The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Short Stories: The Return of Sherlock Holmes, His Last Bow and The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes (Non-slipcased edition) (Vol. 2) (The Annotated Books)

by Doyle, Arthur Conan

  22 In the late 1880s, the Swiss army decided that its soldiers would be best served if several of their necessary implements were combined into one pocket knife. Such a knife would require a screwdriver (with which the soldier’s rifle could be disassembled), a can opener, a utensil with which holes could be bored, and, of course, a blade. This design evolved into pocket knives for the general public with a wide variety of tools incorporated. Harrod’s 1895 catalogue, for example, illustrates six different types of pocket knives that include a corkscrew.

  23 Latin: anew, afresh. A trial de novo is one at which none of the evidence or rulings from any previous trial is automatically placed before the judge.

  24 Note that the level of the contents of the bottle changes without any explanation by Dr. Watson. When previously observed, the Doctor records that the bottle is “two-thirds full.” Perhaps Holmes poured some wine off to conduct an actual experiment, instead of simply imagining the result. William R. Cochran, in “The Magic Wine Bottle,” suggests that Holmes and Watson drank the missing beverage.

  25 American editions inexplicably have “Sydenham.”

  26 Ranking below barons, baronets are given precedence over most knights, various companions, and various descendants of the younger sons of peers. As a baronet, Brackenstall would be formally addressed as “Sir Eustace Brackenstall, Bt.” (or the fuller abbreviation “Bart,” now considered old-fashioned). His wife would be known as “Your Ladyship” and addressed, as Holmes and Watson have done properly, as “Lady Brackenstall,” her Christian name being dropped. Only the daughter of a duke, marquis, or earl would retain her Christian name in the formal address. See, for example, Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope, the youngest daughter of the Duke of Belminster (“The Second Stain”).

  Note that a mere knight would also be referred to as “Sir Eustace . . .” and his wife as “Lady Brackenstall.” However, a baronetage was hereditary, while a knighthood was not. Even if Watson did not actually know that Brackenstall was a baronet, his evident lack of merits strongly implies that his title was an hereditary honour, rather than earned. Of course, it is unthinkable that Watson would refer to someone as a baronet who was not.

  27 The Battle of Marengo—a major engagement in the French Revolutionary Wars—was fought on June 14, 1800, between the French, commanded by Napoleon Bonaparte, and the Austrians, led by General Michael Friedrich von Melas. Having miscalculated where Melas was, Napoleon came upon the village of Marengo in Piedmont, northern Italy, with his forces scattered and unprepared for combat. Melas’s surprise attack drove the French four miles backward, spelling certain victory for the Austrians. But here the overconfident Melas made an error, handing over command to a subordinate officer and departing for Alessandria. In a matter of hours, a French division headed by General Louis Desaix returned to launch a vicious counterattack, turning the tide and sending the Austrians into retreat. Napoleon later came to regard the Battle of Marengo as the most brilliant victory of his career, despite the fact that he was only very narrowly saved from defeat.

  “Chicken Marengo,” a traditional Provençal dish, is popularly supposed to have been invented for Napoleon after the battle. Reportedly, foragers were only able to find chicken, tomatoes, eggs, crayfish, garlic, olive oil, and cognac, as well as the soldiers’ bread, and the dish was cobbled together with the ingredients on hand. Napoleon is said to have so liked the dish (or was so superstitious) that he ordered that it be prepared after every succeeding battle.

  28 To apply hot, moist cloths to the body; to treat with a poultice or warm medicinal compress.

  29 A shooting metaphor, meaning to draw the fox from its covert or temporary lair. When the animal “breaks cover,” the hunt begins.

  30 “Crocker” in the American editions.

  31 Subtly racist, drawn from U.S. slang, the phrase meant “honest.” The Oxford English Dictionary records its first usage in English writing in 1883.

  32 Despite Croker’s adoring portrait of her, some commentators suggest tartly that Mary Fraser of Adelaide, in throwing aside a man who truly loved her, got only what she deserved in marrying Sir Eustace. John Hall, for instance, in Sidelights on Holmes, sees her as little more than a social climber, commenting that “Miss Fraser evidently agreed with [Croker’s] view, and the title and money outweighed Sir Eustace’s manifest defects.” Conversely, drawing only upon her character as evidence (and in flat contrast to Theresa Wright’s statement that Sir Eustace’s “title and his money” attracted Mary), David Brown comes to the unique conclusion that Mary herself was a wealthy woman and that Sir Eustace married her for her money. Others propose that Holmes was in fact taken in by Mary Fraser, who married Sir Eustace Brackenstall for his money and plotted to use Captain Croker to kill her new husband.

  33 John Hall makes the case that that name was “bitch,” and grants that even a person of delicate sensibilities “could not really blame Sir Eustace for the stray naughty word, considering that he had come down from his lonely bedroom to find his wife entertaining a jolly sailor in his ancestral dining-room.”

  34 Holmes earlier reached the conclusion that, because two glasses of wine were clear of beeswing and one was full of it, “only two glasses were used, and that the dregs of both were poured into a third glass, so as to give the false impression that three people had been here.” With Captain Croker’s explanation, it becomes evident that Holmes’s conclusion was indeed correct, although one of the glasses likely still had a trace of beeswing. Yet his reasoning was actually incorrect. A little further thought would have shown Holmes that the beeswing would be heaviest not in the third glass, but in the first glass poured—that is, the one offered to Lady Brackenstall—and that only one glass would be clear of the sediment altogether.

  Captain Croker never says that a third glass was poured as part of the plan. In fact, Theresa Wright, who was as “cool as ice,” could well have used a glass herself! At any rate, Holmes appears to be accurate in assuming that the plotters decided to fill a third glass for appearances. The ensuing situation is where Holmes’s thinking goes slightly awry. Instead of the third glass, filled partly from each of the other two, having the most sediment, it would contain the least, being poured from the top portion of the wine in each glass. Lady Brackenstall’s glass would likely be the fullest, with only “a little [poured] between [her] lips,” while Captain Croker’s would have been vigorously drunk. The third glass would have been filled, then, by pouring off wine from Lady Brackenstall’s glass into an empty third glass. Because her glass would have sat the longest, the sediment would have settled to the greatest extent in her glass.

  A simple experiment conducted by this editor demonstrates the result: one glass nearly clear of sediment, one glass with a moderate amount (Captain Croker’s glass), and one glass heavily charged with sediment (the remains of Lady Brackenstall’s original glass). So, while Holmes reached the right conclusion—namely, that there was something wrong with the amount of beeswing in each glass—he certainly explained his reasoning incorrectly. Perhaps this was simply an insight produced by his “special knowledge and special powers.”

  35 “The voice of the people is the voice of God,” a proverb attributed to William of Malmesbury in the twelfth century. Legal scholars credit the growth of the jury as an institution in the Middle Ages to its rôle in ameliorating the “divine” justice dispensed by the royal court.

  36 “The Abbey Grange” was first published in 1904, and the events of the case were said by Watson to have occurred “towards the end of the winter of ’97.” D. Martin Dakin asks, “[H]ow could Watson have been authorised to let the cat out of the bag less than seven years later? Would it not make Croker liable to instant arrest, not to mention Lady Brackenstall and the maid? Possibly even Holmes himself as an accessory after?” The only solution, as far as Dakin sees it, is that Croker and the former Lady Brackenstall (now, presumably, Mrs. Croker) had died in the intervening seven years, thus releasing Watson to write his tale. Still, publication of �
��The Abbey Grange” would surely have upset Hopkins once he realised how Holmes had kept him in the dark—unless, Dakin suggests hopefully, Hopkins realised that Holmes’s motives were pure, and that he had wished to spare Hopkins the unpleasantness of arresting and trying a man as decent as Croker.

