A small, black, hardback book, with gold lettering and creamy-white pages. It could be a pocket-book or a diary, and it could be an eminently suitable place to make a record of events to be set aside for some future date when the truth may, finally, be told.
And that is just what this book is. It is the testimony of Bertram Fletcher Robinson, making clear his role in the creation of The Hound of the Baskervilles. I hadn't heard of Bertram Fletcher Robinson before I spotted this book, but I was quickly intrigued. What was his role?
Doyle acknowledged the assitance of Fletcher, an American magazine suggested that he may have done even more than was acknowledged, but some years later Doyle's son and literary executor claimed that Fletcher's role was of any significance.
And so we have conflicting claims. Where does the truth lie? John O'Connell's novel provides an audacious answer, in a novel purporting to be a document put away by Robinson.
Robinson, a journalist, meets the famous writer when they are both travelling by boat, from South Africa to England. Each knows the others work, and so they become travelling companions. And Robinson aspires to write crime fiction. He tells Doyle some of his ideas, and is stunned when Doyle offers to buy one of them. Robinson's confidence grows.
The two men continue their acquaintance back in London, and in time Doyle suggests a visit to Robinson's family home on Dartmoor to work together on a new book ...
The style was plain, but everything was clear and everything rang true. I found it easy to believe that I was reading the words of Robinson the journalist.
On Dartmoor the story darkened. Doyle behaved strangely. Robinson was unsettled. And I began to wonder just how reliable his account was.
The wheels were in motion and a chain of events, events that chimed well with Doyle's novel and his life, lead to a dark denouement.
The final chapters really are the highpoint of the book. They are so cleverly constructed it is, they play wonderfully with the conventions of the gothic mystery, and they left me very unsettled.
The author wrapped his story around the known facts very well, and then he provides a useful explanation of where known facts end and fiction begins in an afterword.
I wasn't entirely convinced by his account, and I'm not sure that it answers all of the questions that were raised, but it was a lovely dark entertainment for an autumn evening.
And now my curiosity is piqued. I am eager to reread The Hound of The Baskervilles, to compare it with other stories of Sherlock Holmes, and to learn more about its author.
Or authors ...