The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

I did the deed, but fortunately no coroner had pronounced upon the remains, and so, after a long interval, it was not difficult for me to respond to the flattering demand and to explain my rash act away. That pale, clear-cut face and loose-limbed figure were taking up an undue share of my imagination. I had fully determined at the conclusion of The Memoirs to bring Holmes to an end, as I felt that my literary energies should not be directed too much into one channel. It is a striking example of the patience and loyalty of the British public. Thus it would be true to say that those who first read of him, as young men, have lived to see their own grown-up children following the same adventures in the same magazine. He began his adventures in the very heart of the later Victorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward, and has managed to hold his own little niche even in these feverish days. The public seemed appreciative and desirous of more, so that from that date, thirty-nine years ago, they have been produced in a broken series which now contains no fewer than fifty-six stories, republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, and His Last Bow, and there remain these twelve published during the last few years which are here produced under the title of The Case Book of Sherlock Holmes. It was in 1891 that 'A Scandal in Bohemia,' the first of the long series of short stories, appeared in The Strand Magazine. As a matter of cold fact, Holmes made his debut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Sign of Four, two small booklets which appeared between 18.

One is not anxious to have one’s personal dates handled so unkindly. His career has been a long one - though it is possible to exaggerate it decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare that his adventures formed the reading of their boyhood do not meet the response from me which they seem to expect. Perhaps in some humble corner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock and his Watson may for a time find a place, while some more astute sleuth with some even less astute comrade may fill the stage which they have vacated.

One likes to think that there is some fantastic limbo for the children of imagination, some strange, impossible place where the beaux of Fielding may still make love to the belles of Richardson, where Scott’s heroes still may strut, Dickens‘s delightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, and Thackeray’s worldlings continue to carry on their reprehensible careers. This must cease and he must go the way of all flesh, material or imaginary.

Sherlock Holmes may become like one of those popular tenors who, having outlived their time, are still tempted to make repeated farewell bows to their indulgent audiences.

The Case-Book of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle