toemontholbini.tk/map9.php The Hound of the Baskervilles. The Complete Novels of Sherlock Holmes. A Study in Scarlet Collins Classics. The Valley of Fear Collins Classics. Share your thoughts with other customers. Write a product review. Read reviews that mention watson arthur conan sir doyle famous mystery detective knowledge murder featuring era acquaintance powers deduction given name lestrade novels simply.
There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Mass Market Paperback Verified Purchase. I loved the first part. It gives us an insight into the mind he calls it an attic of Sherlock Holmes. It shows us how Dr. Watson moves in Mrs. Hudson's flat and how SH takes on the case and solves it quite brilliantly. But I do not like a few chapters in part 2 where Dr. Watson takes us in a flashback I find it boring!!!!! It is slow and gen Y may not like it But upholding the name of Sir Arthur the ending is again good!!!!!!
I recommend this book. It is a good read. Eager to get the entire set. Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. My first book from the series and I am in utter awe. This would keep you gripped.
One person found this helpful 2 people found this helpful. I am glad to read such a wonderful story. A heart touching story. I would have given more than five stars if I would. I suggest to read it. One person found this helpful. Once you start reading this book it will drain you in.. According to my notion he dropped it while stooping over Drebber's body, and did not miss it at the time. After leaving the house he discovered his loss and hurried back, but found the police already in possession, owing to his own folly in leaving the candle burning.
He had to pretend to be drunk in order to allay the suspicions which might have been aroused by his appearance at the gate. Now put yourself in that man's place. On thinking the matter over, it must have occurred to him that it was possible that he had lost the ring in the road after leaving the house. What would he do then? He would eagerly look out for the evening papers in the hope of seeing it among the articles found. His eye, of course, would alight upon this.
He would be overjoyed. Why should he fear a trap? There would be no reason in his eyes why the finding of the ring should be connected with the murder. You shall see him within an hour. He will be a desperate man; and though I shall take him unawares, it is as well to be ready for anything. I went to my bed-room and followed his advice. When I returned with the pistol, the table had been cleared, and Holmes was engaged in his favourite occupation of scraping upon his violin.
My view of the case is the correct one. When the fellow comes, speak to him in an ordinary way. Leave the rest to me. Don't frighten him by looking at him too hard. He will probably be here in a few minutes. Open the door slightly. Now put the key on the inside. Charles's head was still firm on his shoulders when this little brown-backed volume was struck off. On the flyleaf, in very faded ink, is written "Ex libris Gulielmi Whyte. Some pragmatical seventeenth-century lawyer, I suppose.
His writing has a legal twist about it. Here comes our man, I think. As he spoke there was a sharp ring at the bell. Sherlock Holmes rose softly and moved his chair in the direction of the door. We heard the servant pass along the hall, and the sharp click of the latch as she opened it.
We could not hear the servant's reply, but the door closed, and someone began to ascend the stairs. The footfall was an uncertain and shuffling one. A look of surprise passed over the face of my companion as he listened to it. It came slowly along the passage, and there was a feeble tap at the door. At my summons, instead of the man of violence whom we expected, a very old and wrinkled woman hobbled into the apartment.
She appeared to be dazzled by the sudden blaze of light, and after dropping a curtsey, she stood blinking at us with her bleared eyes and fumbling in her pocket with nervous shaky fingers. I glanced at my companion, and his face had assumed such a disconsolate expression that it was all I could do to keep my countenance. The old crone drew out an evening paper, and pointed at our advertisement.
It belongs to my girl Sally, as was married only this time twelve-month, which her husband is steward aboard a Union boat, and what he'd say if he come 'ome and found her without her ring is more than I can think, he being short enough at the best o' times, but more especially when he has the drink. If it please you, she went to the circus last night along with-'. The old woman faced round and looked keenly at him from her little red-rimmed eyes.
With many mumbled blessings and protestations of gratitude the old crone packed it away in her pocket, and shuffled off down the stairs Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet the moment that she was gone and rushed into his room. He returned in a few seconds enveloped in an ulster and a cravat. Wait up for me. Looking through the window I could see her walking feebly along the other side, while her pursuer dogged her some little distance behind.
It was close upon nine when he set out. Ten o'clock passed, and I heard the footsteps of the maid as they pattered off to bed. Eleven, and the more stately tread of the landlady passed my door, bound for the same destination. It was close upon twelve before I heard the sharp sound of his latch-key.
