Authors: The Seven-Per-Cent Solution (pdf)
Nicholas Meyer (26 page)
In less time than it takes to report it, I had grasped the stupendous truth in Sigmund Freud's assertion.
This also explained Mycroft Holmes's equally eccentric withdrawal from the world, to a place where even speech was forbidden, and both brothers' commitment to eternal bachelorhood. Of course
Professor Moriarty had somewhere in this business played a larger part than the one Freud had assigned him (this accounted for Mycroft Holmes's hold over him), but over all, I knew the doctor was correct.
"You are the greatest detective of all." I could think of nothing else to say.
"I am not a detective." Freud shook his head, smiling his sad, wise smile. "I am a physician whose province is the troubled mind." It occurred to me that the difference was not great.
"And what can we do for my friend?"
He sighed and shook his head again.
"Nothing."
"Nothing?" I was stunned. Had he led me this far only to go no further?
"Nothing. I do not know how to get at these feelings other than through the clumsy and inefficient device of hypnosis."
"But why inefficient?" I protested, my hand grasping his sleeve. "Surely—"
"Because the patient in this case would be unwilling—I may say unable—to accept its testimony when conscious. He would not believe me. He would not believe you. He would say we were lying."
"But—"
"Come now, Doctor. If you had not been here and witnessed it yourself, would you have believed it?"
I confessed that I would not.
"Well, therein lies our problem. In any case, it is doubtful whether or not he would remain here long enough for us to work our way down to those innermost depths by any other route. Already he is in haste to depart."
We argued the matter for several minutes, but I knew from the first that he was right. Whatever techniques would help Sherlock Holmes, they were yet to be discovered.
"You must take heart," Freud enjoined me."Your friend, after all, is a functioning human being. He performs noble work and performs it well. Within the framework of his unhappiness, he is nevertheless successful and even beloved.
"Someday perhaps science will unravel the mysteries of the human mind," he concluded, "and when that day comes I have no doubt that Sherlock Holmes will be as responsible for its arrival as anyone else—whether or not his own brain is ever relieved of its terrible burden."
Then we both fell silent for a time, after which Freud roused the detective from his trance. As he had been directed, he recalled nothing.
"Did I tell you anything of importance?" Holmes enquired, relighting his pipe.
"I am afraid it was not terribly exciting," the hypnotist told him, smiling. I contrived to be looking in another direction as he said this, while Holmes rose and circled the room for the last time, running his eye eagerly over the countless volumes.
"What will you do for the Baroness?" he asked, coming forward again and reaching for his Inverness.
"What I can."
They smiled, and shortly thereafter we made our farewells to the rest of the household; to Paula, to Frau Freud, and to little Anna, who wept copiously as she waved good-bye to our cab with a tear-stained handkerchief. Holmes called out a promise that someday he would return and play the violin for her again.
Throughout the ride to the station, however, he relapsed into a thoughtful silence. He remained in such a brown study that I did not like to disturb him, though his sudden alteration of mood surprised and worried me. Nevertheless, I felt bound to tell him when we arrived that he had led us to the platform of the Milan Express. He smiled at me and shook his head.
"I'm afraid there is no mistake, Watson," said he.
"But the Dover tram is—"
"I am not returning to England."
"Not returning?"
"Not just yet. I think that I need a little time to myself, a little time to think—and, yes, to pull myself together. You go on without me."
"But—" I floundered, stunned by this turn of events,, "when will you return?"
"One day," he replied vaguely. "In the meantime," he added, coming to life, "inform my brother of my decision and ask him to tell Mrs. Hudson that my rooms are to be maintained as always and not to be touched. Is that clear?"
"Yes, but—" It was no use; he was travelling much too fast for me. I looked helplessly about the busy terminus, furious with my own inability to deal with him in this humour and wishing desperately that Freud were here.
"My dear fellow," said he not unkindly, holding me by the arm, "you mustn't take it so hard. I tell you I am going to recover. But I need time. It may be a long time." After a pause, he went on hastily. "But I shall return to Baker Street, you have my word. Please give my best to Mrs. Watson," he concluded, pressing my hand warmly as he stepped onto the Milan train, which had begun to roll slowly out of the station.
