. Richard was also a friend of William Thackeray, whose works he had ill.u.s.trated. The author of Vanity Fair Vanity Fair once bounced young Arthur on his knee while paying a visit to Conan Doyle's father, Charles, who worked as a young architect in the Government Office of Works. He carried on the family's artistic tradition by painting in his spare time. Arthur's mother, Mary, also of Irish parentage, traced her descent back to the Plantagenets on one side and Sir Walter Scott on the other, both sources of considerable pride. Arthur Conan Doyle grew up in a stable society well worth valuing. Nothing in his early life gave him any reason to be a reformer. His great detective would one day uphold the values of this social order, acting as a mainstay of the status quo. once bounced young Arthur on his knee while paying a visit to Conan Doyle's father, Charles, who worked as a young architect in the Government Office of Works. He carried on the family's artistic tradition by painting in his spare time. Arthur's mother, Mary, also of Irish parentage, traced her descent back to the Plantagenets on one side and Sir Walter Scott on the other, both sources of considerable pride. Arthur Conan Doyle grew up in a stable society well worth valuing. Nothing in his early life gave him any reason to be a reformer. His great detective would one day uphold the values of this social order, acting as a mainstay of the status quo.

Arthur had a very good education. His thorough knowledge of both ancient and modern cla.s.sics is clear from reading the Holmes stories. His parents sent him to Jesuit boarding schools, where he initially rebelled against their harsh discipline, as well as the dullness of his studies. His outlook changed when he discovered the essays of English historian and poet Thomas Macaulay, who died the year Conan Doyle was born. Though hardly anyone reads Macaulay today, he was immensely influential in the nineteenth century. Conan Doyle was entranced by his language and his sharp, colorful p.r.o.nouncements. Macaulay made history a source of wonder and romance. He was also an unapologetic believer in the superiority of British life. It is not as if there weren't a thousand springs from which any young British boy could drink in this notion, but Macaulay supplied a river of it to Conan Doyle. He carried a volume of the essays around with him the rest of his life, claiming Macaulay had influenced him more than anyone else.

After graduation from boarding school, it was time to choose a career. Since it appeared that Conan Doyle did not inherit the family's artistic genes, he decided on a career in medicine. It was at the medical school in Edinburgh that he met the two men who would have the most influence on his conception of Holmes. The first was the surgeon Dr. Joseph Bell; Conan Doyle later claimed he was the model for Sherlock Holmes. Bell regularly amazed his students by deducing facts about his patients from minute observations of their appearance and behavior. Conan Doyle's autobiography, Memories and Adventures Memories and Adventures (see "For Further Reading"), lists only one example of the doctor's deductive powers. (see "For Further Reading"), lists only one example of the doctor's deductive powers.

In one of his best cases he said to a civilian patient: 'Well, my man, you've served in the army.' 'Aye, Sir.' 'Not long discharged?' 'No, Sir.' 'A Highland regiment?' 'Aye, Sir.' 'A non-com officer?' 'Aye, Sir.' 'Stationed at Barbados?' 'Aye, Sir.' 'You see, gentlemen,' he would explain, 'the man was a respectful man but did not remove his hat. They do not in the army, but he would have learned civilian ways had he been long discharged. He has an air of authority and he is obviously Scottish. As to Barbados, his complaint is Elephantiasis, which is West Indian, and not British' (p. 330).

That could well be Sherlock Holmes interrogating a visitor at 221B Baker Street. Bell's reasoning powers made so strong an impression on Conan Doyle that he turned to those memories when he decided to write a detective novel. When the first twelve stories were published in book form as The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Conan Doyle asked Bell if he might dedicate them to him. Robert Louis Stevenson, who also knew Bell, wrote to congratulate Conan Doyle on "your very ingenious and very interesting adventures of Sherlock Holmes." At the end of the letter Stevenson asks, "Only one thing troubles me: can this be my old friend Joe Bell?"

Dr. Bell wasn't the only model, though. Some aspects of Holmes were derived from George Budd, a fellow medical student Conan Doyle met on the school's rugby team. Brilliant but mercurial, Budd could talk expansively on subject after subject, then lapse into moody silence. The life of the party at one moment, he could turn violent the next. The two were friends at medical school, but they lost track of one another when Budd moved away after graduation in 1881. In 1882, after Conan Doyle had spent some postgraduate time at sea, Budd summoned him to Plymouth, England, to start a practice there.

Budd had made a tremendous success of his practice by flouting every rule of medical etiquette. He yelled at his patients, pushed some against walls, cursed others, told many they ate too much, drank too much, and slept too much. Sometimes Budd refused even to see them, proclaiming to an anxious clutch in the waiting room that he was going to spend the day in the country. Despite this bizarre behavior, or perhaps because of it, his consulting services were enormously popular. No doubt a contributing reason was that he charged no fee for his diagnoses. It was no coincidence, however, that Budd prescribed medicine for every patient. Their pills could be conveniently purchased down the hall, where Mrs. Budd typed up the labels for the bottles and took the patients' money. Budd earned a fortune from this dubious practice. He made a point each day on his way to the bank to carry his earnings in a big bag through the doctors' quarter of the city, jingling it as he went, just to rankle his fellow pract.i.tioners. He was convinced that the rules of medical ethics were a con game to keep young, energetic doctors subservient to their elders.

Conan Doyle was both appalled and amused by this display. When Budd offered to take him on as an a.s.sistant, however, he accepted. Budd furnished Conan Doyle with a consulting room in his clinic, then flooded him with advice on how to run his life. One suggestion was to start a novel that very day. Although he had already published one short story, Conan Doyle hadn't considered writing anything as ambitious as a novel. But because he had no patients as yet and thus plenty of time on his hands, he gave it a try.

There is no evidence that Sherlock Holmes was born out of this circ.u.mstance, or that Budd contributed anything more to the character than his energy, range of interests, and black moods. But he contributed something else essential that runs throughout Conan Doyle's work. Through Budd, Conan Doyle experienced deception and betrayal for the first time. Of course Conan Doyle knew, as we all do, that people can lie and turn against former friends, but it makes a different and certainly deeper impression when it happens to you personally. It came about in the following way.

