NOVELS.
THE HOUND OF THE BASICERVLLLES.*
raw( what depths of the Infernal Regions came the hell- hound which haunted the dreary moor near Baskerville Hall, and who was the lone watcher on the Tor ? These two questions, though seemingly fraught with mystery, are easily solved (one, indeed, does not need solving) when submitted to 'the clear intellect of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. But let it be said at once that we have not the slightest intention of enlighten. lug our readers on either subject, or giving any indication of . the plot of the book. Be it enough to say that Sherlock
• The Hotted of the Bad/milks. By Conan Doyle. London: George Zit/ernes. Ds.]
Holmes is as deftly unexpected in his methods as we are accustomed to find him. Dr. Conan Doyle must forgive our overlooking his part in the matter; it is a long time now since we have ceased to think of the author of Sherlock Holmes's being. The world is convinced that the great detective lives, that Dr. Watson is his prophet, and that all these astounding adventures really happen. We may thank heaven that they do not happen to us individually, but if any one of us were flung into the midst of a mystery, it is quite certain that the address, "Baker Street," would be mechanically given to the nearest hansom-driver. This creating of a personage in fiction is to a certain extent a new development. Of course, we have not forgotten that "Mr. Arthur Pendennis " wrote The Newcomes, or that Trol- lope and Mrs. Oliphant, each in a series of novels, gave the world a complete picture of provincial society in Barchester and Carlingford respectively. But to introduce the same set of characters occupying positions of varying importance in a series of books is rather a different thing from creating a central personage, and grouping round him a set of adven- tures which would make Gaboriau's M. Lecoq seem to have passed a monotonous existence.
In the "eighties," though it seems impossible to realise the fact, the world knew neither the influenza nor Sherlock Holmes. So does Providence ordain that con- solation should be forthcoming in affliction, and provide the despondent convalescent with literature which will make
him forget his woes. And in all seriousness, the crea- tion and popularisation of the figure of Holmes is no small achievement. The man lives before us,—his name has passed into the language, not only as a name but as a roughly used verb. Some one loses a brooch. " Ah, well r." says a friend, "you'll have to 'Sherlock Holmes' where you dropped it." No one says, though such an expression would be no more than justice, "You will have to 'Conan Doyle' that account of the last skirmish you were at in South Africa." No, Dr. Doyle's other work, good though it may be, is cast into the shadow by his own creation, and it is impossible to have one's pocket picked without Sherlock Holmes being mentioned. In this latest book we have Holmes dealing with a possibly super- natural mystery. As the book is a real "book," extending for over three hundred and fifty pages, Dr. Doyle has an opportunity for elaborating the machinery of his plot. There are more threads to follow, and the reader has none of the sense of thinness which is the necessary accompaniment of some of the shorter "Adventures." Cunningly does the human spider draw out the threads, and closely does he weave the net which finally closes.round the guilty person. Whether the machinery is supernatural or not supernatural—and we are not going to reveal whether or not Holmes crowns his achievements by laying a veritable ghost—there is a guilty person involved in the mystery, and the spider has him in the end. The whole story fits as well as a Chinese puzzle, the only weak point being boldly indicated by Dr. Watson himself on the last page but two. It must be acknowledged that Holmes's answer to his friend's question is not entirely satisfactory. This is a little annoying, for it is not the author's custom to allow even a single thread to be ravelled at the end, and the question is one which the reader will inevitably put to himself, with the serene confidence, however, of seeing it satisfactorily answered in due time; and yet Sherlock Holmes himself can do no more than suggest three rather unsatisfactory solutions. However, the book provides the reader with two delightful hours of breathless excitement, so it is perhaps over-critical to find fault with a single point. Students of Vanity Fair will find an exact presentment of the expression assumed by a reader perusing this book in Thackeray's picture of the butler reading to his footman Lady Southdown's pamphlet, Hell Flames.
Take it as a whole, Dr. Doyle's latest book cannot be reckoned as a great work of fiction; but its author can at least claim, and claim successfully, to have done the thing he set out to do supremely well. The novel of " ratiocination " has seldom been better done. We hope and believe that Sherlock Holmes's deeds are not all recorded, but we trust that when they are given to the world it will be in the long rather than the short form - of narration. The detective novel requires detail, and detail cannot be given in a short sketch.
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