THE CLASSICS
Reading builds a fascinating world around us as we move from sentence to sentence and go even deeper, exploring the world of literature. Some might call this a journey, as each book acts as a stepping stone that brings us closer to the path we need to take. Masterful prose, timeless themes, and memorable characters are the reasons why classic literary works endure for generations. In their pages we find lessons and themes that are intertwined with the people and their life experiences. They awaken our imagination and allow us to experience different places, time periods, triumphs and struggles through the lens of a multitude of characters. There is a reason, then, why the stories of these classic books are read again and again over the centuries and are constantly adapted to new circumstances. Let’s not forget that they were all written in their own time. We are used to reading about the times only through historical events and history itself can sometimes seem black and white and one-dimensional.The classic books add colour and depth to it.They show exactly how people lived during those times. Times that would be difficult to approach or even relate to if there were no books to illuminate the intricate paths of the daily lives of the people who lived back then. Seeing –through these books– different time periods gives us a new perspective through which we can understand and judge our place in the world. It allows us to reflect on how our contemporary books may look back on us and what our contemporary books will say about us to future generations.
The debate about what makes certain books “classics” never ends – is it longevity, popularity, literary merit, or all of the above? Are all books we consider “classics” worthy of that title? Should some lesser-known books be considered “classics”? There are no safe answers to these questions, and opinions about which classic books should be read by everyone will always differ. In his book Why Read the Classics? the Italian writer Italo Calvino considered classics to be “books which, the more we think we know them by reputation, the more original, unexpected and innovative we find them to be when we actually read them”. A classic book must have stood the test of time and address issues that are still relevant and universal today. And there are so many of them: from coming-of-age stories to wonderful romance tales, and from fantasy literature to science books that changed the world. In the new The Classics series you’ll find a variety of books that are nonetheless a good starting point, covering a wide range of literature from different time periods and genres. There really is something for everyone.
HIS LAST BOW
An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes
by Arthur Conan Doyle
HIS LAST BOW AN EPILOGUE OF
SHERLOCK HOLMES
by Arthur Conan Doyle
Copyright: Brainfood Digital Media and Publishing M.E.P.E
EDITED BY Christina Theocharis
COVER DESIGN
DESKTOP PUBLISHING LaSid
PUBLISHING DIRECTOR Nikos Chatzopoulos
Brainfood Digital Media and Publishing M.E.P.E. 28 Empedokleous Str., 12131 Peristeri, Athens, GREECE Tel.: +30 210 2514123, Email: contact@brainfoodmedia.gr www.brainfood.gr
January 2025
ISBN: 978-618-5427-97-9
All rights reserved. No portion of the book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
Arthur Conan Doyle (1859—1930) was a Scottish writer best known for the character of the detective Sherlock Holmes—one of the most interesting and enduring characters in English fiction. During his life, he engaged in a variety of activities and creative works that made him an international figure. He set up as a doctor at Southsea and it was while waiting for patients that he began to write. His growing success as an author enabled him to give up his practice and turn his attention to other subjects. His greatest achievement was, of course, the creation of Sherlock Holmes, who soon gained international status and constantly distracted him from his other work. And in his creation of Dr Watson, Holmes’s companion in adventure and chronicler, Conan Doyle produced not only a perfect foil for Holmes but also one of the most famous narrators in fiction.
Introduction
Featured in His Last Bow, there is a collection of seven short stories, about Sherlock Holmes and his investigative prowess set in the First World War and first published between 1908 and 1917. They were published by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle as a collection in 1917. These stories include the tales of a dead woman and her two ‘’mad’’ brothers, a woman who receives a package with severed ears inside, and a set of missing submarine plans. The six stories appeared independently in the monthly magazine Strand from September 1908 to December 1913, while the 7th appeared at the time of the publication of the book in 1917, under the title His Last Bow, subtitled Some Memories of Sherlock Holmes.
The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles
Ifind 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 recognise 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.”
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
“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 replypaid 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, grey-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.
HIS LAST BOW
“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
