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    His Last Bow: Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
    His Last Bow: Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
    His Last Bow: Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
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    His Last Bow: Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes

    By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Otto Penzler

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    Eight spectacular Sherlock Holmes stories, including his dramatic final adventure

    Years have passed since he tangled with Irene Adler and Professor Moriarty, since he solved the mysteries of the Red-Headed League and the Hound of the Baskervilles, but even in retirement Sherlock Holmes remains as sharp witted and inimitable as ever. Good thing, because England needs him and his loyal friend Dr. Watson now more than ever. On the eve of World War I, German agents have infiltrated the British military; crucial state secrets are within their grasp. Only Holmes and Watson can foil the Kaiser’s spies and rescue the nation from a fate too awful to imagine.
     
    In addition to the title story—one of literature’s most thrilling swan songs—this collection includes “The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge,” “The Adventure of the Cardboard Box,” “The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot,” and four other captivating mysteries showcasing Arthur Conan Doyle and his most famous creation at the height of their impressive powers.
     
    This ebook features a new introduction by Otto Penzler and has been professionally proofread to ensure accuracy and readability on all devices.

    “Perfect bite-size treats . . . You’ll be hooked inside two pages.” —The Independent
     
    “Every writer owes something to Holmes.” —T. S. Eliot
     
    “Sherlock Holmes is the very foundation stone of the edifice that is crime fiction.” —The Times (London)
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMysteriousPress.com Open Road
    Release dateApr 22, 2014
    ISBN9781480489776
    His Last Bow: Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
    Author

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

    Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859–1930) was a Scottish writer and physician, most famous for his stories about the detective Sherlock Holmes and long-suffering sidekick Dr Watson. Conan Doyle was a prolific writer whose other works include fantasy and science fiction stories, plays, romances, poetry, non-fiction and historical novels.

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      His Last Bow - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

      His Last Bow

      Some Later Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes

      Arthur Conan Doyle

      Introduction

      by Otto Penzler

      About one hundred years ago, Sherlock Holmes was described as one of the three most famous people who ever lived, the other two being Jesus Christ and Houdini. There are some who claim that he is a fictional character, but this notion is, of course, absurd. Every schoolchild knows what he looks like and what he does for a living, and most know many of his peculiar characteristics.

      The tall, slender, hawk-nosed figure, with his deerstalker hat and Inverness cape, is instantly recognizable in every corner of the world. In addition to the superb stories describing his adventures written by his friend, roommate, and chronicler Dr. John H. Watson (with the assistance of his literary agent, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle), Holmes has been impersonated on the stage, television, and radio, and in countless motion pictures. More than twenty-five thousand books, stories, and articles have been written about him by famous authors, amateur writers, and scholars.

      Sherlock (he was nearly named Sherrinford) was born on January 6, 1845, on the farmstead of Mycroft (the name of his older brother) in the North Riding of Yorkshire. He solved his first case (eventually titled The Gloria Scott) while a twenty-year-old student at Oxford. Following graduation, he became the world’s first consulting detective—a vocation he followed for twenty-three years.

      In January 1881 he was looking for someone to share his new quarters at 221B Baker Street and a friend introduced him to Dr. John H. Watson. Before agreeing to share the apartment, the two men aired their respective shortcomings. Holmes confessed, I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. He also smokes a vile shag tobacco and conducts experiments with loathsome-smelling chemicals. And he failed to mention an affection for cocaine. Although he ruefully noted his fondness for scratching away at the violin while in contemplation, he proved to be a virtuoso who could calm his roommate’s raw nerves with a melodious air.

      Watson’s admitted faults include the keeping of a bull pup, a strong objection to arguments because his nerves cannot stand them, a penchant for arising from bed at all sorts of ungodly hours, and an immense capacity for laziness.

      I have another set of vices when I’m well, he said, but those are the principal ones at present.

      They became friends, and Watson chronicled the deeds of his illustrious roommate, often to the displeasure of Holmes, who resented the melodramatic and sensational tales. He believed that the affairs, if told at all, should be put to the public as straightforward exercises in cold logic and deductive reasoning.