  Notwithstanding that the case was not published by Watson until 1904, the facts were apparently made known by him to his literary agent, Dr. Arthur Conan Doyle, who, in March 1899, published in the Strand Magazine a remarkably similar tale entitled “B.24” (later republished in Conan Doyle’s Round the Fire Stories), involving a beautiful woman who murders her sadistic husband and arranges for a burglar to be hanged for it.

  THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND STAIN1

  In “The Naval Treaty,” Dr. Watson mentions “The Adventure of the Second Stain” as a case involving “interests of such importance and implicat[ing] so many of the first families in the kingdom that for many years it will be impossible to make it public.” That case is definitely not this case. (For one thing, one may search in vain for mention of Fritz von Waldbaum or Monsieur Dubuque.) Yet this “Second Stain” is also a case of great international importance and one of the few reported matters to involve Holmes with political crimes, the others being “The Naval Treaty” and “The Bruce-Partington Plans.” The events that take place are reminiscent of those in Edgar Allan Poe’s “Purloined Letter,” and it becomes clear that Holmes—who, in A Study in Scarlet, decries C. Auguste Dupin, the detective of the “Purloined Letter,” as “a very inferior fellow”—is not above copying the tactics of the era’s other famous detective. “The Second Stain” is also noteworthy as the last case reported by Watson before his announcement of Holmes’s retirement. The news of Holmes’s retirement closed the series of stories known as The Return of Sherlock Holmes, and the public had to wait until 1908 for any further tales of the detective.

  I HAD INTENDED the “Adventure of the Abbey Grange” to be the last of those exploits of my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, which I should ever communicate to the public.2 This resolution of mine was not due to any lack of material, since I have notes of many hundreds of cases to which I have never alluded, nor was it caused by any waning interest on the part of my readers in the singular personality and unique methods of this remarkable man. The real reason lay in the reluctance which Mr. Holmes has shown to the continued publication of his experiences. So long as he was in actual professional practice the records of his successes were of some practical value to him;3 but since he has definitely retired from London and betaken himself to study and bee-farming on the Sussex Downs,4 notoriety has become hateful to him, and he has peremptorily requested that his wishes in this matter should be strictly observed.5 It was only upon my representing to him that I had given a promise that the “Adventure of the Second Stain” should be published when the times were ripe, and pointed out to him that it is only appropriate that this long series of episodes should culminate in the most important international case which he has ever been called upon to handle,6 that I at last succeeded in obtaining his consent that a carefully guarded account of the incident should at last be laid before the public. If in telling the story I seem to be somewhat vague in certain details, the public will readily understand that there is an excellent reason for my reticence.

  Frederick Dorr Steele, Collier’s, 1905

  It was, then, in a year, and even in a decade, that shall be nameless, that upon one Tuesday morning in autumn we found two visitors of European fame within the walls of our humble room in Baker Street. The one, austere, high-nosed, eagle-eyed, and dominant, was none other than the illustrious Lord Bellinger,7 twice Premier of Britain. The other, dark, clear-cut, and elegant, hardly yet of middle age, and endowed with every beauty of body and of mind, was the Right Honourable Trelawney Hope, Secretary for European Affairs, and the most rising statesman in the country. They sat side by side upon our paper-littered settee, and it was easy to see from their worn and anxious faces that it was business of the most pressing importance which had brought them. The Premier’s thin, blue-veined hands were clasped tightly over the ivory head of his umbrella, and his gaunt, ascetic face looked gloomily from Holmes to me. The European Secretary pulled nervously at his moustache8 and fidgeted with the seals of his watch-chain.

  “When I discovered my loss, Mr. Holmes, which was at eight o’clock this morning, I at once informed the Prime Minister. It was at his suggestion that we have both come to you.”

  “Have you informed the police?”

  “No, sir,” said the Prime Minister, with the quick, decisive manner for which he was famous.

  “We have not done so, nor is it possible that we should do so. To inform the police must, in the long run, mean to inform the public. This is what we particularly desire to avoid.”

  “And why, sir?”

  “They sat side by side.”

