The Very Best of Sherlock Holmes

By Arthur Conan Doyle and Ruskin Bond

A selection of the most thrilling detective stories ever written by the master storyteller.

Sherlock Holmes, the world’s cleverest detective, sets forth in this collection of six extraordinary stories to solve some of the most intriguing cases of his career. What was the mysterious ‘speckled band’ that a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Speaking Tiger Books
• Release date: Dec 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9789387164222

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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introduction

Growing up, some of my favourite books involved detectives who solved all kinds of devious crimes. I read so many of these stories that I became somewhat of an expert in figuring out the various types of crimes and how to guess the criminal. There were the murder mysteries, of course, at which writers like Agatha Christie excelled. Here there would be the locked-room mysteries, or stories where the murderer was known, yet one kept wondering how he or she did it, and then there were stories where you kept guessing till the last grand revelation.

The other great writer here was, of course, Arthur Conan Doyle with his Sherlock Holmes stories. With Holmes, Conan Doyle brought about a startling change in the way fictional detectives lived and worked. Holmes was a bit of an eccentric, and his methods of deduction would surprise his readers as much as they did the characters in the books. There he would sit, smoking his pipe, and just by noticing an ink stain on a finger or a bit of mud on the boots, he would be able to tell everything about where the person had been, what he or she had been doing, and many other details of his life. And when his faithful Watson would demand an explanation, it would all seem remarkably simple.

The stories of Sherlock Holmes are true classics in the manner in which they have survived and thrived over the many years since they first appeared in print. The books continue to be published and read by every new generation of readers. I am told that this is fuelled by the numerous movie and television adaptations of Sherlock Holmes. Somewhere in these stories there are elements that bright young scriptwriters of today can pick up and plug in to create newer versions. It’s all elementary, one might say! Yet, the real joy still lies in reading the stories in their true original form, within the pages of a book.

To this end, in this collection I have brought together six of the very best Holmes stories. And why do I say these are the best? Well, for one, I have read them many times since my schooldays and enjoyed each one of these every time. But there is a further interesting twist to this selection. In 1927, Strand magazine of London had a competition, where they asked their readers to rank the best Sherlock Holmes stories. When the entries started coming in, who better to ask for his opinion about the very best stories than the writer himself? So Arthur Conan Doyle sat down and created a list of twelve of his favourite Sherlock adventures. These are not just favourites because of some obscure authorly reason. Doyle wrote a short piece that was published in the Strand that gave his reasons for picking these twelve. In this book, for reasons of space, we are carrying six of the twelve. The article by Doyle in which he mentions his reasons for choosing the twelve is also reproduced here.

It is, of course, well known that Doyle did not always share the same affection for Sherlock Holmes as his readers. He was also a remarkable writer of science fiction with works like The Lost World and of several works of historical fiction. These other works were possibly closer to his heart. Yet, it was thanks to Sherlock Holmes that he received world-wide acclaim. Tired of Holmes forever hijacking his writing life, Doyle even killed off Holmes with a fall down a cliff while battling his nemesis Professor Moriarty. This story, ‘The Final Problem’, appears in this book. However, the reading public had very strong opinions on this matter, and they would not let Doyle rest till he brought Holmes back from the dead. Happily for them, Holmes enjoyed a long and successful career following his fall, and appeared in stories that were published till 1927.

And so, here he is once again, and it is time to sit back and dip into the incredible adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Doctor John Watson, Professor Moriarty, and a host of other characters. From conspiracies to secret societies, deadly animals to deadlier poisons, these stories have them all. Be sure to keep your eyes open, and a light handy, for these stories stop for no one and no bedtime!

Ruskin Bond

Landour, Mussoorie

how i made my list

When this competition was first mooted I went into it in a most light-hearted way, thinking that it would be the easiest thing in the world to pick out the twelve best of the Holmes stories. In practice I found that I had engaged myself in a serious task. In the first place I had to read the stories myself with some care. ‘Step, steep, weary work,’ as the Scottish landlady remarked.

I began by eliminating altogether the last twelve stories, which are scattered through the Strand for the last five or six years. They are about to come out in a volume form under the title The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes, but the public could not easily get at them. Had they been available I should have put two of them in my team—namely, ‘The Lion’s Mane’ and ‘The Illustrious Client’. The first of these is hampered by being told by Holmes himself, a method which I employed only twice, as it certainly cramps the narrative. On the other hand, the actual plot is among the very best of the whole series, and for that it deserves its place. ‘The Illustrious Client’, on the other hand, is not remarkable for plot, but it has a certain dramatic quality and moves adequately in lofty circles, so I should also have found a place for it.

However, these being ruled out, I am now faced with some forty odd candidates to be weighed against each other. There are certainly some few an echo of which has come to me from all parts of the world, and I think this is the final proof of merit of some sort. There is the grim story ‘The Speckled Band’. That I am sure will be on every list. Next to that in popular favour and in my own esteem I would place ‘The Red-Headed League’ and ‘The Dancing Men’, on account in each case of the originality of the plot. Then we could hardly leave out the story which deals with the only foe who ever really extended Holmes, and which deceived the public (and Watson) into the erroneous inference of his death. Also, I think the first story of all should go in, as it opened the path for the others, and it has more female interest than is usual. Finally, I think the story which essays the difficult task of explaining away the alleged death of Holmes, and which also introduces such a villain as Colonel Sebastian Moran, should also have a place. This puts ‘The Final Problem’, ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’ and ‘The Empty House’ upon our list, and we have got our first half-dozen.

