Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated)

by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  “Do what?” I asked.

  He smiled as he took his slipper from the mantelpiece and drew from it enough shag tobacco to fill the old clay pipe with which he invariably rounded off his breakfast.

  “A most characteristic question of yours, Watson,” said he. “You will not, I am sure, be offended if I say that any reputation for sharpness which I may possess has been entirely gained by the admirable foil which you have made for me. Have I not heard of debutantes who have insisted upon plainness in their chaperones? There is a certain analogy.”

  Our long companionship in the Baker Street rooms had left us on those easy terms of intimacy when much may be said without offence. And yet I acknowledged that I was nettled at his remark.

  “I may be very obtuse,” said I, “but I confess that I am unable to see how you have managed to know that I was... I was...”

  “Asked to help in the Edinburgh University Bazaar...”

  “Precisely. The letter has only just come to hand, and I have not spoken to you since.”

  “In spite of that,” said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and putting his finger tips together, “I would even venture to suggest that the object of the bazaar is to enlarge the University cricket field.”

  I looked at him in such bewilderment that he vibrated with silent laughter.

  “The fact is, my dear Watson, that you are an excellent subject,” said he. “You are never blasé. You respond instantly to any external stimulus. Your mental processes may be slow but they are never obscure, and I found during breakfast that you were easier reading than the leader in the Times in front of me.”

  “I should be glad to know how your arrived at your conclusions,” said I.

  “I fear that my good nature in giving explanations has seriously compromised my reputation,” said Holmes. “But in this case the train of reasoning is based upon such obvious facts that no credit can be claimed for it. You entered the room with a thoughtful expression, the expression of a man who is debating some point in his mind. In your hand you held a solitary letter. Now last night you retired in the best of spirits, so it was clear that it was this letter in your hand which had caused the change in you.”

  “This is obvious.”

  “It is all obvious when it is explained to you. I naturally asked myself what the letter could contain which might have this effect upon you. As you walked you held the flap side of the envelope towards me, and I saw upon it the same shield-shaped device which I have observed upon your old college cricket cap. It was clear, then, that the request came from Edinburgh University - or from some club connected with the University. When you reached the table you laid down the letter beside your plate with the address uppermost, and you walked over to look at the framed photograph upon the left of the mantelpiece.”

  It amazed me to see the accuracy with which he had observed my movements. “What next?” I asked.

  “I began by glancing at the address, and I could tell, even at the distance of six feet, that it was an unofficial communication. This I gathered from the use of the word ‘Doctor’ upon the address, to which, as a Bachelor of Medicine, you have no legal claim. I knew that University officials are pedantic in their correct use of titles, and I was thus enabled to say with certainty that your letter was unofficial. When on your return to the table you turned over your letter and allowed me to perceive that the enclosure was a printed one, the idea of a bazaar first occurred to me. I had already weighed the possibility of its being a political communication, but this seemed improbable in the present stagnant conditions of politics.

  “When you returned to the table your face still retained its expression and it was evident that your examination of the photograph had not changed the current of your thoughts. In that case it must itself bear upon the subject in question. I turned my attention to the photograph, therefore, and saw at once that it consisted of yourself as a member of the Edinburgh University Eleven, with the pavillion and cricket field in the background. My small experience of cricket clubs has taught me that next to churches and cavalry ensigns they are the most debt-laden things upon earth. When upon your return to the table I saw you take out your pencil and draw lines upon the envelope, I was convinced that your were endeavoring to realise some projected improvement which was to be brought about by a bazaar. Your face still showed some indecision, so that I was able to break in upon you with my advice that you should assist in so good an object.”

  I could not help smiling at the extreme simplicity of his explanation.

  “Of course, it was as easy as possible,” said I.

  My remark appeared to nettle him.

  “I may add,” said he, “that the particular help which you have been asked to give was that you should write in their album, and that you have already made up your mind that the present incident will be the subject of your article.”

  “But how - -!” I cried.

  “It is as easy as possible,” said he, “and I leave its solution to your own ingenuity. In the meantime,” he added, rasing his paper, “you will excuse me if I return to this very interesting article upon the trees of Cremona, and the exact reasons for the pre-eminence in the manufacture of violins. It is one of those small outlying problems to which I am sometimes tempted to direct my attention.”

  HOW WATSON LEARNT THE TRICK

  This short story was written for Queen Mary, wife of King George V. When the Queen’s Dolls’ House was created in 1923, as a demonstration of British ingenuity and craftsmanship as well as a tribute to the beloved queen, many prominent authors created miniature books to be part of its library. This story, handwritten in a volume the size of a postage stamp, was Doyle’s contribution. It was subsequently published in The Book of the Queen’s Dolls’ House.

  HOW WATSON LEARNT THE TRICK

  Watson had been watching his companion intently ever since he had sat down to the breakfast table. Holmes happened to look up and catch his eye.