The instant he entered I saw by his face that he had not been successful. Amusement and chagrin seemed to be struggling for the mastery, until the former suddenly carried the day, and he burst into a hearty laugh. I can afford to laugh, because I know that I will be even with them in the long run. That creature had gone a little way when she began to limp and show every sign of being footsore. Presently she came to a halt, and hailed a four-wheeler which was passing. I managed to be close to her so as to hear the address, but I need not have been so anxious, for she sang it out loud enough to be heard at the other side of the street: This begins to look genuine, I thought, and having seen her safely inside, I perched myself behind.
That's an art which every detective should be an expert at. Well, away we rattled, and never drew rein until we reached the street in question. I hopped off before we came to the door, and strolled down the street in an easy lounging way. I saw the cab pull up. The driver jumped down, and I saw him open the door and stand expectantly. Nothing came out though.
When I reached him, he was groping about frantically in the empty cab, and giving vent to the finest assorted collection of oaths that ever I listened to. There was no sign or trace of his passenger, and I fear it will be some time before he gets his fare. On inquiring at Number 13 we found that the house belonged to a respectable paperhanger, named Keswick, and that no one of the name either of Sawyer or Dennis had ever been heard of there.
It must have been a young man, and an active one, too, besides being an incomparable actor. The get-up was inimitable. He saw that he was followed, no doubt, and used this means of giving me the slip. It shows that the man we are after is not as lonely as I imagined he was, but has friends who are ready to risk something for him. Now, Doctor, you are looking done-up. Take my advice and turn in. I was certainly feeling very weary, so I obeyed his injunction.
I left Holmes seated in front of the smouldering fire, and long into the watches of the night I heard the low, melancholy wailings of his violin, and knew that he was still pondering over the strange problem which he had set himself to unravel. The papers next day were full of the 'Brixton Mystery', as they termed it.
Each had a long account of the affair, and some had leaders upon it in addition. There was some information in them which was new to me. I still retain in my scrap-book numerous clippings and extracts bearing upon the case.
Here is a condensation of a few of them. The Daily Telegraph remarked that in the history of crime there had seldom been a tragedy which presented stranger features. The German name of the victim, the absence of all other motive, and the sinister inscription on the wall, all pointed to its perpetration by political refugees and revolutionists. The Socialists had many branches in America, and the deceased had, no doubt, infringed their unwritten laws, and been tracked down by them. After alluding airily to the Vehmgericht, aqua tofana, Carbonari, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, the Darwinian theory, the principles of Malthus, and the Ratcliff Highway murders, the article concluded by admonishing the Government and advocating a closer watch over foreigners in England.
The Standard commented upon the fact that lawless outrages of the sort usually occurred under a Liberal Administration. They arose from the unsettling of the minds of the masses, and the consequent weakening of all authority. The deceased was an American gentleman who had been residing for some weeks in the Metropolis. He was accompanied in his travels by his private secretary, Mr Joseph Stangerson. The two bade adieu to their landlady upon Tuesday, the 4th inst. They were afterwards seen together upon the platform.
Nothing more is known of them until Mr Drebber's body was, as recorded, discovered in an empty house in the Brixton Road, many miles from Euston. How he came there, or how he met his fate, are questions which are still involved in mystery. Nothing is known of the whereabouts of Stangerson. We are glad to learn that Mr Lestrade and Mr Gregson, of Scotland Yard, are both engaged upon the case, and it is confidently anticipated that these well-known officers will speedily throw light upon the matter.
The Daily News observed that there was no doubt as to the crime being a political one.
Parts of it are etched on my brain, never to be erased. However it his mental faculties, the trait he is best known for, that makes him so intriguing. They find out that a pupil called Jefferson Hope has taken revenge on Enoch Drebber and Joseph Stangerson for stealing his watch. Whatever they do, they will have followers. Would that annoy you? Deceit, according to him, was an impossibility in the case of one trained to observation and analysis. He was a long chap, with a red face, the lower part muffied round-'.
The despotism and hatred of Liberalism which animated the Continental Governments had had the effect of driving to our shores a number of men who might have made excellent citizens were they not soured by the recollection of all that they had undergone. Among these men there was a stringent code of honour, any infringement of which was punished by death. Every effort should be made to find the secretary, Stangerson, and to ascertain some particulars of the habits of the deceased.
A great step had been gained by the discovery of the address of the house at which he had boarded - a result which was entirely due to the acuteness and energy of Mr Gregson of Scotland Yard. Sherlock Holmes and I read these notices over together at breakfast, and they appeared to afford him considerable amusement.