During his time in Budd's clinic, Conan Doyle's mother wrote him letters expressing her displeasure at his involvement with Budd, whom she considered an unscrupulous character. Budd apparently read them without Conan Doyle's knowledge, and developed a bitter resentment against his friend. At some point he complained that his own practice was dwindling because of Conan Doyle. As Conan Doyle, unlike Budd, really was a man of honor, he immediately went to his office door with a hammer and pulled off his nameplate.

This display of character softened Budd's resentment, at least for a while. He proposed to lend Conan Doyle a pound a week to help him set up a practice in Portsmouth. Once Conan Doyle moved to that city to restart his medical career, Budd reneged on the payment. He wrote to Conan Doyle, quoting what he considered slanderous pa.s.sages from a letter of Conan Doyle's mother, which he claimed the maid had found torn in pieces under the grate. This kind of back-stabbing carried on under his roof was a betrayal he couldn't forgive, said Budd. He would have nothing more to do with Conan Doyle.

Conan Doyle was stunned. Upon thinking it over, he couldn't remember ever tearing up any of his letters. Searching through his pockets he found the very one from which Budd had quoted. He realized Budd was lying and must have been reading his mail surrept.i.tiously. He wrote back to say he had seen through the clumsy plot, thanking Budd for removing the only disagreement between himself and his mother by confirming her low opinion of Budd. He a.s.sured Budd that any attempt to harm him had backfired.

The incident left a haunting memory. Conan Doyle wrote later, "It was as though in the guise and dress of a man I had caught a sudden glimpse of something subhuman-of something so outside my own range of thought that I was powerless against it" (The Stark Munro Letters, p. 271). He was also powerless to explain it. Whenever he depicts some descent into the abyss of vice, it is inevitably without any insight into how a soul makes such a journey: It is always taken as merely a fact of existence.

It was a few years later, in 1886, after he had set up a mildly profitable medical practice of his own, that Conan Doyle first turned to the idea of a detective novel. In addition to his Edinburgh models, Sherlock Holmes had literary sources, too. Conan Doyle had read and admired the detective stories of Edgar Allan Poe, the creator of the genre, as well as the detective novels of emile Gaboriau, whose Monsieur Lecoq solved some baffling crimes. Holmes's methods are similar to those of Poe's C. Auguste Dupin, and the stories have a structure reminiscent of Gaboriau's work, but his personality owes nothing to either of those Parisian detectives. And ultimately it is his personality that makes Holmes so compelling.

Just what is it about Sherlock Holmes that has captivated people for so long? It's easy to see some of the reasons for his popularity. His intelligence, his self-a.s.surance, his mastery of every situation, and his unerring judgment are all enormously appealing. We are also attracted by Holmes's sense of humor. From the very first Holmes not only sprinkles the stories with his dry retorts and ironic asides, he also laughs, chuckles, smiles, and jokes throughout. This quality goes a long way toward humanizing him, making it easier to feel affection for a character whose abilities could well make him seem more machine than human.

His eccentricities add to his appeal. An unwritten rule says that every commentator must mention the tobacco he keeps in the toe end of his Persian slipper, the cigars he keeps in a coal-shuttle, and the unanswered correspondence he transfixes by a jack-knife into the very center of his wooden mantelpiece. But his odd qualities extend further than these surface details. They are really only shallow tricks that add some local color, perhaps, to his characterization, but reveal little about his character. More revealing of just how truly eccentric he is are the pa.s.sions central to his mind and the lengths he is willing to go in their service.

Devoting his life to fighting crime, for instance, is surely unusual. With his skills and connections, one would think he could have had his choice of careers. What sort of person dedicates himself to catching people who commit crimes? We don't need a psychiatrist's s.h.i.+ngle to conclude that someone who feels this need must have suffered some sort of injustice as a child. As we can never know what this sad event was, we can only speculate, and many have. Whatever it was, it has made Holmes a moralist. It is not the law that he upholds, but his own conception of justice. Several times he subst.i.tutes this conception for the letter of British law by letting someone go who is guilty of a crime. Several other times he violates the law himself in order to bring about some higher justice. Those are some of the things we admire about him. Because we always agree with his judgment in those instances, his willingness to become the final arbiter of justice makes him heroic.

Holmes lives as a gentleman, with all the notions of cla.s.s in nineteenth-century England that the word implies. Yet he does things no gentleman would dream of doing. On one occasion he disguises himself as a beggar, on another as an opium addict, and, most improbably of all, on another as an old woman! Since these disguises help him get to the truth, we think of them, if we think of them at all, as merely techniques, albeit clever and entertaining ones, for solving crimes. But respectable men in London in the 1890s would be aghast at seeing a fellow they knew sauntering forth in a frock and a wig, or holed up in an opium den. Neither would such men pay any but the most begrudging and uncomfortable notice to street urchins beseeching them for alms. Yet Holmes not only befriends such boys, he enlists them as extra eyes and ears. Dubbing them "the Baker Street Irregulars," he also seems to feel affection and sympathy for them. But then "respectability" is achieved by conforming to an external set of shared beliefs. Holmes couldn't care less what any one else might think of his actions, so long as those actions help him bring criminals to their just deserts. His self-worth comes from measuring up to his own moral code.