  “Well, Watson, what are you thinking about?” he asked.

  “About you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Holmes. I was thinking how superficial are these tricks of yours, and how wonderful it is that the public should continue to show interest in them.”

  “I quite agree,” said Holmes. “In fact, I have a recollection that I have myself made a similar remark.”

  “Your methods,” said Watson severely, “are really easily acquired.”

  “No doubt,” Holmes answered with a smile. “Perhaps you will yourself give an example of this method of reasoning.”

  “With pleasure,” said Watson. “I am able to say that you were greatly preoccupied when you got up this morning.”

  “Excellent!” said Holmes. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Because you are usually a very tidy man and yet you have forgotten to shave.”

  “Dear me! How very clever!” said Holmes. “I had no idea, Watson, that you were so apt a pupil. Has your eagle eye detected anything more?”

  “Yes, Holmes. You have a client named Barlow, and you have not been successful with his case.”

  “Dear me, how could you know that?”

  “I saw the name outside his envelope. When you opened it you gave a groan and thrust it into your pocket with a frown on your face.”

  “Admirable! You are indeed observant. Any other points?”

  “I fear, Holmes, that you have taken to financial speculation.”

  “How could you tell that, Watson?”

  “You opened the paper, turned to the financial page, and gave a loud exclamation of interest.”

  “Well, that is very clever of you, Watson. Any more?”

  “Yes, Holmes, you have put on your black coat, instead of your dressing gown, which proves that your are expecting some important visitor at once.”

  “Anything more?”

  “I have no doubt that I could find other points, Holmes, but I only give you these few, in order to show you that there are other people in
the world who can be as clever as you.”

  “And some not so clever,” said Holmes. “I admit that they are few, but I am afraid, my dear Watson, that I must count you among them.”

  “What do you mean, Holmes?”

  “Well, my dear fellow, I fear your deductions have not been so happy as I should have wished.”

  “You mean that I was mistaken.”

  “Just a little that way, I fear. Let us take the points in their order: I did not shave because I have sent my razor to be sharpened. I put on my coat because I have, worse luck, an early meeting with my dentist. His name is Barlow, and the letter was to confirm the appointment. The cricket page is beside the financial one, and I turned to it to find if Surrey was holding its own against Kent. But go on, Watson, go on! It ‘s a very superficial trick, and no doubt you will soon acquire it.”

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE TALL MAN

  When searching through Conan Doyle’s papers, a biographer of his came across an unfinished short story, with a plan and quotes. Various authors have attempted to complete the story and put it alongside the canon. Some are very close to Doyle’s plot, others including variations.

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE TALL MAN

  A girl calls on Sherlock Holmes in great distress. A murder has been committed in her village - her uncle has been found shot in his bedroom, apparently through the open window. Her lover has been arrested. He is suspected on several grounds:

  (1) He has had a violent quarrel with the old man, who has threatened to alter his will, which is in the girl’s favour, if she ever speaks to her lover again.

  (2) A revolver has been found in his house, with his initials scratched on the butt and one chamber discharged. The bullet found in the dead man’s body fits this revolver.

  (3) He possesses a light ladder, the only one in the village, and there are marks of the foot of such a ladder on the soil below the bedroom window, while similar soil (fresh) has been found on the feet of the ladder.

  His only reply is that he never possessed a revolver, and that it has been discovered in a drawer of the hatstand in his hall, where it would be easy for anyone to place it. As for the mould on the ladder (which he has not used for a month) he has no explanation whatever.

  Notwithstanding these damning proofs, however, the girl persists in believing her lover to be perfectly innocent, while she suspects another man, who has also been making love to her, though she has no evidence whatever against him, except that she feels by instinct that he is a villain who would stick at nothing.

  Sherlock and Watson go down to the village and inspect the spot, together with the detective in charge of the case. The marks of the ladder attract Holmes’s special attention. He ponders - looks about him - inquires if there is any place where anything bulky could be concealed. There is - a disused well, which has not been searched because apparently nothing is missing. Sherlock, however, insists on the well being explored. A village boy consents to be lowered into it, with a candle. Before he goes down Holmes whispers something in his ear - he appears surpised. The boy is lowered and, on his signal, pulled up again. He brings to the surface a pair of stilts!

  “Good Lord!” cries the detective, “who on earth could have expected this?” - “I did,” replies Holmes. - “But, why?” - “Because the marks on the garden soil were made by two perpendicular poles - the feet of a ladder, which is on the slope, would have made depressions slanting towards the wall.”

  (N.B. The soil was a strip beside a gravel path on which the stilts left no impression.)

  This discovery lessened the weight of the evidence of the ladder, though the other evidence remained.