If the man is caught, it will be on account of their exertions; if he escapes, it will be in spite of their exertions. It's heads I win and tails you lose. Whatever they do, they will have followers. Have you found it, Wiggins? You must keep on until you do. Here are your wages. He waved his hand, and they scampered away downstairs like so many rats, and we heard their shrill voices next moment in the street. These youngsters, however, go everywhere, and hear everything. They are as sharp as needles, too; all they want is organization.
It is merely a matter of time. Here is Gregson coming down the road with beatitude written upon every feature of his face. Bound for us, I know.
Yes, he is stopping. There was a violent peal at the bell, and in a few seconds the fair-haired detective came up the stairs, three steps at a time, and burst into our sitting-room. I have made the whole thing as clear as day. Why, sir, we have the man under lock and key. Will you have some whiskey and water? The tremendous exertions which I have gone through during the last day or two have worn me out.
Not so much bodily exertion, you understand, as the strain upon the mind. You will appreciate that, Mr Sherlock Holmes, for we are both brain-workers. The detective seated himself in the arm-chair, and puffed complacently at his cigar. Then suddenly he slapped his thigh in a paroxysm of amusement. He is after the secretary Stangerson, who had no more to do with the crime than the babe unborn.
I have no doubt that he has caught him by this time. Of course, Doctor Watson, this is strictly between ourselves. The first difficulty which we had to contend with was the finding of this American's antecedents. Some people would have waited until their advertisements were answered, or until parties came forward and volunteered information. That is not Tobias Gregson's way of going to work. You remember the hat beside the dead man? He looked over his books, and came on it at once. Thus I got his address. Her daughter was in the room, too - an uncommonly fine girl she is, too; she was looking red about the eyes and her lips trembled as I spoke to her.
That didn't escape my notice. I began to smell a rat. You know that feeling, Mr Sherlock Holmes, when you come upon the right scent - a kind of thrill in your nerves. She didn't seem able to get out a word. The daughter burst into tears. I felt more than ever that these people knew something of the matter. He was to catch the first.
Her features turned perfectly livid. It was some seconds before she could get out the single word "Yes" - and when it did come it was in a husky, unnatural tone. We did see Mr Drebber again. Besides, you do not know how much we know of it. Do not imagine that my agitation on behalf of my son arises from any fear lest he should have had a hand in this terrible affair. He is utterly innocent of it. My dread is, however, that in your eyes and in the eyes of others he may appear to be compromised.
That, however, is surely impossible. His high character, his profession, his antecedents would all forbid it. Having once decided to speak, I will tell you all without omitting any particular. He and his secretary, Mr Stangerson, had been travelling on the Continent. I noticed a 'Copenhagen' label upon each of their trunks, showing that that had been their last stopping place. Stangerson was a quiet, reserved man, but his employer, I am sorry to say, was far otherwise. He was coarse in his habits and brutish in his ways.
The very night of his arrival he became very much the worse for drink, and, indeed, after twelve o'clock in the day he could hardly ever be said to be sober. His manners towards the maid-servants were disgustingly free and familiar. Worst of all, he speedily assumed the same attitude towards my daughter Alice, and spoke to her more than once in a way which, fortunately, she is too innocent to understand.
On one occasion he actually seized her in his arms and embraced her - an outrage which caused his own secretary to reproach him for his unmanly conduct. They were paying a pound a day each - fourteen pounds a week, and this is the slack season. I am a widow, and my boy in the Navy has cost me much.
I grudged to lose the money. I acted for the best. This last was too much, however, and I gave him notice to leave on account of it. That was the reason of his going. My son is on leave just now, but I did not tell him anything of all this, for his temper is violent, and he is passionately fond of his sister. When I closed the door behind them a load seemed to be lifted from my mind.
Alas, in less than an hour there was a ring at the bell, and I learned that Mr Drebber had returned. He was much excited, and evidently the worse for drink. He forced his way into the room, where I was sitting with my daughter, and made some incoherent remark about having missed the train. He then turned to Alice, and before my very face proposed to her that she should fly with him. I have money enough and to spare. Never mind the old girl here, but come along with me now straight away. You shall live like a princess. I screamed, and at that moment my son Arthur came into the room.
What happened then I do not know. I heard oaths and the confused sounds of a scuffle. I was too terrified to raise my head. When I did look up I saw Arthur standing in the doorway laughing, with a stick in his hand. The next morning we heard of Mr Drebber's mysterious death. At times she spoke so low that I could hardly catch the words.