But now comes the crux. There are a number of stories which really are a little hard to separate. On the whole I think I should find a place for ‘The Five Orange Pips’, for though it is short it has a certain dramatic quality of its own. So now only five places are left. There are two stories which deal with high diplomacy and intrigue. They are both among the very best of the series. The one is ‘The Naval Treaty’ and the other ‘The Second Stain’. There is no room for both of them in the team, and on the whole I regard the latter as the better story. Therefore we will put it down for the eighth place.

And now which? ‘The Devil’s Foot’ has points. It is grim and new. We will give it the ninth place. I think also that ‘The Priory School’ is worth a place if only for the dramatic moment when Holmes points his finger at the Duke. I have only two places left. I hesitate between ‘Silver Blaze’, ‘The Bruce-Partington Plans’, ‘The Crooked Man’, ‘The Man with the Twisted Lip’, ‘The Gloria Scott’, ‘The Greek Interpreter’, ‘The Reigate Squires’, ‘The Musgrave Ritual’ and ‘The Resident Patient’. On what principle am I to choose two out of those? The racing detail in ‘Silver Blaze’ is very faulty, so we must disqualify him. There is little to choose between the others. A small thing would turn the scale. ‘The Musgrave Ritual’ has a historical touch which gives it a little added distinction. It also has a memory from Holmes’ early life. So now we come to the very last. I might as well draw the name out of a bag, for I see no reason to put one before the other. Whatever their merit—and I make no claim for that—they are all as good as I could make them. On the whole, Holmes himself shows perhaps the most ingenuity in ‘The Reigate Squires’, and therefore this shall be twelfth in my team.

It is proverbially a mistake for a judge to give his reasons, but I have analyzed mine if only to show any competitors that I really have taken some trouble in the matter.

A. Conan Doyle

Published in Strand, 1927

the adventure of the speckled band

On glancing over my notes of the seventy odd cases in which I have during the last eight years studied the methods of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I find many tragic, some comic, a large number merely strange, but none commonplace; for, working as he did rather for the love of his art than for the acquirement of wealth, he refused to associate himself with any investigation which did not tend towards the unusual, and even the fantastic. Of all these varied cases, however, I cannot recall any which presented more singular features than that which was associated with the well-known Surrey family of the Roylotts of Stoke Moran. The events in question occurred in the early days of my association with Holmes, when we were sharing rooms as bachelors in Baker Street. It is possible that I might have placed them upon record before, but a promise of secrecy was made at the time, from which I have only been freed during the last month by the untimely death of the lady to whom the pledge was given. It is perhaps as well that the facts should now come to light, for I have reasons to know that there are widespread rumours as to the death of Dr Grimesby Roylott which tend to make the matter even more terrible than the truth.

It was early in April in the year ’83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

‘Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,’ said he, ‘but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.’

‘What is it, then—a fire?’

‘No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.’

‘My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.’

I had no keener pleasure than in following Holmes in his professional investigations, and in admiring the rapid deductions, as swift as intuitions, and yet always founded on a logical basis with which he unravelled the problems which were submitted to him. I rapidly threw on my clothes and was ready in a few minutes to accompany my friend down to the sitting-room. A lady dressed in black and heavily veiled, who had been sitting in the window, rose as we entered.

‘Good-morning, madam,’ said Holmes cheerily. ‘My name is Sherlock Holmes. This is my intimate friend and associate, Dr Watson, before whom you can speak as freely as before myself. Ha! I am glad to see that Mrs Hudson has had the good sense to light the fire. Pray draw up to it, and I shall order you a cup of hot coffee, for I observe that you are shivering.’

‘It is not cold which makes me shiver,’ said the woman in a low voice, changing her seat as requested.

‘What then?’

‘It is fear, Mr Holmes. It is terror.’ She raised her veil as she spoke, and we could see that she was indeed in a pitiable state of agitation, her face all drawn and grey, with restless frightened eyes, like those of some hunted animal. Her features and figure were those of a woman of thirty, but her hair was shot with premature grey, and her expression was weary and haggard. Sherlock Holmes ran her over with one of his quick, all-comprehensive glances.

‘You must not fear,’ said he soothingly, bending forward and patting her forearm. ‘We shall soon set matters right, I have no doubt. You have come in by train this morning, I see.’

‘You know me, then?’

‘No, but I observe the second half of a return ticket in the palm of your left glove. You must have started early, and yet you had a good drive in a dog-cart, along heavy roads, before you reached the station.’

The lady gave a violent start and stared in bewilderment at my companion.

‘There is no mystery, my dear madam,’ said he, smiling. ‘The left arm of your jacket is spattered with mud in no less than seven places. The marks are perfectly fresh. There is no vehicle save a dog-cart which throws up mud in that way, and then only when you sit on the left-hand side of the driver.’

‘Whatever your reasons may be, you are perfectly correct,’ said she. ‘I started from home before six, reached Leatherhead at twenty past, and came in by the first train to Waterloo. Sir, I can stand this strain no longer; I shall go mad if it continues. I have no one to turn to—none, save only one, who cares for me, and he, poor fellow, can be of little aid. I have heard of you, Mr Holmes; I have heard of you from Mrs Farintosh, whom you helped in the hour of her sore need. It was from her that I had your address. Oh, sir, do you not think that you could help me, too, and at least throw a little light through the dense darkness which surrounds me? At present it is out of my power to reward you for your services, but in a month or six weeks I shall be married, with the control of my own income, and then at least you shall not find me ungrateful.’

Holmes turned to his desk and, unlocking it, drew out a small case-book, which he consulted.

‘Farintosh,’ said he. ‘Ah yes, I recall the case; it was concerned with an opal tiara. I think it was before your time, Watson. I can only say, madam, that I shall be happy to devote the same care to your case as I did to that of your friend. As to reward, my profession is its own reward; but you are at liberty to defray whatever expenses I may be put to, at the time which suits you best. And now