  The next step was to trace the user of the stilts, if possible. But he had been to wary, and after two days nothing had been discovered. At the inquest the young man was found guilty of murder. But, Holmes is convinced of his innocence. In these circumstances, and as a last hope, he resolves on a sensational stratagem.

  He goes up to London, and, returning on the evening of the day when the old man is buried, he and Watson and the detective go to the cottage of the man whom the girl suspects, taking with them a man whom Holmes has brought from London, who has a disguise which makes him the living image of the murdered man, wizened body, grey shriveled face, skullcap and all. They have also with them the pair of stilts. On reaching the cottage, the disguised man mounts the stilts and stalks up the path towards the man’s open bedroom window, at the same time crying out his name in a ghastly sepulchral voice. The man, who is already half mad with guilty terrors, rushes to the window and beholds in the moonlight the terrific spectacle of his victim stalking towards him. He reels back with a scream as the apparition, advancing to the window, calls in the same unearthly voice - “as you came for me, I have come for you!” When the party rush upstairs into his room he darts to them, clinging to them, gasping, and, pointing to the window, where the dead man’s face is glaring in, shrieks out, “Save me! My God! He has come for me as I came for him.”

  Collapsing after this dramatic scene, he makes a full confession. He has marked the revolver, and concealed it where it was found - he has also smeared the ladder-foot with soil from the old man’s garden. His object was to put his rival out of the way, in the hope of gaining possession of the girl and her money.

  THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

  This is the final collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. Originally published in 1927, it contains stories published between 1921 and 1927.

  An early edition of the collection

  THE CASE-BOOK OF SHERLOCK HOLMES

  CONTENTS

  ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE

  ADVENTURE II. THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE

  ADVENTURE III. THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN

  ADVENTURE IV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE

  ADVENTURE V. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS

  ADVENTURE VI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT

  ADVENTURE VII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER

  ADVENTURE VIII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN

  ADVENTURE IX. THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES

  ADVENTURE X. THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION’S MANE

  ADVENTURE XI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER

  ADVENTURE XII. THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE

  PREFACE

  I fear that Mr. Sherlock Holmes may become like one of those popular tenors who, having outlived their time, are still tempted to make repeated farewell bows to their indulgent audiences. This must cease and he must go the way of all flesh, material or imaginary. One likes to think that there is some fantastic limbo for the children of imagination, some strange, impossible place where the beaux of Fielding may still make love to the belles of Richardson, where Scott’s heroes still may strut, Dickens’s delightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, and Thackeray’s worldlings continue to carry on their reprehensible careers. Perhaps in some humble corner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock and his Watson may for a time find a place, while some more astute sleuth with some even less astute comrade may fill the stage which they have vacated.

  His career has been a long one — though it is possible to exaggerate it; decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare that his adventures formed the reading of their boyhood do not meet the response from me which they seem to expect. One is not anxious to have one’s personal dates handled so unkindly. As a matter of cold fact, Holmes made his debut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Sign of Four, two small booklets which appeared between 1887 and 1889. It was in 1891 that “A Scandal in Bohemia,” the first of the long series of short stories, appeared in The Strand Magazine. The public seemed appreciative and desirous of more, so that from that date, thirty-nine years ago, they have been produced in a broken series which now contains no fewer than fifty-six stories, republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, and His Last Bow. and there remain these twelve published during the last few years which are here produced under the title of The Case
Book of Sherlock Holmes. He began his adventures in the very heart of the later Victorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward, and has managed to hold his own little niche even in these feverish days. Thus it would be true to say that those who first read of him, as young men, have lived to see their own grown-up children following the same adventures in the same magazine. It is a striking example of the patience and loyalty of the British public.

  I had fully determined at the conclusion of The Memoirs to bring Holmes to an end, as I felt that my literary energies should not be directed too much into one channel. That pale, clear-cut face and loose-limbed figure were taking up an undue share of my imagination. I did the deed, but fortunately no coroner had pronounced upon the remains, and so, after a long interval, it was not difficult for me to respond to the flattering demand and to explain my rash act away. I have never regretted it, for I have not in actual practice found that these lighter sketches have prevented me from exploring and finding my limitations in such varied branches of literature as history, poetry, historical novels, psychic research, and the drama. Had Holmes never existed I could not have done more, though he may perhaps have stood a little in the way of the recognition of my more serious literary work.

  And so, reader, farewell to Sherlock Holmes! I thank you for your past constancy, and can but hope that some return has been made in the shape of that distraction from the worries of life and stimulating change of thought which can only be found in the fairy kingdom of romance.

  ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.

  ADVENTURE I. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE

  It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidy room of the first floor in Baker Street which had been the starting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him at the scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench of chemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle, which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes came round to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wise and tactful page, who had helped a little to fill up the gap of loneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of the great detective.