His Last Bow (review 14 november 1917) - Revision history

TCDE-Team at 20:38, 11 February 2026

2026-02-11T20:38:05Z

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TCDE-Team at 20:36, 11 February 2026

2026-02-11T20:36:23Z

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	\|Book=His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes		\|Book=His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
	\|BookAuthor=Arthur Conan Doyle		\|BookAuthor=Arthur Conan Doyle
	\|Reviewer=~~Anonymous~~		\|Reviewer=
	\|Topics=Fiction		\|Topics=Fiction
	}}		}}

TCDE-Team at 20:18, 11 February 2026

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			{{Cargo_Reviews_Articles
			\|Date=1917-11-14
			\|Book=His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes
			\|BookAuthor=Arthur Conan Doyle
			\|Reviewer=Anonymous
			\|Topics=Fiction
			}}
	''His Last Bow'' is an article published in [[The Sketch]] on 14 november 1917.		''His Last Bow'' is an article published in [[The Sketch]] on 14 november 1917.

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Created page with " ''His Last Bow'' is an article published in The Sketch on 14 november 1917. Review of Arthur Conan Doyle's collected stories His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sh..."

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''His Last Bow'' is an article published in [[The Sketch]] on 14 november 1917.

Review of [[Arthur Conan Doyle]]'s collected stories [[His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes]].

== Review ==
[[File:the-sketch-1917-11-14-pviii-his-last-bow.jpg|thumb|300px|right|[[The Sketch]] (14 november 1917, p. viii)]]

"[[His Last Bow: Some Reminiscences of Sherlock Holmes|His Last Bow]]," by [[Arthur Conan Doyle]] ([[John Murray]]) — surely not the p.p.c. visit of [[Sherlock Holmes]] — has been upon my table a week. And last night a very trembling little girl here went unwillingly up to bath and bed. "Don't leave me, mummy," was her cry, and mummy was all in the dark herself as to what it meant. Till this morning. At the first grey light a small figure sat up in bed and called across the room in confession. She had taken a mean advantage of mummy's distracted attention; she had read one of mummy's beautiful picture-covered books without asking. It had a more beautiful picture than ever — a dark, thin gentleman with a pipe like daddy's, and holding in his hand a large white cock-a-doodle that had gone to sleep. Hence, black men were imminent on the landing after dark, tigers lurked behind the bath, and a scowling yellow fiend waited under the bed. Any of you want these delicious tremors? They can be had just as good as ever, with the additional spice of downing a spy as he chuckled at Harwich just two days before our declaration of war. But the last bow — no! Life is unthinkable without our [[Sherlock Holmes|Holmes]], and his dear, cleverly stupid [[John H. Watson|Watson]].

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