Holmes's att.i.tude toward cla.s.s distinctions is also unusual for his time, and may be an added reason he is popular in America. His judgments about people arise from the content of their characters, not from the color of their coats of arms. He shows the most respect for characters who display loyalty to someone they love, particularly when they also exhibit courage. Irene Adler in "A Scandal in Bohemia," Grant Munro in the "The Yellow Face," and Captain Jack Crocker in "The Adventure of the Abbey Grange" all gain his respect because they show these qualities. It's surely significant that none of those characters are upper cla.s.s. Aristocrats and even royalty usually fare rather less well in his estimation. His acidic a.s.sessment of the King of Bohemia seems to go right over the royal head. Holmes sternly rebukes Lord Holdernesse in "The Adventure of the Priory School" as if he were a judge scolding a prisoner in the dock. He can scarcely conceal his distaste for Lord Robert St. Simon in "The Adventure of the n.o.ble Bachelor," and we read in "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs" that he refused an offer of knighthood from Edward VII. It isn't that he dislikes these people because of their cla.s.s. He accepts an emerald pin from Queen Victoria in "The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans," and he's perfectly gracious to the t.i.tle family in "The Musgrave Ritual." It's that he expects everyone, irrespective of their cla.s.s, to live up to a common set of human values.

Lest he seem impossibly superior, Holmes is given some counterbalancing weaknesses. He is wrong from time to time, though usually about something trifling. He is inclined to be critical of the people around him, including Watson, when they haven't met what seems like some impossibly high standard. Some could see this trait as one of his strengths, though, since he holds himself to the same standard. More important, he is what we would call today a manic-depressive. He comes alive only when on the trail of crime, but not just any crime. It must have some special feature that baffles ordinary mortals. When no crime worthy of his skills is currently afoot, he lapses into listlessness, requiring cocaine for stimulation. Cocaine was not illegal at the time; these were the 1880s and 1890s, the time of bohemians in the European capitals, the absinthe drinkers of Degas, and the drug-induced estheticism of the fin-de-siecle. Though not illicit, this dependency is clearly a character flaw.

The sum of all his qualities makes Sherlock Holmes seem like a real person. This sense of his reality sets these stories apart from other literature, and from the very beginning the illusion of his existence was powerful. On October 29, 1892, an article called "The Real Sherlock Holmes" by "Our Special Correspondent" appeared in the National Observer National Observer. It quoted Sherlock Holmes complaining about the way Conan Doyle had plagiarized Dr. Watson. Holmes also expressed indignation at Conan Doyle's misrepresentations of some of his cases. He didn't make any of those little mistakes Conan Doyle ascribes to him. The Strand Magazine Strand Magazine, which published all the short stories, received letters wanting to know if Holmes were a real person. The magazine cagily replied that it had not made his personal acquaintance but would certainly call upon him if ever it needed a mystery investigated.

Even after it was well known that Holmes was a fictional creation, a curious phenomenon developed that has no other parallel in literature. It has become a good-humored convention for Holmes scholars to treat the stories as historical events and the protagonists as real figures. Conan Doyle is often referred to as the literary agent for Dr. John H. Watson. Several biographies have been written about Holmes, and the current residents of Baker Street still get mail addressed to him. In October 2002 the Royal Society of Chemistry in Britain awarded an Honorary Fellows.h.i.+p to Sherlock Holmes, its first fictional inductee, on the hundredth anniversary of his coming out of retirement to solve the case of The Hound of the Baskervilles The Hound of the Baskervilles.

In addition to his own characteristics, Holmes is popular for other reasons. The plots and the atmospheres of the stories deserve no small credit for creating the Holmes appeal. Conan Doyle's skill in vividly describing London has made countless readers feel they know the city. The inclusion of so many accurate details from daily life in the city-from train stations and schedules, concert series, real-life performers, streets and buildings they pa.s.sed every day-gave contemporaneous readers a sense they might be reading an account from the newspapers. The inclusion of many real historical characters strengthens the sense that we are reading a personal memoir. The stories were also initially popular because of the novelty of the scientific method used by Holmes in solving his mysteries, something we can't help but take for granted now.

Holmes profits enormously by having his exploits narrated by an admirer. Nearly as well known but much less appreciated, the good Dr. Watson provides not only a contrast as the Everyman to Holmes's Superman, he also perfectly embodies the British man in the street. Conan Doyle himself has often been thought the model for Holmes's friend and chronicler. Like Watson, Conan Doyle was a doctor. Also like Watson, who we learn was a rugby player in his youth, Conan Doyle was an avid footballer. He was also a boxer, cricket player, and golfer. He was an all-round sportsman, and like other sportsmen, then and now, he had an uncomplicated att.i.tude toward the world. Conan Doyle was like Watson in another way that's scarcely believable except for the testimony of people who knew him. According to Hesketh Pearson he was apparently as little likely to deduce something about you as Watson was. (Conan Doyle: His Life and Art, pp. 183-184). The obvious difference between Conan Doyle and Watson is that Watson did not have the capacity to invent a character like Sherlock Holmes. Generations of readers have been grateful that Arthur Conan Doyle did, and that he used that capacity to enrich our imaginations by creating a hero who rea.s.sures us that even the most baffling mysteries can be solved by reason, and who challenges us to use our powers of observation.

If you are reading these stories for the first time or renewing your acquaintance with them after decades of fond but faded memories, I urge you, as other editors of these stories have urged their readers before me, to proceed directly to the sitting room at 221B Baker Street, where you may test your detective powers against the Master's. Come back to the following essay after you've finished. We'll have much to talk about.

Kyle Freeman

INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME I.

Arthur Conan Doyle began writing A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet in 1886 while waiting for patients in his newly furnished doctor's office in Southsea, Portsmouth. He sent it to what seemed like every publisher in England before it was finally accepted by a small firm called Ward, Lock & Co. He was paid a one-time sum of 25, relinquis.h.i.+ng all other rights to the publisher. The company thought it would be most effective in one of its big holiday issues, in 1886 while waiting for patients in his newly furnished doctor's office in Southsea, Portsmouth. He sent it to what seemed like every publisher in England before it was finally accepted by a small firm called Ward, Lock & Co. He was paid a one-time sum of 25, relinquis.h.i.+ng all other rights to the publisher. The company thought it would be most effective in one of its big holiday issues, Beeton's Christmas Annual Beeton's Christmas Annual, so Conan Doyle had to wait nearly a year before seeing it in print in December 1887. Thus after this long and uncertain gestation the world finally saw the birth of the resplendent career of the character who would become the greatest literary detective, Sherlock Holmes.