  Sidney Paget, Strand Magazine, 1904

  “Because the document in question is of such immense importance that its publication might very easily—I might almost say probably—lead to European complications of the utmost moment. It is not too much to say that peace or war may hang upon the issue. Unless its recovery can be attended with the utmost secrecy, then it may as well not be recovered at all, for all that is aimed at by those who have taken it is that its contents should be generally known.”

  “I understand. Now, Mr. Trelawney Hope, I should be much obliged if you would tell me exactly the circumstances under which this document disappeared.”

  “That can be done in a very few words, Mr. Holmes. The letter—for it was a letter from a foreign potentate—was received six days ago. It was of such importance that I have never left it in my safe, but I have taken it across each evening to my house in Whitehall Terrace, and kept it in my bedroom in a locked despatch-box. It was there last night. Of that I am certain. I actually opened the box while I was dressing for dinner and saw the document inside. This morning it was gone. The despatch-box had stood beside the glass upon my dressing-table all night. I am a light sleeper, and so is my wife. We are both prepared to swear that no one could have entered the room during the night. And yet I repeat that the paper is gone.”

  “What time did you dine?”

  “Half-past seven.”

  “How long was it before you went to bed?”

  “My wife had gone to the theatre. I waited up for her. It was half-past eleven before we went to our room.”

  “Then for four hours the despatch-box had lain unguarded?”

  “No one is ever permitted to enter that room save the house-maid in the morning, and my valet, or my wife’s maid, during the rest of the day. They are both trusty servants who have been with us for some time. Besides, neither of them could possibly have known that there was anything more valuable than the ordinary departmental papers in my despatch-box.”

  “Who did know of the existence of that letter?”

  “No one in the house.”

  “Surely your wife knew?”

  “No, sir; I had said nothing to my wife until I missed the paper this morning.”9

  The Premier nodded approvingly.

  “I have long known, sir, how high is your sense of public duty,” said he. “I am convinced that in the case of a secret of this importance it would rise superior to the most intimate domestic ties.”

  The European Secretary bowed.

  “You do me no more than justice, sir. Until this morning I have never breathed one word to my wife upon this matter.”

  “Could she have guessed?”

  “No, Mr. Holmes, she could not have guessed—nor could anyone have guessed.”

  “Have you lost any documents before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Who is there in England who did know of the existence of this letter?”

  “Each member of the Cabinet was informed of it yesterday; but the pledge of secrecy which attends every Cabinet meeting was increased by the solemn warning which was given by the Prime Minister. Good hea
vens, to think that within a few hours I should myself have lost it!” His handsome face was distorted with a spasm of despair, and his hands tore at his hair. For a moment we caught a glimpse of the natural man—impulsive, ardent, keenly sensitive. The next the aristocratic mask was replaced, and the gentle voice had returned. “Besides the members of the Cabinet there are two, or possibly three, departmental officials who know of the letter. No one else in England, Mr. Holmes, I assure you.”

  “But abroad?”

  “I believe that no one abroad has seen it save the man who wrote it. I am well convinced that his Ministers—that the usual official channels have not been employed.”

  Holmes considered for some little time.

  “Now, sir, I must ask you more particularly what this document is, and why its disappearance should have such momentous consequences?”

  The two statesmen exchanged a quick glance, and the Premier’s shaggy eyebrows gathered in a frown.

  “Mr. Holmes, the envelope is a long, thin one of pale blue colour. There is a seal of red wax stamped with a crouching lion. It is addressed in large, bold handwriting to—”

  “I fear, sir,” said Holmes, “that, interesting and indeed essential as these details are, my inquiries must go more to the root of things. What was the letter?”

  “That is a State secret of the utmost importance, and I fear that I cannot tell you, nor do I see that it is necessary. If by the aid of the powers which you are said to possess you can find such an envelope as I describe with its enclosure, you will have deserved well of your country, and earned any reward which it lies in our power to bestow.”

  Sherlock Holmes rose with a smile.

  “You are two of the most busy men in the country,” said he, “and in my own small way I have also a good many calls upon me. I regret exceedingly that I cannot help you in this matter, and any continuation of this interview would be a waste of time.”