Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 257 A Brand New Species!
On July 15, 1880, before the morning mist had even dissipated, the shrill cries of newsboys echoed through the streets and alleys of London.

"Good Words! The new issue of Good Words! Come and see the true face of the mysterious man!"

"Lionel Sorel's new work! A Study in Scarlet!"

"A detective story that will shock London! For just one shilling!"

Gentlemen, ladies, and even ordinary citizens, whose appetites had already been whetted by the bizarre covers of the first two issues of "Good Words" magazine, were all drawn in by the shout.

The carriage made a brief stop in front of the newsstand, and a hand wearing white gloves reached out of the window to hand over coins;

Even busy office workers couldn't help but stop, buy a copy, tuck it under their arm, and prepare to read it carefully in the office or during lunch.
The coffee shop's purchasing manager couldn't resist buying a few extra copies; he had a feeling that many customers would want to read the magazine today.

The tavern owner called over his best "newspaper reader," threw the magazine at him, and said, "Read it well tonight!"

Mr. Hawkins, the owner of a small newsstand near Waterloo Station, was unusually busy today.

As he collected money and handed out magazines, he cheerfully told his regular customers, "I knew it! 'Good Words' magazine was definitely going to have something big happen! Look at this cover!"

The cover of this issue of "Good Words" magazine certainly did not disappoint.

It cleverly blends design elements from the mid-June and late-June issues:
The background is the weathered brick wall with the dark red letters "RACHE" written on it, while the foreground is the silhouette of the man that has been the subject of speculation for over half a month.

Wearing a deerstalker hat and a cloak, with a long pipe in his mouth, he stood sideways, gazing at the blood-red letter, as if deep in thought.

However, unlike the previous single silhouette, this time there is a relatively young male silhouette beside him, accompanying him.

The cover features a prominent headline: A Study in Scarlet.

Below the title is the author's name – "Lionel Sorel".

Next to Lionel's name, in slightly smaller but clearer font, is written: Conan Doyle.

"My God, it really is Lionel Sorel!" George Wilson, a young employee at the insurance company, exclaimed immediately after receiving the magazine.

He then excitedly said, "I just finished reading the ending of 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Buton,' and I was just wondering what to read!"

He eagerly flipped open the magazine, skipping the political commentary and essays at the beginning, and followed the table of contents to find the starting page of the novel.

People doing the same thing are everywhere in London.

However, after reading the first few paragraphs, a doubt quietly arose in the minds of many British readers.

A French writer, wanting to write a story about an Englishman set in London?
Will he be like Mr. Fogg in Jules Verne's novel, interesting but still full of stereotypes?
Even if the British admired certain qualities of "Mr. Fogg," no one would say, "I am Phyllis Fogg!"

With this complex mix of curiosity and apprehension, readers continued reading the next part of *A Study in Scarlet*.

"First, I noticed your hands..."

"...In London, what kind of young gentleman would possess both of these characteristics?..."

"...How did you know I 'just finished' my internship? And how did you know I...'ended up in a second-rate clinic?"

"...Your clothes, especially the cuffs and front...that smells of tincture of opium..."

……

"boom!"

In a club on Fleet Street, a gentleman reading unconsciously loosened his grip on his wine glass.

The hard bottom of the glass hit the oak table with a dull thud, but he was completely unaware of it.

The gentleman simply stared wide-eyed at the magazine, then suddenly raised his hands to examine it closely, as if he were seeing it for the first time... Similar scenes were playing out simultaneously in countless corners of London.

In a public reading room in London, two young people who were complete strangers put down their magazines almost simultaneously, reached out and flipped through them, and then simultaneously reached for their pocket watches.

When their eyes met by chance, they were startled at first, then exchanged awkward but knowing smiles and began to speak in hushed tones:

"Good heavens, is this Sherlock Holmes... the devil?"

"My hands... are indeed a bit rough, but I've never noticed..."

"Look at my watch, can you tell anything?"

"Don't joke around, I'm not Sherlock Holmes!"

……

Quiet gasps, knowing laughs, and lively discussions rose and fell in the club's smoking room, at family breakfast tables, on park benches, and in the corners of pubs.

The name "Sherlock Holmes," along with his incredible "deductive reasoning," quickly captured the minds of London readers.

He was erudite, quick-witted, and calm to the point of being indifferent. Beneath his rational exterior lay persistence and purity, almost perfectly embodying the British man's fantasy of the "ideal self."

He was unlike the clumsy policemen of Scotland Yard, or the puzzle solvers in previous Gothic novels who relied on coincidence.

"Sherlock Holmes" is a completely new species; he is a consulting detective!
Then, readers also discovered that Lionel's description of London was not superficial, but full of real and believable details.

The dilapidated streets, the thick fog, the specific social customs... all seemed so authentic, without the sense of alienation often felt by foreign writers.

The initial doubts were quickly dispelled by Holmes's powerful personal charm and Lionel's detailed descriptions of London.

Readers' appetites were whetted, eager to see how this extraordinary detective would display his talent.

The novel didn't keep them waiting long.

Just as Watson was still reeling from his roommate’s amazing abilities, Scotland Yard detectives Grayson and Lestrade showed up at his door.

They brought in a case involving a bizarre murder that occurred at 3 Lauriston Garden Street in the Brixton area.

The readers' hearts were immediately gripped.

They then followed in the footsteps of Holmes and Watson, through the dimly lit streets of London, to the empty house.

The description of the scene was chilling, especially the body:

He lay stiffly on the floor, his eyes staring blankly at the faded ceiling... He had a head of black curly hair, a short, stiff beard, and wore a thick black woolen tuxedo coat... His fists were clenched, his arms were outstretched, and his legs were crossed, suggesting that he had struggled painfully in his final moments...

Following this, Lionel describes in detail how Holmes examined the body and the objects left in the house, the most chilling part of which is:
Holmes sniffed the dead man's lips...

And that ring:

As they lifted the corpse, a ring rolled onto the floor...

Of course, the most eye-catching thing is the wall—

Right there in the corner, large patches of decorative paper had peeled away, revealing a rough, yellowish whitewashed wall. On it, a word was scrawled in blood: RACHE.

Then came a line that broke the hearts of all readers:

(Thank you for reading. This chapter is now complete.)

(End of this chapter)