Conan Doyle got the idea for a detective story from the acknowledged creators of the genre. Edgar Allan Poe had written three short stories featuring Parisian sleuth C. Auguste Dupin: "Murders in the Rue Morgue," "The Mystery of Marie Roget," and "The Purloined Letter." Conan Doyle lifted so much detail from Poe that he seemed a plagiarist to some. He took several key components from Dupin. Holmes, like Dupin, is a prodigious pipe smoker. He also places ads in the newspaper to lure the perpetrator of the crime to his apartment. He goes to the scene of the crime to find clues the police had overlooked. Yet another component borrowed from Dupin was his trick of breaking in on his companion's thought process by guessing the links in his train of thought. Ironically, Holmes complains in this first story that this habit of Dupin annoys him, but apparently not as much as he claims, as he adopts it himself in two later stories. Most important, like Poe, Conan Doyle decided to give his detective a companion to narrate the case.

Such a narrator provides several advantages. He can frame the story more dramatically than the detective could because the companion is in the dark about the outcome. He therefore can sustain suspense and share his surprise with us when the mystery is solved. The narrator also has the freedom to glorify his friend, something the detective as narrator couldn't do for himself without suffering the inevitable backlash from readers who don't usually take kindly to braggarts.

Conan Doyle also borrowed from the work of emile Gaboriau, a Frenchman who wrote the first police novels. His Inspector Lecoq uses scientific methods to build a solid case against the criminal piece by piece. Holmes's scientific method owes the most to this source. Gaboriau also divides his novels into two equal parts, with flashbacks to prior action, a device Conan Doyle copied in the first two Holmes novels. Conan Doyle based Holmes's deductive process-lightning quick and seemingly intuitive, though informed by careful observation of detail and mountains of precise knowledge-on Conan Doyle's teacher at the medical school at Edinburgh, Dr. Joseph Bell.

Once embarked on the process of stirring all these ingredients together, Conan Doyle had to choose a name for his detective. The first he chose was J. Sherrinford Holmes, then Sherrington Hope, and finally the one we know today. We don't know where he got the name Sherlock, but we can be sure that the last name was a tribute to Oliver Wendell Holmes, the American physician and author, father of the great U.S. Supreme Court justice of the same name. Conan Doyle had read and greatly admired his work, saying of him, "Never have I so known and loved a man whom I had never seen." On his first trip to America Conan Doyle made a reverential visit to the author's grave.

A Study in Scarlet introduces the formula that almost all the other Holmes stories will follow. Someone seeks out the detective at his Baker Street rooms to solve an unusual mystery. Holmes and Watson then set out to explore the scene of the mystery. The police are often involved, but of course they never have a clue. After an adventure or two that builds suspense, Holmes solves the case in the most dramatic way. The two investigators end up back at Baker Street, where Holmes explains any point in his chain of reasoning that might have escaped Watson's understanding, and all's once again right with the world. Doyle varies this formula in minor ways in a few of the stories in this first volume, but not often. (He will cleverly foil our expectations of this pattern in later stories.) This plot repet.i.tion, which might seem a weakness, turns out to be a strength. It contributes to that sense of solidness we get from this world in which logic triumphs over superst.i.tion, and where justice in one form or another is meted out to violators of the social order. The sense of order that runs through this world is one of the great satisfactions of these stories. No matter how bizarre the circ.u.mstances, Holmes will tender a rational explanation for everything. Criminals are caught not because they make a fatal error, but because all human actions, good and bad, leave traces behind. If you pay close enough attention to the causative chain of events in everyday life, and you've trained yourself to think logically, you'll be able to follow that chain when someone has committed a crime. introduces the formula that almost all the other Holmes stories will follow. Someone seeks out the detective at his Baker Street rooms to solve an unusual mystery. Holmes and Watson then set out to explore the scene of the mystery. The police are often involved, but of course they never have a clue. After an adventure or two that builds suspense, Holmes solves the case in the most dramatic way. The two investigators end up back at Baker Street, where Holmes explains any point in his chain of reasoning that might have escaped Watson's understanding, and all's once again right with the world. Doyle varies this formula in minor ways in a few of the stories in this first volume, but not often. (He will cleverly foil our expectations of this pattern in later stories.) This plot repet.i.tion, which might seem a weakness, turns out to be a strength. It contributes to that sense of solidness we get from this world in which logic triumphs over superst.i.tion, and where justice in one form or another is meted out to violators of the social order. The sense of order that runs through this world is one of the great satisfactions of these stories. No matter how bizarre the circ.u.mstances, Holmes will tender a rational explanation for everything. Criminals are caught not because they make a fatal error, but because all human actions, good and bad, leave traces behind. If you pay close enough attention to the causative chain of events in everyday life, and you've trained yourself to think logically, you'll be able to follow that chain when someone has committed a crime.

The first story attends to some matters that by their nature appear only once. It must introduce both Holmes and Watson, which of course can happen only once. After that, it also contains a feature that appears only in the longer stories. It divides the action into two parts, introducing a flashback having nothing to do with Holmes and Watson to describe the genesis of the crime. Conan Doyle repeated this structure with modifications in The Sign of Four The Sign of Four and and The Valley of Fear The Valley of Fear. In A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet the flashback comes as a sudden jolt, a third-person narrative far away in time and place from the story's beginning. Despite the interest of the plot of the flashback, today we tend to mark time until we get back to Holmes and Watson. At the time the story was published, the American interlude was the most interesting part for British readers. the flashback comes as a sudden jolt, a third-person narrative far away in time and place from the story's beginning. Despite the interest of the plot of the flashback, today we tend to mark time until we get back to Holmes and Watson. At the time the story was published, the American interlude was the most interesting part for British readers.