      Holmes possesses not only excellent deductive powers but also a giant intellect. Anatomy, chemistry, mathematics, British law, and sensational literature are but a few areas of his vast sphere of knowledge, although he is admittedly not well versed in such subjects as astronomy, philosophy, and politics. He has published several distinguished works on erudite subjects: Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos; A Study of the Influence of a Trade upon the Form of the Hand; Upon the Polyphonic Motets of Lassus; A Study of the Chaldean Roots in the Ancient Cornish Language; and, his magnum opus, The Practical Handbook in Bee Culture, with Some Observations upon the Segregation of the Queen. His four-volume The Whole Art of Detection has not yet been published. When he needs information that his brain has not retained, he refers to a small, carefully selected library of reference works and a series of commonplace books. Since Holmes cares only about facts that aid his work, he ignores whatever he considers superfluous. He explains his theory of education thus: I consider that a man’s brain originally is like an empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose. A fool takes in all the lumber of every sort that he comes across, so that the knowledge which might be useful to him gets crowded out, or at best is jumbled up with a lot of other things, so that he has a difficulty in laying his hands upon it. … It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls and can distend to any extent. Depend upon it there comes a time when for every addition of knowledge you forget something that you knew before.

      An athletic body complements Holmes’s outstanding intelligence. He seems even taller than his six feet because he is extremely thin. His narrow, hooked nose and sharp, piercing eyes give him a hawklike appearance. He often astonished Watson with displays of strength and agility; he is a superb boxer, fencer, and singlestick player. He needed all his strength when he met his nemesis, the ultimate arch-criminal Professor James Moriarty, in a struggle at the edge of the Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland. The evenly matched adversaries, locked in battle, fell over the cliff; both were reported to be dead. All England mourned the passing of its great keeper of the law, but in 1894, after being missing for three years, Holmes returned. He had not been killed in the fall, after all, but had seized a good opportunity to fool his many enemies in the underworld. He had taken over the identity of a Danish explorer, Sigerson, and traveled to many parts of the world, including New Jersey, where he is believed to have had an affair with Irene Adler (who will always be the woman to Holmes), and to Tibet, where he learned the secret of long life from the Dalai Lama.

      When Miss Adler (the famous and beautiful opera singer Holmes first meets in A Scandal in Bohemia) died in 1903, he retired to keep bees on the southern slopes of the Sussex Downs with his old housekeeper, Mrs. Martha Hudson. He came out of retirement briefly before World War I, but his life since then has been quiet.

      Holmes has outlived the people who have participated at various times in his adventures. In addition to Mycroft, Watson, Moriarty, Irene Adler, and Mrs. Hudson, the best-known auxiliary personalities in the stories include Billy the page boy, who occasionally announces visitors to 221B; Mary Morstan, who becomes Mrs. Watson; the Baker Street Irregulars, street urchins led by Wiggins, who scramble after information for Holmes’s coins; Lestrade, an inept Scotland Yard inspector; Stanley Hopkins, a Scotland Yard man of greater ability; Gregson, the smartest of the Scotland Yarders according to Holmes; and Colonel Sebastian Moran, the second most dangerous man in London.

      The first story written about Sherlock Holmes, A Study in Scarlet, originally appeared in Beeton’s Christmas Annual for 1887 and subsequently was published in book form in London by Ward, Lock & Company in 1888; the first American edition was published by J. B. Lippincott & Company in 1890. Holmes is called to assist Scotland Yard on what Inspector Tobias Gregson calls a bad business during the night at 3, Lauriston Gardens. An American, Enoch J. Drebber, has been murdered, and Yard men can point to only a single clue, the word Rache scrawled on the wall in blood. They believe it to be the first letters of a woman’s name, Rachel, but Holmes suggests that it is the German word for revenge. Soon, the dead man’s private secretary, Stangerson, is also found murdered; the same word is written in blood nearby. A long middle section of this novel, dealing with Mormons, is an unusual flashback.