I made shorthand notes of all that she said, however, so that there should be no possibility of a mistake. Fixing her with my eye in a way which I always found effective with women, I asked her at what hour her son returned. I found out where Lieutenant Charpentier was, took two officers with me, and arrested him. When I touched him on the shoulder and warned him to come quietly with us, he answered us as bold as brass: We had said nothing to him about it, so that his alluding to it had a most suspicious aspect.
It was a stout oak cudgel. When there, a fresh altercation arose between them, in the course of which Drebber received a blow from the stick, in the pit of the stomach perhaps, which killed him without leaving any mark. The night was so wet that no one was about, so Charpentier dragged the body of his victim into the empty house.
As to the candle, and the blood, and the writing on the wall, and the ring, they may all be so many tricks to throw the police on to the wrong scent. We shall make something of you yet. On his way home he met an old shipmate, and took a long walk with him. On being asked where this old shipmate lived, he was unable to give any satisfactory reply.
I think the whole case fits together uncommonly well. What amuses me is to think of Lestrade, who had started off upon the wrong scent. I am afraid he won't make much of it. Why, by Jove, here's the very man himself! It was indeed Lestrade, who had ascended the stairs while we were talking, and who now entered the room. The assurance and jauntiness which generally marked his demeanour and dress were, however, wanting. His face was disturbed and troubled, while his clothes were disarranged and untidy.
He had evidently come with the intention of consulting with Sherlock Holmes, for on perceiving his colleague he appeared to be embarrassed and put out. He stood in the centre of the room, fumbling nervously with his hat and uncertain what to do. This is a most extraordinary case,' he said at last - 'a most incomprehensible affair. Have you managed to find the secretary, Mr Joseph Stangerson? The intelligence with which Lestrade greeted us was so momentous and so unexpected that we were all three fairly dumbfounded. Gregson sprang out of his chair and upset the remainder of his whiskey and water.
I stared in silence at Sherlock Holmes, whose lips were compressed and his brows drawn down over his eyes. This fresh development has shown me that I was completely mistaken. Full of the one idea, I set myself to find out what had become of the secretary. They had been seen together at Euston Station about half-past eight on the evening of the third.
At two in the morning Drebber had been found in the Brixton Road. The question which confronted me was to find out how Stangerson had been employed between 8. I telegraphed to Liverpool, giving a description of the man, and warning them to keep a watch upon the American boats. I then set to work calling upon all the hotels and lodging-houses in the vicinity of Euston. You see, I argued that if Drebber and his companion had become separated, the natural course for the latter would be to put up somewhere in the vicinity for the night, and then to hang about the station again next morning.
I spent the whole of yesterday evening in making inquiries entirely without avail. On my inquiry as to whether a Mr Stangerson was living there, they at once answered me in the affirmative. He wished to be called at nine. The Boots volunteered to show me the room: The Boots pointed out the door to me, and was about to go downstairs again when I saw something that made me feel sickish, in spite of my twenty years' experience. From under the door there curled a little red ribbon of blood, which had meandered across the passage and formed a little pool along the skirting at the other side.
I gave a cry, which brought the Boots back. He nearly fainted when he saw it. The door was locked on the inside, but we put our shoulders to it, and knocked it in. The window of the room was open, and beside the window all huddled up, lay the body of a man in his nightdress. He was quite dead, and had been for some time, for his limbs were rigid and cold. When we turned him over, the Boots recognized him at once as being the same gentleman who had engaged the room under the name of Joseph Stangerson. The cause of death was a deep stab in the left side, which must have penetrated the heart.
And now comes the strangest part of the affair. What do you suppose was above the murdered man? I felt a creeping of the flesh, and a presentiment of coming horror, even before Sherlock Holmes answered. There was something so methodical and so incomprehensible about the deeds of this unknown assassin, that it imparted a fresh ghastliness to his crimes.
My nerves, which were steady enough on the field of battle, tingled as I thought of it. He noticed that a ladder, which usually lay there, was raised against one of the windows of the second floor, which was wide open. After passing, he looked back and saw a man descend the ladder.
He came down so quietly and openly that the boy imagined him to be some carpenter or joiner at work in the hotel. He took no particular notice of him, beyond thinking in his own mind that it was early for him to be at work. He has an impression that the man was tall, had a reddish face, and was dressed in a long, brownish coat. He must have stayed in the room some little time after the murder, for we found blood-stained water in the basin, where he had washed his hands, and marks on the sheets where he had deliberately wiped his knife.
