I find myself of mixed mind about this, my eleventh volume of memoirs concerning life with Sherlock Holmes. On the one hand, I vowed when I began writing that the accounts would be complete, that there would be no leaving out failures or slapping wallpaper across our mistakes.
Nonetheless, this is one episode over which I have considerable doubts—not, let us be clear, due to any humiliations on my part, but because I fear that the credulity of many readers will be stretched to the breaking by the case’s intricate and, shall we say, colourful complexity of events.
If that be the case with you, dear reader, please rest assured that for this one volume of the Russell memoirs, you have my full permission to regard it (and alas, by contagion, me) as fiction.
Had I not actually been there, I, too, would dismiss the tale as preposterous. —MRH
As an added bonus, the trade paper also includes Beekeeping for Beginners, last summer’s e-novella, in print for the first time!