Conan Doyle had read a treatment of the Mormons in a chapter of Robert Louis Stevenson's The Dynamiter The Dynamiter ent.i.tled "The Story of the Destroying Angel." He took its most sensationalized elements, then fas.h.i.+oned a brave, fearless hero along with a pitiful orphan who grows up to be a brave, fearless woman who is loved by another brave, fearless man, and sets them at the mercy of intolerant zealots. The story emphasizes the most pathetic aspects of the lives of John and Lucy Ferrier and lacks any psychological subtlety. Lucy and Jefferson Hope are always courageous and n.o.ble, while the Mormons who haggle over her are petty and dishonorable. ent.i.tled "The Story of the Destroying Angel." He took its most sensationalized elements, then fas.h.i.+oned a brave, fearless hero along with a pitiful orphan who grows up to be a brave, fearless woman who is loved by another brave, fearless man, and sets them at the mercy of intolerant zealots. The story emphasizes the most pathetic aspects of the lives of John and Lucy Ferrier and lacks any psychological subtlety. Lucy and Jefferson Hope are always courageous and n.o.ble, while the Mormons who haggle over her are petty and dishonorable.

This is soap-opera fiction. But it bears noting that Conan Doyle handles the action and the development of dramatic tension quite skillfully. The story is never dull. It moves without any padding to a dramatically exciting conclusion. It also establishes some sympathy for a man who, we discover, has committed the two murders at the beginning of the story. This kind of sympathy recurs in The Sign of Four The Sign of Four, but rarely in the short stories. In most of them the perpetrators of the crimes, if there are crimes, act from base motives that are only briefly sketched, and they get what's coming to them.

Note here the use of names for the bad guys: Drebber and especially Stangerson are names with a slightly nasty ring to them. On the other hand, the man who kills them is given a name that in itself goes some way toward redeeming him. Jefferson, of course, is a name that was golden in America. Thomas Jefferson, well known in France and England during his life, had died but sixty years before this story. And the last name Hope speaks for itself. This rather obvious allegorical use of names is repeated in The Sign of Four The Sign of Four, with Jonathan Small, an insignificant cog in the British imperial machine in India, but not afterward. Like d.i.c.kens, Conan Doyle learned how to use less obvious names to suggest personal qualities.

It's worth noting the ironic wrinkle in the beginning of the story-Holmes calls Dupin "a very inferior fellow" and Lecoq "a miserable bungler." He means of course inferior and miserable when compared to him. This judgment could be taken as a boast on Conan Doyle's part that his detective is superior to those of the men who created the genre and, by further implication, that his stories are superior to theirs. Everything we know about Conan Doyle refutes such an interpretation. When this story was written, he was only twenty-seven, had published next to nothing, and was much in awe of both men, Poe especially. If confronted directly with this pa.s.sage in his work, he would surely have denied any such claim to preeminence. He was merely expressing his character's supreme self-confidence, perhaps even characterizing Holmes as a bit too conceited. Yet whatever the explanation, Holmes's claim has indisputably come true.

A Study in Scarlet was modestly successful. Conan Doyle did not consider writing a sequel until the American agent for was modestly successful. Conan Doyle did not consider writing a sequel until the American agent for Lippincott's Magazine Lippincott's Magazine invited him and Oscar Wilde to a dinner in London. That proved to be an auspicious night for British letters. The agent proposed that both men write books for invited him and Oscar Wilde to a dinner in London. That proved to be an auspicious night for British letters. The agent proposed that both men write books for Lippincott's Lippincott's. As a result of this proposal, Conan Doyle wrote the second Holmes story, The Sign of Four The Sign of Four, in 1889, while Wilde's contribution to the magazine turned out to be The Picture of Dorian Gray The Picture of Dorian Gray.

The story was first published in February 1890 as The Sign of the Four The Sign of the Four, but the t.i.tle was later shortened to the one Conan Doyle preferred, The Sign of Four The Sign of Four. Conan Doyle once again split the story into two parts, but the structure of this division is more subtle than the one used in A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet. First, the history that led up to this crime is broken into two shorter parts instead of one long one, but more important, Conan Doyle allows Thaddeus Sholto and Jonathan Small, rather than a third-person omniscient narrator, to relate these flashbacks. This not only keeps a tighter focus on the action of the story, but also avoids the clearly artificial quality a third-person narrator introduces. After all, these stories are said to be the reminiscences of John H. Watson. In order to seem real, they can't start recounting things that Watson couldn't possibly have heard. In this respect, The Sign of Four The Sign of Four is an improvement on is an improvement on A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet.

The way this story treats its murderer is also more subtle. In A Study in Scarlet A Study in Scarlet Jefferson Hope had been driven to his acts of vengeance by what amounted to the rape and murder of his sweetheart and the murder of her guardian. Because we get to witness the coldheartedness of the men who commit these crimes, their deaths are not near our consciences. As famed Texas trial lawyer Richard "Racehorse" Haines once said in a television interview, he was able to win acquittals for clients who had committed murder by convincing juries that "some folks just need killin'." Hope is not made to suffer any punishment for his crimes; he dies "with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well done" (p. 93). This is clearly an authorial reward for following the dictates of his heart. Jefferson Hope had been driven to his acts of vengeance by what amounted to the rape and murder of his sweetheart and the murder of her guardian. Because we get to witness the coldheartedness of the men who commit these crimes, their deaths are not near our consciences. As famed Texas trial lawyer Richard "Racehorse" Haines once said in a television interview, he was able to win acquittals for clients who had committed murder by convincing juries that "some folks just need killin'." Hope is not made to suffer any punishment for his crimes; he dies "with a placid smile upon his face, as though he had been able in his dying moments to look back upon a useful life, and on work well done" (p. 93). This is clearly an authorial reward for following the dictates of his heart.

Jonathan Small is more problematic. Although his story makes us feel more sympathy for him than for his victims, the circ.u.mstances of the killings in which he was involved don't grant him the same kind of easy absolution Conan Doyle gives to Jefferson Hope. Our response to Small is more complex, because his case has more of the tangled web of good and evil that characterizes most human enterprises than does the revenge of Jefferson Hope.

