The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures - Mike Ashley [85]
“You make it sound so obvious and straightforward, Mr Holmes!” exclaimed MacGlevin in amazement. “I’m sure that if we had spent all day examining the museum, we should not have observed the little traces which you found, nor made anything of them if we had done!”
“Aye, it’s a grand job of work all right,” said MacPherson with feeling. “I may get my sergeant’s stripes over this arrest. I don’t know how I can ever thank you, Mr Holmes,” he continued, extending his hand. “Without your help, I don’t know that we should ever have caught those villains!”
“It is always a pleasure to assist the forces of law and order,” returned my friend with a smile. “Now, Watson,” he continued, turning to me: “the fresh air on Uffa has quite invigorated me! What say you to another expedition, this time to catch something a little smaller and tastier, for our supper?”
The Case of the Sporting Squire
Guy N. Smith
It was during 1887 that Watson obtained permission from Holmes to seek formal publication for his account of their meeting and the case known as “A Study in Scarlet”. It’s quite likely he finalized this novel while on holiday in Scotland and submitted it to the publisher Ward Lock via his agent Arthur Conan Doyle. Ward Lock published it in their Beeton’s Christmas Annual that December and that was the first time that the general public came to learn of Sherlock Holmes. It inevitably led to an upsurge in the number of requests Holmes received and also, Holmes jokingly acknowledged, caused him to start going about his business in disguise. More importantly, it meant that Watson began to keep a better record of the cases. Flushed by the success of this sale Watson now wrote up most of the cases that happened over the following year from the end of 1887 and through 1888. These include some of Holmes’s best: “Silver Blaze”, with the curious incident of the dog in the night; “The Valley of Fear”; “The Greek Interpreter” – which is remarkable in that not until now did Watson apparently discover that Holmes had a brother, Mycroft, though we know he was aware of him earlier; and “The Cardboard Box”, in which Holmes reveals his ability to deduce Watson’s thoughts. Another of the cases falling in this period was that of “The Sporting Squire”, one that Watson did not refer to but which came to light following the investigations of that redoubtable author Guy N. Smith early in his own career when undertaking research into the theory and practice of gamekeeping.
I have long learned to tolerate the varying moods of my colleague, Sherlock Holmes. When a working fit was upon him, nothing could exceed his energy; at other times he would lie on the sofa, scarcely moving from morning to night, his eyes closed but I knew that he did not sleep. He either contemplated some intricate problem or else he was melancholic, but I knew better than to intrude upon his thoughts for it would only evoke some brusque reply, for my friend could be exceedingly rude when his private musings were disturbed.
It was in February 1888 that Holmes had reposed in such a fashion for three whole days, following upon a period when he had busied himself with his various files, scribbling on a notepad and occasionally muttering to himself. He had not eaten throughout this time, his only form of sustenance lying in that strong-smelling shag tobacco, a cloud of pipesmoke enshrouding him with the opaqueness of a November fog.
“Poison, Watson,” his sudden emergence from that apparent somnial state caused me to start involuntarily, “is the device of more murderers who have escaped the gallows than any other weapon used. Poison is, in many cases, undetectable, only the symptoms of some being a guide to their identification. Often death occurs after the villain has returned to his normal routine and the victim is diagnosed as having died from natural causes. Doubtless you, yourself, have, on more than one occasion, been deceived by the guile of some insidious murderer who has later reaped the rewards of his vile deed.”
“I would hate to think so, Holmes.” I confess