Writer 1879: Solitary Journey in France

Chapter 456, "The Hound of the Baskervilles," is now complete!

This voyage also took a full eight days.

Compared to the turbulent journey of the USS Perel across the Atlantic, the USS America's return voyage was exceptionally smooth.

It was as if the Atlantic Ocean had wisely tempered its bad temper, unwilling to add any more trouble to these weary travelers returning home.

At noon on December 3, 1881, the thin fog over the North Sea gradually dissipated, and the outline of the port of Le Havre finally came into view.

The docks were still crowded with welcoming people, but there were no golden carriages, no large bands, and no colorful flags or banners fluttering in the air...

But Zola, Goncourt, and Lionel, among others, felt relieved—they were home!

Some students held up welcome signs:

"Welcome back, knight of France!"

"Homage to Sorel, to Zola, to Homer of our time!"

The USS America slowly docked, and the gangway was lowered.

Led by Zola, nine weary writers stepped down one by one.

The moment they set foot on French soil again, the crowd erupted in enthusiastic cheers.

"Mr. Zola!"

"Daudet! Look this way!"

"Maupassant!"

“Sorrel! Lionel Sorel!”

Their names were called out repeatedly, accompanied by enthusiastic applause and questions from reporters.

Lionel followed behind Zola and Goncourt, but could clearly feel many eyes focused on him.

His legendary experiences in the United States have long been widely circulated in France through newspapers.

Lionel smiled and nodded to the crowd, but his eyes were searching anxiously.

Then, he saw them.

Sophie and Alice stood slightly towards the front of the crowd.

Sophie, dressed in dark travel clothes, had a joyful expression on her face; Alice, on the other hand, was jumping up and down, waving her hands vigorously, with a bright smile on her face.

Lionel's heart settled immediately. He walked straight through the crowd of people who came forward to greet them and headed towards the two men.

Sophie stepped forward, her voice choked with emotion: "Leon!"

But all those words seemed stuck in my throat, finally condensing into just one sentence: "You're finally back safe and sound..."

Lionel took her hand and squeezed it firmly: "Yes, you're back, and I'm doing well!"

Alice's eyes sparkled: "Leon! The newspaper says you've been kidnapped by American bandits! We were so worried!"
Sophie had already bought the ship tickets to America—thankfully, news came back before departure that you were alright!

Lionel smiled and said, "It is a bit dangerous, but it's not as exaggerated as the newspapers make it out to be. I'll tell you the details later."

A simple hug and greeting dispelled the last trace of fatigue from the long voyage.

Looking at Sophie and Alice, Lionel finally truly understood the meaning of "returning home".

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Upon returning to Paris, Lionel declined all invitations to banquets and salons, going directly to his apartment at 117 Boulevard Saint-Germain.

As he opened the door, a familiar scent wafted out; nothing had changed. Lionel smelled the familiar aroma of red wine stewed oxtail.

Petty took a day off and prepared a lavish dinner to celebrate Lionel's return.

After the meal, Lionel, holding his coffee, began chatting with everyone. He needed to know what changes had occurred in France and Paris over the past month.

Sophie placed a stack of Le Figaro clippings on the table: "Paris has changed a lot. About two weeks after you left, Jules Ferry resigned."

Lionel nodded, unsurprised: "I knew before I left that his annual budget would not pass and that Parliament would no longer trust him."

He took a sip of coffee and said calmly, "Every Parisian can see he's finished. So, is it time for Gambetta to form a government?"

Sophie nodded: "Yes. However, I'm afraid Mr. Gan Bida won't be in his position as prime minister for long."

Lionel pressed on curiously, "Oh? Why?"

Sophie opened the clipping and pointed to the headline, explaining, "It's been three weeks, and he hasn't even managed to appoint a single minister."

Ferry's people were lukewarm towards him, Clemenceau wasn't enthusiastic either, and the council rejected his list of cabinet members. He now doesn't even have a single helper.

Mr. Gambit's behavior before Ferry resigned was so assertive that even his initial supporters hesitated..."

Lionel shook his head upon hearing this: "So efficient! That's France for you!"

Although he was not familiar with the frequent changes of prime ministers and cabinets in the Third Republic, he knew that it was common for people to be replaced every few months.

So much so that the Jules Ferry cabinet, which lasted for more than a year, could be considered a "long-lived cabinet".

--------

The mountain of letters and packages piled up in the study reminded Lionel how long he had been gone.

He spent some time roughly sorting them; most were requests for articles from magazines, invitations to various salons, and inquiries about business collaborations. Only one was particularly important: a thick stack of manuscripts from Arthur Conan Doyle's *The Hound of the Baskervilles*.

In August of this year, he dictated the main framework and narrative techniques of the novel to Conan Doyle, leaving the rest entirely to the latter's discretion.

Now is the time to see if Conan Doyle has fully mastered these skills.