While each of the murders Small commits contains some mitigating factor, each also contains a d.a.m.ning one as well. His first killing is forced upon him when his Indian companions make him an offer he can't refuse. He must either kill or be killed. Yet when the time comes to fulfill this devil's bargain, he takes some relish in it. When he sees the merchant Achmet escaping from his three cohorts, Small says, "My heart softened to him, but again the thought of his treasure turned me hard and bitter" (p. 175). Later when he escapes from prison, Small kills one of the prison guards. That man "had never missed a chance of insulting and injuring" Small, but killing him was petty vindication. Small plays no part in the deaths of Captain Morstan or Major Sholto, the two men who betrayed him, but he says he would willingly have shown them the door to eternity, if he had only had the chance. Small also played no direct part in the death of Bartholomew Sholto, but because Sholto died during the a.s.sault on his stronghold planned and executed by Small, he bears some responsibility for that death, too. In short, Small is neither completely vindicated for his crimes nor completely d.a.m.ned. While he's a man more sinned against than sinning, he isn't given any sort of pardon. Watson's reaction to him is our surest guide to what Conan Doyle felt was Small's moral standing: "For myself, I confess that I had now conceived the utmost horror of the man not only for this cold-blooded business in which he had been concerned but even more for the somewhat flippant and careless way in which he narrated it" (p. 175). The last we hear of him, he's off to jail.

On a cheerier note, The Sign of Four The Sign of Four contains what I think is the most impressive of all Holmes's displays of logic, the series of deductions about Watson's watch. The scene is a sideshow, of course, as it plays no part in the case to follow, but like many scenes in the coming stories, it dazzles us with its brilliance while establis.h.i.+ng another link between Holmes and Watson. It also manifests some subtle traits possessed by each man. Watson reveals his emotional side here. He is upset because he has concluded that Holmes has been snooping into his family background. A gentleman wouldn't make such inquiries. Holmes, of course, has done no such thing, but we can't help but think, after we get to know Holmes better, that had doing so helped him solve some crime, he wouldn't have hesitated. Watson believes in the conventional Victorian code of conduct. He is shocked at even the suggestion that his friend could disregard it. By the end of their adventures, he will have been so influenced by Holmes that he'll throw smoke-rockets into apartments, break into houses, attempt to steal private doc.u.ments, and even let murderers go. contains what I think is the most impressive of all Holmes's displays of logic, the series of deductions about Watson's watch. The scene is a sideshow, of course, as it plays no part in the case to follow, but like many scenes in the coming stories, it dazzles us with its brilliance while establis.h.i.+ng another link between Holmes and Watson. It also manifests some subtle traits possessed by each man. Watson reveals his emotional side here. He is upset because he has concluded that Holmes has been snooping into his family background. A gentleman wouldn't make such inquiries. Holmes, of course, has done no such thing, but we can't help but think, after we get to know Holmes better, that had doing so helped him solve some crime, he wouldn't have hesitated. Watson believes in the conventional Victorian code of conduct. He is shocked at even the suggestion that his friend could disregard it. By the end of their adventures, he will have been so influenced by Holmes that he'll throw smoke-rockets into apartments, break into houses, attempt to steal private doc.u.ments, and even let murderers go. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes could be subt.i.tled could be subt.i.tled and the Education of Dr. John H. Watson. and the Education of Dr. John H. Watson.

As a result of the popularity these novels enjoyed, Conan Doyle decided to write shorter tales that could be published in a literary magazine. He first penned "A Scandal in Bohemia" in April 1891, sending it to his agent to shop it around to the magazines. The Strand Strand, a new publication, accepted it without fanfare, but when Conan Doyle's agent sent them two more stories, "The Red-headed League" and "A Case of Ident.i.ty," the magazine's editors, realizing they had something special, asked Conan Doyle for more. After he submitted "The Bos...o...b.. Valley Mystery," Conan Doyle asked for an increase in the price the magazine paid him for the stories, from 25 to 35 per story. The grateful editors immediately agreed, so Conan Doyle wrote the fifth and sixth stories, "The Five Orange Pips" and "The Man with the Twisted Lip."

Conan Doyle conceived of his six stories as a series, to be run in sequence. Serialized works in the past had been chapters from a single continuous work, either a novel or a long story. But Conan Doyle felt that serializing long stories in magazines was a mistake, because a reader who missed one issue would lose interest. He saw that if he made each story independent, "while each retained a connecting link with the one before and the one that was to come by means of its leading characters," it didn't matter if a reader missed an episode or two. "In this respect, I was a revolutionist, and I think I may fairly lay claim to the credit of being the inaugurator of a system which has since been worked by others with no little success" (t.i.t-Bits, December 15, 1900).

The first Strand Strand stories were published in 1891. It took Conan Doyle about a week to write each one. You may have noticed that "The Red-headed League," published second, mentions a character who appears in "A Case of Ident.i.ty," which was published third. They were written in reverse order, but through either some slipup at the magazine or a calculation that "The Red-headed League" was the stronger story and the fledgling magazine needed a hit as soon as possible, they were published out of order. The first few stories were a smas.h.i.+ng success, and the editors begged Conan Doyle for another set of six in October 1891. Already tiring of his detective, Conan Doyle refused. In a letter to his mother he wrote that he was not inclined to continue the series, but as a lark would ask the publisher for 50 per story, however long or short he wanted to make them, and see what they would say to that. To his surprise the stories were published in 1891. It took Conan Doyle about a week to write each one. You may have noticed that "The Red-headed League," published second, mentions a character who appears in "A Case of Ident.i.ty," which was published third. They were written in reverse order, but through either some slipup at the magazine or a calculation that "The Red-headed League" was the stronger story and the fledgling magazine needed a hit as soon as possible, they were published out of order. The first few stories were a smas.h.i.+ng success, and the editors begged Conan Doyle for another set of six in October 1891. Already tiring of his detective, Conan Doyle refused. In a letter to his mother he wrote that he was not inclined to continue the series, but as a lark would ask the publisher for 50 per story, however long or short he wanted to make them, and see what they would say to that. To his surprise the Strand Strand agreed in a flash. agreed in a flash.