      The Sign of the Four first appeared simultaneously in the English and American editions of Lippincott’s Magazine for February 1890. Spencer Blacket published the first English book edition in the same year; P. F. Collier published the first American book edition in 1891. Calling at 221B Baker Street for help is Mary Morstan, a fetching young lady by whom Watson is totally charmed; ultimately, he marries her. She is the daughter of a captain in the Indian Army who mysteriously disappeared ten years earlier and has never been heard from again. Four years after the disappearance, Miss Morstan received an anonymous gift, a huge, lustrous pearl, and got another like it each year thereafter. Holmes and Watson accompany her to a tryst with the eccentric Thaddeus Sholto, twin brother of Bartholomew Sholto and the son of a major who was Captain Morstan’s only friend in London. Holmes sets out to find a fabulous treasure and is soon involved with the strange Jonathan Small and Tonga.

      A Scandal in Bohemia first appeared in the Strand Magazine in July 1891; its first book appearance was in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (1892). The first published short story in which Holmes appears features the detective in an uncharacteristic battle of wits with a lady, and with no real crime to solve. The king of Bohemia has had a rather indiscreet affair with Irene Adler, who threatens to create an international scandal when he attempts to discard her and marry a noblewoman. Holmes is hired to obtain possession of a certain unfortunate photograph before it can be sent to the would-be bride’s royal family. Holmes is outwitted, and he never stops loving Irene for fooling him.

      In The Hound of the Baskervilles (1902), Sir Charles Baskerville, of Baskerville Hall, Dartmoor, Devon, has been found dead. There are no signs of violence at the scene, but his face is incredibly distorted with terror. Dr. James Mortimer enlists the aid of Holmes to protect the young heir to the estate, Sir Henry Baskerville. Watson goes to the grim moor to keep an eye on Sir Henry but is warned to return to London by a neighbor, Beryl Stapleton, the lovely sister of a local naturalist, who hears a blood-chilling moan at the edge of the great Grimpen Mire and identifies it as the legendary Hound of the Baskervilles, calling for its prey.

      The original stories about Holmes number sixty; more than that number have been written by other authors, however. Even Conan Doyle wrote a parody of the characters, How Watson Learned the Trick, first published in The Book of the Queen’s Dolls’ House in 1924. The Seven-Per-Cent Solution (1974) by Nicholas Meyer was a longtime bestseller. Among the most famous pastiches are those by H. F. Heard, whose Mr. Mycroft is a pseudonymous Holmes; the tales of August Derleth, whose Solar Pons is the Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street; and The Unique Hamlet (1920) by Vincent Starrett, in which the great detective appears under his true name.

      Other names (and guises) under which Holmes has appeared are Herlock Sholmes and Holmlock Shears (in Maurice LeBlanc’s The Exploits of Arsène Lupin, 1907, and The Fair-haired Lady, 1909); Picklock Holes (in R. C. Lehmann’s The Adventures of Picklock Holes, 1901); Shylock Homes (in John Kendrick Bangs’s series of short stories in American newspapers in 1903, reprinted as Shylock Homes: His Posthumous Memoirs, 1973; Bangs also wrote many parodies of Holmes using the detective’s real name, as in The Pursuit of the House-Boat, 1897; The Enchanted Type-Writer, 1899; and R. Holmes & Co., 1906, in which the hero is the son of Sherlock Holmes and the grandson of A. J. Raffles); Shamrock Jolnes (by O. Henry in two stories in Sixes and Sevens, 1911); Hemlock Jones (by Bret Harte in The Stolen Cigar-Case in Condensed Novels: Second Series, 1902); and Schlock Homes in many stories by Robert L. Fish.

      Today, of course, Holmes continues to be a multimedia superstar, appearing in two internationally successful films starring Robert Downey Jr. as Holmes; the BBC television series Sherlock starring Benedict Cumberbatch; and Elementary, the wildly popular CBS series starring Jonny Lee Miller as Holmes and Lucy Liu as Dr. Watson.

      Preface

      The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined that his retirement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war caused him, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual and practical activity at the disposal of the government, with historical results which are recounted in His Last Bow. Several previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been added to His Last Bow so as to complete the volume.

      John H. Watson, M. D.

      The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge

      1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles

      I FIND IT RECORDED in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received a telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

      I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters, said he. How do you define the word ‘grotesque’?

      Strange—remarkable, I suggested.

      He shook his head at my definition.