The novel begins again with a casual conversation between Sherlock Holmes and Watson at 221B Baker Street.

They made some "deductions" about a cane left behind by a doctor named James Mortimer, and Watson shared his speculation—

"I think, judging from this souvenir, Dr. Mortimer was an accomplished doctor, quite old, and highly respected."

"I also think that he probably practiced medicine in the countryside for many years and mostly walked when making house calls."

"Because this cane is already badly damaged, it's hard to imagine that a doctor in the city would still be willing to carry it."

The thick iron cap at the bottom was also severely worn, clearly indicating that he had used this cane to walk many country roads.

"Also, it says 'Friends of C.C.H.' on it, which I guess refers to a hunter's club;
He may have treated members of the local hunters' association before, which is why they gave him this gift as a token of their gratitude.

...]

Of course, apart from Watson's identity as a "country doctor," almost all of his other conclusions were completely overturned by Holmes.

This "James Mortimer" doctor was not very old, nor was he particularly respected; the cane was just a wedding gift from a friend.

Lionel only briefly mentioned this initial approach to Conan Doyle, without providing any details of the reasoning.

Unexpectedly, Conan Doyle wrote just as well, in no way inferior to himself, and immediately grasped the characteristics of this kind of casual conversation.

Then, James Mortimer made his official entrance, bringing with him an old manuscript.

The manuscript contains terrifying legends about the Baskerville family on Dart Moor in Devonshire.

A gigantic hound, its mouth and eyes spitting hellfire, has hunted down members of this family for generations.

Lionel flipped through the manuscript. The story unfolded along the framework he had initially set:

The shadow of a family curse, Sir Henry Baskerville, the heir returning from Canada, the mournful barking of dogs echoing through the swampy nights, anonymous warning letters, missing shoes…

Conan Doyle did a good job of creating a gothic atmosphere of horror; the desolation and eeriness of Dart Swamp slowly seeped out through Watson's perspective.

He paid particular attention to the chapters presented in the form of letters and diaries.

(Excerpt from Dr. Watson's letter to Sherlock Holmes)
"...Dear Holmes, I must report to you that the atmosphere here is becoming increasingly unsettling. Sir Henry received another clipping warning letter this morning, pointing directly to that deadly swamp."

Even stranger, one of his new leather shoes disappeared without a trace; this was the second time he had lost clothing.

The servants were always whispering among themselves, and whenever I looked at them, they would look away and pretend nothing was wrong.

The Stapleton siblings were among the few pleasant neighbors here, but the younger sister, Beryl, always seemed to have something to say but couldn't quite bring herself to say it.

I tried to make sense of things, but the clues were like a fog in a swamp, impossible to grasp or dissipate.

I await your guidance. Your faithful one, Watson.

(Excerpt from Dr. Watson's diary)

...October 15th, cold and gloomy. Tonight, I heard that mournful howl again, coming from the depths of the swamp, from no known wild beast.

On this cursed land, even reason seems to be crumbling...

Lionel carefully savored these passages; Conan Doyle was indeed trying to differentiate the tone of different narrative points in time.

The letters are more objective reports, reflecting a reliance on Holmes; while the diary is more personal, revealing Watson's inner doubts and growing fears.

This difference creates the initial basis for a "narrative trick"—

Readers see the world through Watson's eyes, and like him, they are kept in the dark and feel helpless.

The plot becomes tense in the middle of the manuscript.

Watson was tracking a mysterious man in the swamp at night when he discovered that it was actually Sherlock Holmes who should have been in London!
He had been secretly investigating in a stone house in the wilderness.

The final part of the manuscript is the climactic showdown in the swamp, where "Stopton" releases giant, phosphorescent hounds to chase Sir Henry.

Holmes and Watson arrived just in time, and a gunshot pierced the night sky over the swamp, finally killing the hound.

It wasn't a purebred bloodhound, nor a purebred mastiff; it seemed more like a mixed breed, with a ferocious and terrifying appearance, as large as a lioness. It was clearly dead, motionless, yet blue flames still dripped from its enormous mouth, and a ring of fire still surrounded its small eyes.

I touched its glowing mouth, and when I raised my hand, my fingers also glowed in the darkness.

“It’s phosphorus,” I said.

...]

Lionel put down the last page of the manuscript, let out a long sigh of relief, rubbed his slightly sore eyes, but felt very satisfied.

Conan Doyle did it!
He not only told a complete story full of suspense and horror; more importantly, he successfully used "narrative tricks" and "unreliable narration".

By limiting Holmes's perspective, the author cleverly conceals Holmes's actions until the very end, which will surely bring readers great surprise and satisfaction.

Compared to the original historical work, this version of "The Hound of the Baskervilles" represents a qualitative leap in narrative technique, opening up new avenues for detective fiction.

He picked up his pen and began writing a reply to Conan Doyle…

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