Sherlock Holmes and the Golden Bird

Preface

In bringing previously unpublished cases of the world's greatest detective to the attention of readers, one is faced with the persistent questions: "How did you come by these adventures, and why have they not been published before this?"

There is no mystery here. The unpublished stories are frequently referred to in the four novels and fifty-six short stories that Doctor Watson made available during his lifetime. Nor is there doubt as to where the voluminous case books, carefully compiled by the most diligent chronicler of all times, were placed, for Watson told us on a number of occasions. They were filed in that famous dispatch box in the vaults of Cox's Bank at Charing Cross. The reasons the good doctor denied the eager reading public of the world access to these adventures was also plainly stated. A number of Holmes's exploits dealt with sensitive government matters best allowed to remain in limbo for the time. Others cast light on social scandals of the late Victorian era and Watson, always the soul of properiety, felt they should not become public knowledge while those involved were still alive. In addition, there were certain cases which Watson rather cryptically described as being of such a nature that the world was not prepared for their revelation. I have often wondered if the months Holmes spent in research into coal-tar derivatives in a laboratory at Montpellier, in the south of France, is classified in this last category.

The adventures were certainly recorded and preserved and the only singular matter is how this editor came by them. I have been vague on this point in previous writings, but the whole matter will be in the open before long because of legal questions regarding ownership. There is, in Anglo-Saxon law, the Treasures of the Realm act of which I have been made alarmingly aware.

It was during the height of the wartime blitz that Cox's Bank was devastated by bombs. Since I was in London at this time, my only thought on that fateful night was to seek refuge from the explosions that seared the darkness with a nightmare of flame, falling masonry, dust, debris, death. By pure happenstance the aged dispatch box and I were thrown together and happily we emerged from the kaleidoscope of horror relatively undamaged. One thing is certain, had I not been in the ruins of the bank, the dispatch box with its historical and irreplaceable contents would have been lost forever, reduced to cinders by the German firebombs.

Such is the statement I shall make when the matter comes to court.

But this unpleasant legal confrontation lies in the future, which must unfold according to the blueprint of destiny. Let us now part the veils of time and walk back into the past. Back to the wondrous world of Baker Street.

The game is afoot, or more appropriately, the bird is on the wing.

—Frank Thomas

Los Angeles, 1979