(*First published in a serialized fashion by The Strand Magazine August 1901 - April 1902. SPOILERS AHEAD)
'Three Broken Threads.' Two of which arrive via telegrams. The first brings news that Barrymore is at the Hall and is not the full-bearded man in question. The second is that the wild goose chase Holmes sent young Cartwright on at the end of chapter four, was indeed a wild goose chase; no swiss-cheese'd Times was to be found at any of the many hotels. The third thread is one we shall get to in a bit and, conveniently-so, is the one I have most thoughts on.
But let's first do this.
"Holmes raised his eyebrows in surprise. 'I had no idea that so gigantic a sum was involved,' said he." I don't know about you, but I prefer my H to be all-knowing. I don't think that's too much to ask. It is something he prides himself on, after all. Nevertheless, perhaps it was here that he thought he might get more personally involved. We have seen his behaviors and involvement dictated at times by money. I don't necessarily think he does so for the payout(s) but instead because of the heightened seriousness of matters that feature higher prizes-prices.
That said, he here still sticks to his "It is impossible for me to be absent from London for an indefinite time." Or, perhaps he simply means just that and has his finite furlough already planned and mapped-out. In any event, Watson is tasked with chaperoning Henry and both seem quite chuffed at the prospect of their impending buddy flick. Also, there are more footwear shenanigans and if H has a scent as to what's up now, he sure is still not yet letting on.
But he is letting on that danger lies in the game which is afoot. "I'm not easy in my mind about it." He tells an already high-as-a-kite action-freak W who replies, "About what?" "About sending you. It's an ugly business, Watson, an ugly, dangerous business." If you think that Holmes would truly send Watson alone into such peril... well, keep reading the book, bub. This is H employing theatrics but for what purpose I remain unsure. Perhaps just to keep the room honest.
[The room. It seems as though Dr Mortimer and Sir Henry fade away at about the time Clayton arrives to the point when C leaves, it is clear that Holmes and Watson are either alone or completely and oddly ignoring the visiting pair.]
Now we come to the third of three thread breaks, brought to us by said John Clayton the cabman of Holmes' self-diagnosed flubbed chase of the spy with the probably fake beard. (So then why were they suspecting Barrymore and his quite real beard?) Still, we see H imperfectly on his heels on Baker Street, while perfectly in his element. It's quite odd, really, though I do hold out tenuous hope he simply is not letting much on of what he knows.
Ah, but Clayton. He comes willingly and defends immediately his good name. Why would H send out such vibes as to warrant this? We know he can be quite the charmer when he so desires. We also know that C isn't implicated in anything directly, he just might know a thing or two that might help Holmes. It's a thing, how Doyle treats the masses of particular classes. They are often, and unlike as with Dickens, a simple singular character of no use until they could be, begrudgingly-so and suspiciously treated. Perhaps their lack of individuality is a victim of the visceral broad strokes with which Doyle paints.
The dialog between the two is rather lengthy and rather much like Dragnet in its manner. Perhaps I'm needlessly rough on H. "'I have nothing in the world against you, nay good man,' said Holmes." This is done to smooth the defenses. But then after getting the guy's full ID info goes on with "you may find yourself in a pretty bad position if you try to hide anything from me." Think of being Clayton here, at least you have this hoity-toity fellow flipping you half a sovereign.
That day's sovereign translates to today's USD--never mind that.
And then from C comes the punchline snapping of the final thread, as he shares the name of the spy he drove: "'His name,' said the cabman, 'was Mr Sherlock Holmes.'" The game is a 'cunning rascal' indeed! and this can't possibly be as much of a mess as we are led to believe, correct? It's almost a Victorian Era quite proper version of how Spillane deals Hammer one bum hand after another until it all seems so damnedly insurmountable. Here, there's just a lack of packed heaters and bad broads. Nothing's perfect.
This, however, is the start of something good. It's been simmering into a rolling boil and now we're just about (hard) boiled over...
ADDITIONAL HOUN
Thoughts on Chapter 4
Thoughts on Chapter 6
Online sources for this article: The Arthur Conan Doyle Encyclopedia (The Hound of the Baskervilles)
Thoughts on Chapter 4
Thoughts on Chapter 6
::: very :::