      There is surely something more than that, said he, some underlying suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back to some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a long-suffering public, you will recognize how often the grotesque has deepened into the criminal. Think of that little affair of the red-headed men. That was grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. Or, again, there was that most grotesque affair of the five orange pips, which led straight to a murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on the alert.

      Have you it there? I asked.

      He read the telegram aloud:

      Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I consult you?

      Scott Eccles,

      Post Office, Charing Cross.

      Man or woman? I asked.

      Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram. She would have come.

      Will you see him?

      My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked up Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however trivial it may prove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client.

      A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout, tall, gray-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into the room. His life history was written in his heavy features and pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to the last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his native composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into his business.

      I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes, said he. Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It is most improper—most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation. He swelled and puffed in his anger.

      Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles, said Holmes in a soothing voice. May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?

      Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard your name—

      Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?

      Holmes glanced at his watch.

      It is a quarter-past two, he said. Your telegram was dispatched about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking.

      Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshaven chin.

      You are right, Mr. Holmes. I never gave a thought to my toilet. I was only too glad to get out of such a house. But I have been running round making inquiries before I came to you. I went to the house agents, you know, and they said that Mr. Garcia’s rent was paid up all right and that everything was in order at Wisteria Lodge.

      Come, come, sir, said Holmes, laughing. You are like my friend, Dr. Watson, who has a bad habit of telling his stories wrong end foremost. Please arrange your thoughts and let me know, in their due sequence, exactly what those events are which have sent you out unbrushed and unkempt, with dress boots and waistcoat buttoned awry, in search of advice and assistance.

      Our client looked down with a rueful face at his own unconventional appearance.

      I’m sure it must look very bad, Mr. Holmes, and I am not aware that in my whole life such a thing has ever happened before. But I will tell you the whole queer business, and when I have done so you will admit, I am sure, that there has been enough to excuse me.

      But his narrative was nipped in the bud. There was a bustle outside, and Mrs. Hudson opened the door to usher in two robust and official-looking individuals, one of whom was well known to us as Inspector Gregson of Scotland Yard, an energetic, gallant, and, within his limitations, a capable officer. He shook hands with Holmes and introduced his comrade as Inspector Baynes, of the Surrey Constabulary.

      We are hunting together, Mr. Holmes, and our trail lay in this direction. He turned his bulldog eyes upon our visitor. Are you Mr. John Scott Eccles, of Popham House, Lee?

      I am.

      We have been following you about all the morning.

      You traced him through the telegram, no doubt, said Holmes.

      Exactly, Mr. Holmes. We picked up the scent at Charing Cross Post-Office and came on here.

      But why do you follow me? What do you want?

      We wish a statement, Mr. Scott Eccles, as to the events which led up to the death last night of Mr. Aloysius Garcia, of Wisteria Lodge, near Esher.

      Our client had sat up with staring eyes and every tinge of colour struck from his astonished face.

      Dead? Did you say he was dead?

      Yes, sir, he is dead.

      But how? An accident?

      Murder, if ever there was one upon earth.

      Good God! This is awful! You don’t mean—you don’t mean that I am suspected?

      A letter of yours was found in the dead man’s pocket, and we know by it that you had planned to pass last night at his house.

      So I did.

      Oh, you did, did you?

      Out came the official notebook.

      Wait a bit, Gregson, said Sherlock Holmes. All you desire is a plain statement, is it not?

      And it is my duty to warn Mr. Scott Eccles that it may be used against him.

      Mr. Eccles was going to tell us about it when you entered the room. I think, Watson, a brandy and soda would do him no harm. Now, sir, I suggest that you take no notice of this addition to your audience, and that you proceed with your narrative exactly as you would have done had you never been interrupted.

      Our visitor had gulped off the brandy and the colour had returned to his face. With a dubious glance at the inspector’s notebook, he plunged at once into his extraordinary statement.

      I am a bachelor, said he, "and being of a sociable turn I cultivate a large number of friends. Among these are the family of a retired brewer called Melville, living at Abermarle Mansion, Kensington. It was at his table that I met some weeks ago a young fellow named Garcia. He was, I understood, of Spanish descent and connected in some way with the embassy. He spoke perfect English, was pleasing

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