I glanced at Holmes on hearing the description of the murderer which tallied so exactly with his own. There was, however, no trace of exultation or satisfaction upon his face. Stangerson had Drebber's purse in his pocket, but it seems that this was usual, as he did all the paying. There was eighty-odd pounds in it, but nothing had been taken. Whatever the motives of these extraordinary crimes, robbery is certainly not one of them. There were no papers or memoranda in the murdered man's pocket, except a single telegram, dated from Cleveland about a month ago, and containing the words, 'J.
There was a glass of water on the table, and on the window-sill a small chip ointment box containing a couple of pills. The last link,' he cried, exultantly. There are, of course, details to be filled in, but I am as certain of all the main facts, from the time that Drebber parted from Stangerson at the station, up to the discovery of the body of the latter, as if I had seen them with my own eyes. I will give you a proof of my knowledge. Could you lay your hand upon those pills?
It was the merest chance my taking these pills, for I am bound to say I do not attach any importance to them. They certainly were not. They were of a pearly grey colour, small, round, and almost transparent against the light. I went downstairs and carried the dog upstairs in my arms. Its laboured breathing and glazing eye showed that it was not far from its end. Indeed, its snow-white muzzle proclaimed that it had already exceeded the usual term of canine existence. I placed it upon a cushion on the rug. The other half I will place in this wine-glass, in which is a teaspoonful of water.
You perceive that our friend, the Doctor, is right, and that it readily dissolves. This may be very interesting,' said Lestrade, in the injured tone of one who suspects that he is being laughed at; 'I cannot see, however, what it has to do with the death of Mr Joseph Stangerson. You will find in time that it has everything to do with it. I shall now add a little milk to make the mixture palatable, and on presenting it to the dog we find that he laps it up readily enough.
As he spoke he turned the contents of the wine-glass into a saucer and placed it in front of the terrier, who speedily licked it dry. Sherlock Holmes's earnest demeanour had so far convinced us that we all sat in silence, watching the animal intently, and expecting some startling effect. None such appeared, however. The dog continued to lie stretched upon the cushion, breathing in a laboured way but apparently neither the better nor the worse for its draught.
Holmes had taken out his watch, and as minute followed minute without result, an expression of the utmost chagrin and disappointment appeared upon his features. He gnawed his lip, drummed his fingers upon the table, and showed every other symptom of acute impatience. So great was his emotion that I felt sincerely sorry for him, while the two detectives smiled derisively, by no means displeased at this check which he had met. The very pills which I suspected in the case of Drebber are actually found after the death of Stangerson. And yet they are inert. What can it mean?
Surely my whole chain of reasoning cannot have been false. And yet this wretched dog is none the worse. Ah, I have it! The unfortunate creature's tongue seemed hardly to have been moistened in it before it gave a convulsive shiver in every limb, and lay as rigid and lifeless as if it had been struck by lightning. Sherlock Holmes drew a long breath, and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.
Of the two pills in the box, one was of the most deadly poison, and the other was entirely harmless. I ought to have known that before ever I saw the box at all. This last statement appeared to me to be so startling that I could hardly believe that he was in his sober senses. There was the dead dog, however, to prove that his conjecture had been correct. It seemed to me that the mists in my own mind were gradually clearing away, and I began to have a dim, vague perception of the truth.
I had the good fortune to seize upon that, and everything which has occurred since then has served to confirm my original supposition, and, indeed, was the logical sequence of it. Hence things which have perplexed you and made the case more obscure have served to enlighten me and to strengthen my conclusions. It is a mistake to confound strangeness with mystery. The most commonplace crime is often the most mysterious, because it presents no new or special features from which deductions may be drawn.
These strange details, far from making the case more difficult, have really had the effect of making it less so. Mr Gregson, who had listened to this address with considerable impatience, could contain himself no longer. We want something more than mere theory and preaching now, though. It is a case of taking the man. I have made my case out, and it seems I was wrong. Young Charpentier could not have been engaged in this second affair. Lestrade went after his man, Stangerson, and it appears that he was wrong too. You have thrown out hints here, and hints there, and seem to know more than we do, but the time has come when we feel that we have a right to ask you straight how much you do know of the business.