"But Holmes, how will you live? Have you any money?" I was walking beside the train, the length of my limping stride increasing with each step.
"Not much," he admitted, smiling down cheerfully, "but I do have my violin and I think I may be able to support myself in more ways than one when my arm has mended." He chuckled. "If you wish to keep track of my whereabouts, simply follow the concert career of a violinist named Sigerson." He shrugged with his good shoulder. "And if that should fail me, why then I shall wire Mycroft for a draft."
"But—" I was running alongside the train now— "what about your readers—
my
readers! What shall I tell them?"
"Anything you like," was the bland reply. "Tell them I was murdered by my mathematics tutor, if you like. They'll never believe you in any case."
Then the train steamed off at a pace my failing legs could not hope to manage.
My own trip back to England was uneventful. I slept most of the way, and when I stepped off the platform at Victoria, there was my own dear girl waiting for me with a wide smile and open arms.
And it will surprise no one to learn that when it came time to write down what had occurred, I followed Sherlock Holmes's advice to the letter.
Acknowledgements
It is my happy task to take the reader of this book behind the scenes and to express my gratitude to the writers, critics, and friends whose works or suggestions directly influenced the shape and outcome of
The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.
First and foremost, I am overwhelmingly in debt to the genius of the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who created in Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson the most popular characters in fiction. Without Doyle, this book could not have been thought of, let alone written.
Readers who are not Sherlock Holmes
aficionados
are doubtless unaware of the tremendous bibliography of Holmesian criticism, a wealth of literature that fills hundreds of volumes. These light-hearted speculations on the part of some brilliant writers were responsible for putting the idea of this book into my head in the first place, and some of their most imaginative theories I have endeavoured to intertwine and incorporate into the book's plot. I should like to acknowledge my chief sources of inspiration.
Among these "Sherlockians" (as they are termed in the United States), the late William S. Baring-Gould, author of a wonderful biography of the detective,
Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street
, and editor of the stupendous two-volume annotated collection of the complete Holmes stories, may be said to have performed the function of Head Muse. It was Baring-Gould's contention that Professor Moriarty tutored young Sherlock in mathematics.
More recently, Trevor Hall, in his indispensable work,
Sherlock Holmes—Ten Literary Studies
, deduced the adulterous affair of the detective's mother and her subsequent murder by his father, a family history that very conveniently explains a great many aspects of Holmes's character, including his profession.
Psychiatrist Dr. David F. Musto, in a brilliant essay published in
Journal of the American Medical
Association
plausibly connected Holmes with Dr. Sigmund Freud through the all-important link of cocaine, and Irving L. Jaffee, in his slim volume,
Elementary, My Dear Watson
, also suggested to my mind a relationship between Holmes and Freud.
For Victorian history and descriptions of the world and era of Sherlock Holmes, I am obliged to Michael Harrison, whose excellent
In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes
and
The London of Sherlock
Holmes
are delightful and informative reading even to those who have never read any of the famous detective's exploits.
I am further indebted to the close scrutiny of several friends and relatives, whose encouragement and sharp-eyed criticism kept me going and as accurate as possible where details of Holmesiana were concerned. Sean Wright, Chairman of the Los Angeles Sherlock Holmes Society (
The Non-Canonical
Calabashes
), made many important suggestions and corrections, as did Craig Fisher, Michael Pressman, and Michael Scheff, as well as my cousins in Fresno—the entire Winston Strong family—
and my father, Dr. Bernard C. Meyer of New York City.
Deepest thanks are also extended to Ruth Notkins Nathan and Harriet F. Pilpel, without whose
assistance the publication of this book would not have been possible.
Finally, my special thanks and appreciation are extended to Ms. Sally Welch Conner, whose
unremitting enthusiasm for the project was really responsible for my actually writing the book. She also proof-read and typed the manuscript, and threw in the title—at no extra charge.