While writing the next six stories, Conan Doyle wrote in a letter to his mother on November 11, 1891, "I think of slaying Holmes in the sixth & winding him up for good & all. He takes my mind from better things." Madame Conan Doyle urged him not to do anything so silly. She even sent a suggestion for the plot of a new Holmes story. Dutiful son that he was, Conan Doyle modified her plot suggestion into "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches" and let his creation live to detect another day.

The Holmes juggernaut got an important boost from the policy of the Strand Strand to include ill.u.s.trations with all its stories. To ill.u.s.trate the Holmes stories, the editor chose Sidney Paget (1860-1908), probably by mistake; the editor had actually wanted his brother, Walter, who was already famous for ill.u.s.trations in to include ill.u.s.trations with all its stories. To ill.u.s.trate the Holmes stories, the editor chose Sidney Paget (1860-1908), probably by mistake; the editor had actually wanted his brother, Walter, who was already famous for ill.u.s.trations in The Ill.u.s.trated London News The Ill.u.s.trated London News. Sidney, however, rose to the challenge. He based his drawings of Holmes on the features of his brother, Walter. He also included a couple of things not mentioned in the stories that nonetheless have come to be emblematic of the great detective. In his drawings for "The Bos...o...b.. Valley Mystery" and again in "Silver Blaze," Paget drew Holmes wearing a deerstalker cap and a traveling cape. In fact, these items don't exist in the stories; Paget added them because he himself liked to wear them. His drawings were very popular. They defined the image the English public a.s.sociated with the name Sherlock Holmes. Later Ellie Norwood, who first portrayed Holmes in film, was popular to some degree because he resembled the Paget drawings.

Another feature strongly a.s.sociated with Holmes that isn't in the books is from America. The pipe with the long, curved stem that many of us think of as always drooping from Holmes's jaw was unknown in England before the turn of the century. It first appeared because the American actor William Gillette, who made a career of playing Holmes on the American stage and then later in seven films, couldn't keep a straight pipe in his mouth when he talked. He had better luck with a curved stem, so it was subst.i.tuted for the kind Conan Doyle had described. Gillette's films were popular, and his likeness was the one used by the American ill.u.s.trator Frederic Steele for the Holmes stories published in Collier's Magazine Collier's Magazine , so the image stuck. , so the image stuck.

While this essay cannot discuss every story in this volume, it will examine the details of a few that present some interesting features about Holmes, Watson, the the woman, woman, the the villain, and Conan Doyle as a writer. There's no better place to begin than with the first short story, "A Scandal in Bohemia." After the sensationally gruesome murders of the first two novels, it may come as a surprise that Conan Doyle began his series of short stories with one that not only has no murder, but no crime at all, not even a mystery. It sets a problem for Holmes to solve: how to get the photograph of Irene Adler and the king of Bohemia out of the lady's possession. The story makes little sense when closely examined. The king wants the return of a photograph from Irene Adler that he thinks will compromise his forthcoming marriage, while Ms. Adler, who is about to get married herself, would only compromise herself if she showed it to anyone. Had Holmes not been called into the case, the outcome would have been exactly as it transpired anyway. villain, and Conan Doyle as a writer. There's no better place to begin than with the first short story, "A Scandal in Bohemia." After the sensationally gruesome murders of the first two novels, it may come as a surprise that Conan Doyle began his series of short stories with one that not only has no murder, but no crime at all, not even a mystery. It sets a problem for Holmes to solve: how to get the photograph of Irene Adler and the king of Bohemia out of the lady's possession. The story makes little sense when closely examined. The king wants the return of a photograph from Irene Adler that he thinks will compromise his forthcoming marriage, while Ms. Adler, who is about to get married herself, would only compromise herself if she showed it to anyone. Had Holmes not been called into the case, the outcome would have been exactly as it transpired anyway.

One wonders what was the point of the story? Could it have been to put aside any suspicions that Holmes is h.o.m.os.e.xual? We're told he always refers to Irene Adler as "the woman," with the implication that he couldn't be satisfied with any other woman after his encounter with her. But if we look closely at what attracted him to her, we note some surprising things. First, though Holmes, like all the men around Irene, can't be immune to her beauty, he is far more taken by the qualities of mind and spirit she displays during his attempt to trick her. She has managed to keep this photograph hidden so well that the king's agents couldn't find it when they twice searched her lodgings nor when they waylaid her while she was traveling. So in hiding it she obviously showed considerable imagination. Next, when Holmes tries to frighten her with false fire, she realizes immediately that it must be a trick and that the only person who could have pulled off such a scheme was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, about whom she had been warned. So she also has a large capacity for quick, logical reasoning. Then she disguises herself so that she may follow Holmes and be a.s.sured that the wounded parson in her apartment was indeed the dangerous detective. Her remark to him as he enters his building, "Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," is both flirtatious and challenging. None of her plans called for her to take this chance. In fact it's against her self-interest to give him any inkling that she's discovered his ident.i.ty. Holmes might have recognized her, realized she knew of his involvement, and escalated his efforts to retrieve this photo. But sometimes a person's need for self-expression overrides a narrowly conceived self-interest. Irene's act announces to Holmes, once he discovers later that it was her voice, that she is just as good at disguises as he is, and just as capable of dramatic gestures. woman," with the implication that he couldn't be satisfied with any other woman after his encounter with her. But if we look closely at what attracted him to her, we note some surprising things. First, though Holmes, like all the men around Irene, can't be immune to her beauty, he is far more taken by the qualities of mind and spirit she displays during his attempt to trick her. She has managed to keep this photograph hidden so well that the king's agents couldn't find it when they twice searched her lodgings nor when they waylaid her while she was traveling. So in hiding it she obviously showed considerable imagination. Next, when Holmes tries to frighten her with false fire, she realizes immediately that it must be a trick and that the only person who could have pulled off such a scheme was Mr. Sherlock Holmes, about whom she had been warned. So she also has a large capacity for quick, logical reasoning. Then she disguises herself so that she may follow Holmes and be a.s.sured that the wounded parson in her apartment was indeed the dangerous detective. Her remark to him as he enters his building, "Good night, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," is both flirtatious and challenging. None of her plans called for her to take this chance. In fact it's against her self-interest to give him any inkling that she's discovered his ident.i.ty. Holmes might have recognized her, realized she knew of his involvement, and escalated his efforts to retrieve this photo. But sometimes a person's need for self-expression overrides a narrowly conceived self-interest. Irene's act announces to Holmes, once he discovers later that it was her voice, that she is just as good at disguises as he is, and just as capable of dramatic gestures.