Can you name the man who did it? You have remarked more than once since I have been in the room that you had all the evidence which you require. Surely you will not withhold it any longer. Thus pressed by us all, Holmes showed signs of irresolution. He continued to walk up and down the room with his head sunk on his chest and his brows drawn down, as was his habit when lost in thought.
You have asked me if I know the name of the assassin. The mere knowing of his name is a small thing, however, compared with the power of laying our hands upon him. This I expect very shortly to do. I have good hopes of managing it through my own arrangements; but it is a thing which needs delicate handling, for we have a shrewd and desperate man to deal with, who is supported, as I have had occasion to prove, by another who is as clever as himself. As long as this man has no idea that anyone can have a clue there is some chance of securing him; but if he had the slightest suspicion, he would change his name, and vanish in an instant among the four million inhabitants of this great city.
Without meaning to hurt either of your feelings, I am bound to say that I consider these men to be more than a match for the official force, and that is why I have not asked your assistance. If I fail, I shall, of course, incur all the blame due to this omission; but that I am prepared for. At present I am ready to promise that the instant that I can communicate with you without endangering my own combinations, I shall do so.
Gregson and Lestrade seemed to be far from satisfied by this assurance, or by the depreciating allusion to the detective police. The former had flushed up to the roots of his flaxen hair, while the other's beady eyes glistened with curiosity and resentment. Neither of them had time to speak, however, before there was a tap at the door, and the spokesman of the street Arabs, young Wiggins, introduced his insignificant and unsavoury person.
They fasten in an instant! Just ask him to step up, Wiggins. I was surprised to find my companion speaking as though he were about to set out on a journey, since he had not said anything to me about it. There was a small portmanteau in the room, and this he pulled out and began to strap.
He was busily engaged at it when the cabman entered the room. The fellow came forward with a somewhat sullen, defiant air and put down his hands to assist. At that instant there was a sharp click, the jangling of metal, and Sherlock Holmes sprang to his feet again. The whole thing occurred in a moment - so quickly that I had no time to realize it. I have a vivid recollection of that instant, of Holmes's triumphant expression and the ring of his voice, of the cabman's dazed, savage face, as he glared at the glittering handcuffs, which had appeared as if by magic upon his wrists.
For a second or two we might have been a group of statues. Then with an inarticulate roar of fury, the prisoner wrenched himself free from Holmes's grasp, and hurled himself through the window. Woodwork and glass gave way before him; but before he got quite through, Gregson, Lestrade, and Holmes sprang upon him like so many staghounds. He was dragged back into the room, and then commenced a terrific conflict. So powerful and so fierce was he that the four of us were shaken off again and again. He appeared to have the convulsive strength of a man in an epileptic fit.
His face and hands were terribly mangled by his passage through the glass, but loss of blood had no effect in diminishing his resistance. It was not until Lestrade succeeded in getting his hand inside his neckcloth and half-strangling him that we made him realize that his struggles were of no avail; and even then we felt no security until we had pinioned his feet as well as his hands. That done, we rose to our feet breathless and panting. And now, gentlemen,' he continued, with a pleasant smile, 'we have reached the end of our little mystery.
You are very welcome to put any questions that you like to me now, and there is no danger that I will refuse to answer them. In the central portion of the great North American Continent there lies an arid and repulsive desert, which for many a long year served as a barrier against the advance of civilization. From the Sierra Nevada to Nebraska, and from the Yellow-stone River in the north to the Colorado upon the south, is a region of desolation and silence. Nor is Nature always in one mood throughout this grim district. It comprises snow-capped and lofty mountains, and dark and gloomy valleys.
They all preserve, however, the common characteristics of barrenness, inhospitality, and misery. There are no inhabitants of this land of despair. A band of Pawnees or of Blackfeet may occasionally traverse it in order to reach other hunting-grounds, but the hardiest of the braves are glad to lose sight of those awesome plains, and to find themselves once more upon their prairies. It is not easy to translate a literary source to television let alone for animation, and A Study in Scarlet does laudably in that regard. The animation is at times rather shoddy- some of the backgrounds are handsome but the character designs look stiff to me-, some scenes come across as pedestrian and some of the line delivery for the side characters is on the monotone side.
However, the music here is an improvement on The Baskerville Curse, it is much more subtly used and not as overbearing. The dialogue is intelligent, and the story is surprisingly very faithful with the crucial scenes at least having degrees tension and suspense. Holmes and Watson continue to be interesting characters, and Peter O'Toole's voice work as Holmes is splendid. Overall, a thoroughly decent animated adaptation, though not one of my favourites.
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