When we put all these qualities together-imagination, logical thinking, a penchant for disguises and self-revealing dramatic gestures-who do they remind us of? Holmes himself, of course. The woman who for him becomes "the woman" is, in fact, a female version of himself. While most people are attracted by someone who has the qualities they themselves are missing, making a kind of wholeness through their union, Holmes is moved only by a reflection of his own image. This shows an egotism of no mean scope. But, after all, isn't that larger-than-life quality what we admire in heroes in the first place? woman" is, in fact, a female version of himself. While most people are attracted by someone who has the qualities they themselves are missing, making a kind of wholeness through their union, Holmes is moved only by a reflection of his own image. This shows an egotism of no mean scope. But, after all, isn't that larger-than-life quality what we admire in heroes in the first place?

While we're noticing deeper self-revealing aspects of "A Scandal in Bohemia," we might note another instance, on page 187: "All emotions, and that one [love] particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position." Whatever one may think is the purpose of human life, to be a calculating machine, unmoved by love, is surely not it. This avowal therefore cuts two ways: While it is no doubt intended to Holmes's credit, at the same time it reduces him. Of course, it isn't strictly true. Holmes shows emotion in many stories. His judgment about people is tempered by a knowledge of human pa.s.sions and desires that can only come from introspection. You can't recognize how these feelings work in other people unless you have understood how they work in you. And in one of the late stories, "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs," when Holmes fears Watson may be mortally wounded, we see an emotional outburst from him that betrays his deep affection, one might even say his love, for Watson, a contradiction of this early shallow a.s.sessment. By the end of their nearly forty-year a.s.sociation, Watson had humanized Holmes more than Holmes had made Watson scientific.

After the first twelve stories ran in the Strand Strand, they were collected into a book ent.i.tled The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. It has been in print ever since. With this big success behind him, Conan Doyle felt confident enough as a writer to venture into other areas that interested him more than these trifling detective stories. He wanted to be known for his historical novels, on which he lavished far more preparation and writing time than he did on the Holmes stories. He would devour book after book about some particular historical epoch, claiming in some cases to have read more than a hundred books as background. He did no research at all for the Holmes stories, which is no doubt one reason he undervalued them. But after the success of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, the Strand Strand wanted another twelve stories. Once again Conan Doyle set what he thought an arbitrarily high price, 1,000 for the series, that he was convinced the magazine wouldn't meet, but once again they jumped at the deal. wanted another twelve stories. Once again Conan Doyle set what he thought an arbitrarily high price, 1,000 for the series, that he was convinced the magazine wouldn't meet, but once again they jumped at the deal.

The first in the series, "Silver Blaze," pleased Conan Doyle so much that he bet his wife a s.h.i.+lling she couldn't solve the mystery. The story has some of the most brilliant writing in the Holmes canon, particularly what is probably the most famous of all Holmes's deductions: "the curious incident of the dog in the night-time" (p. 413), which has come to be known by the prosaic phrase "the dog that didn't bark." In polls of various Holmes Societies around the world, it regularly rates as one of the top ten stories. But "Silver Blaze" also ill.u.s.trates the degree to which Conan Doyle could write complete nonsense and get away with it. In his autobiography, Memories and Adventures Memories and Adventures, Conan Doyle confessed, "My ignorance cried aloud to heaven. I read . . . a very disparaging criticism of the story . . . written clearly by a man who did did know, in which he explained the exact penalties which would come upon everyone concerned if they had acted as I described. Half would have been sent to gaol and the other half ruled off the turf forever." Conan Doyle admitted that he knew little about "the turf," the English term for the racetrack, and simply wrote what he thought would pa.s.s without complaint in the excitement of the reading moment. know, in which he explained the exact penalties which would come upon everyone concerned if they had acted as I described. Half would have been sent to gaol and the other half ruled off the turf forever." Conan Doyle admitted that he knew little about "the turf," the English term for the racetrack, and simply wrote what he thought would pa.s.s without complaint in the excitement of the reading moment.

"The Yellow Face," on the other hand, is notable for almost the opposite reasons. The two stories make an instructive contrast. "The Yellow Face" is often voted as one of the ten least-good stories. (There are no bad Holmes stories, mind you, so Holmes devotees never call such lists the "ten worst stories.") Infidelity is a theme in both stories, but in contrast to John Straker in "Silver Blaze," who carried on an adulterous affair with a woman who had "a strong partiality for expensive dresses," in "The Yellow Face" Grant Munro's suspicion of his wife's adulterous involvement is only hinted at. He turns out to be so completely at one with her that he lovingly embraces her black American daughter from her previous marriage. This was no small commitment for an Englishman of his time. Our feelings toward the couple are influenced by Watson's reaction, unique among all the Holmes stories, to Munro's acceptance of his new reality. "When his answer came it was one of which I love to think." As virtue is never as exciting as vice, this may be one reason "The Yellow Face" is never highly rated by Sherlockians.

A stronger reason is no doubt that Holmes makes no brilliant deductions at all in "The Yellow Face."