My Greatest Cases: The Detective of Fiction
My Greatest Cases: The Detective of Fiction is an article written by Ex-Detective Inspector John Sweeney published in the The Leeds Mercury on 29 july 1905.
In this reflective essay, ex–Detective Inspector John Sweeney contrasts Sherlock Holmes's brilliant fictional methods with the limitations and realities of official police work, arguing that real investigations are constrained by law, accident, and human unpredictability. Through illustrative cases, he contends that while Holmes fascinates as art, real detection depends less on theory than on patience, procedure, and often sheer chance.
My Greatest Cases
The Detective of Fiction.
Sherlock Holmes interested me greatly. I followed his career through the magazine where his adventures appeared. His romantic stories fascinated me, his methods puzzled me, his sentiments amused me. There can be no two opinions about Dr. Conan Doyle's power as an artist. Sherlock Holmes is one of the characters of fiction that will live. No real detective could even hope (or fear) that his own life could ever be so crowded with incident, such a series of romances could only happen in a magazine whose readers were in an Oliver Twist attitude, always asking for more. I have accordingly nothing but admiration for Sherlock Holmes's marvellous life — I am glad I have not had to follow him in a literal sense.
If the history of this fictional giant of romance fills me with admiration, while I cannot admit the possibility of his experiences, I am unable to find anything but praise of his methods, so long as I regard them as a work of art. I do not say these methods are never pursued by detectives in real life, I know many detectives who have carefully followed every clue which would have appealed to Sherlock Holmes. I have more than once minutely pursued every trifling object, act, or appearance, which even most remotely suggested having anything to do with the work in hand, down to the smallest detail. have traced the origin of every mark made on the scene of a tragedy. Confrères of mine have sifted, probed, examined, and traced everything under similar circumstances. It is not very surprising to any one except to the inartistic, that the methods which seem so plausible in the highest and most convincing fiction, utterly fail when transferred to the realms of fact. I have never known a single case where the Sherlock Holmes methods have succeeded in making any discoveries of value which would not have yielded their secrets to the more ordinary but not less clever methods of the orthodox school of detectives. Naturally some of the Sherlock Holmes' ways are the commonplace of the place.
The Murderer's Pipe.
There are many stupid policemen; it would be strange to find a poorly paid class of men working long hours in all weathers without a considerable proportion of Jullards. There is not, however, an intelligent constable in the force who is not taught that when a serious crime has been committed, it is imperatively necessary to leave untouched every thing in its place until capable investigator has been despatched to the scene! When newspaper reports. doctors, neighbours, and a host of other busybodies have crowded to the spot, and clumsy efforts have been made to "make things tidy," the despair of the detective when he arrives is well painted by Sherlock Holmes, and finds a replica on many an occasion in real life, as all of us know to our disgust. On the other hand, if a constable of intelligence (and there are many such) is the first on the scene, he understands exactly his earliest duties. He must summon help from his head-quarters, he must in a few quick glances and a few rapid inquiries take in the whole situation, and by the time his superior officer arrives he will be in a position to give a hasty verbal report and an assurance that he has not permitted the slightest unnecessary disturbance of anything in or adjacent to the scene of action. A ludicrous example of the difficulties awaiting Sherlock Holmes in real life occurs to my recollection. It happened on one of those occasions when a careful constable had kept everything carefully untouched until the arrival of our nearest approximation to the hero of Conan Doyle's narratives.
The detective brought his well-trained judgment to bear on the case. Innumerable were the objects he took under his notice. He learnt the history of everything in the room, but one item alone seemed of prime importance. The murderer appeared to have left behind him his clay pipe still half-filled with tobacco. Here was indeed a clue. Every investigation pointed to the same conclusion. The wife of the murdered man was with him until half an hour of the tragedy, and she declared that the pips was not there then, and that her husband had never smoked clay pipe in his life. The pipe seemed to hold a solution to the whole mystery. I should like to have had Sherlock Holmes's opinion on the subject, just to see where such a clue would have led him. As a matter of fact, the pipe belonged to the police constable. He thought he had a quiet half-hour after barricading himself in against unauthorised visitors, and he awaited the arrival of his superior officer while solacing himself with a pipeful of tobacco. Afterwards he did not dare to admit that he had been smoking while on duty. And thus are clues found, for our undoing.
The Limitations of the Official.
Sherlock Holmes is too good a character in romance to be fairly contrasted with his prototypes in real life. It is a significant fact, however, that the most reputable and successful of unofficial detectives existent in this country are themselves ex-officials. terrible and squalid stories with which the public have frequently been regaled in the exposure of more than one pushful firm of private detectives are sufficient condemnation of them. It is perfectly clear that a wise man or woman anxious to avoid falling into the hands of blackmailers or worse will carefully seek for those whose experience, character, and energy are endorsed by official guarantees. I have met private detectives in the course of my career, but so far from consulting them (as the officials regularly consulted Sherlock Holmes), I have usually had to prevent them doing serious mischief. In other cases I have given gratis advice to a few personal friends in the profession, but nowhere outside the force have I seen any talent equal to that of the average official detective.
"Sherlock Holmes the theorist" is the title given him by a police inspector, in that best of all the series of stories, "The Sign of Four." That is the finest condemnation imaginable of the Homes in real life. The novelist with a fine fancy beyond all praise bas made a very Napoleon of detectives, but where would poor Sherlock have been without the skilful hand of Doyle to carry to consummation all the fine theories which Holmes raises. Look at the delicately hidden machinery of the stories! Holmes arrives on the scene after some dreadful catastrophe has occurred. The novelist is able to provide him with innumerable objects round which he can weave his precious theories. Then the detective tells this astonished Watson how each object points to a clue. The novelist takes care that Holmes is never mistaken. We are led from clue to clue until the climax is reached, and before we know where we are (except that we know we are enjoying ourselves immensely in the narrative) the criminal is captured, the jewels are restored, the lovers are united, and all ends happily. In real life we detectives are hampered by a strict conformity to this law of the land (which Sherlock Holmes does not always consider); by the limits of human perception and discernment, and by the absence of a Doyle to take care that all the facts are made to fit our theories. On the other hand we are assisted by such common sense as we possess, an eager desire not to overlook any possible clue, by the average human nature which leads men to confess wrong-doing, by the treachery of criminals towards their fellows, and by the strange chapter of accidents which has before now proved superior to detective, science, observation, patience, or experience.
What would the Theorist Do?
Ten years ago a mysterious murder took place. A poison, which was then little known, but which has been used with fatal precision many times since, was introduced into the food or drink of a rich old man. The heir, the only son, had been and was at the time of his father's death living in disgrace ten thousand miles away from the old gentleman. There were five servants in the house, and there was not the slightest reason for suspecting any one of them — the only effect on them of their master's death was the loss of a good position, and there was nothing in their conduct, character or circumstances, to give excuse for suspicion. No one else but the servants had seen their master for a few days before his death. The administration of the poison seemed to indicate a practised hand. Knowledge of this particular poison at that date presumed the results of certain advanced medical studies — the old gentleman had had an indifferent education, and interested only in horses and dogs. Suicide was for many reasons improbable.
The Coroner's Jury naturally returned an open verdict under the circumstances.
It is not an admission of incompetency to own that no detective could unravel this plot, and after, much patient skill had been expended on it, it was left behind as an insoluble mystery. Four years later one of the female servants confessed on her death bed that she had entirely without motive or object given him the poison. She was not the cook, and she did not serve the dinner, but she was alone in the kitchen one day where a bowl of sauce was being kept warm. She suddenly remembered that she had in her possession a small package of a poison she had stolen from her former employer, a doctor. She had kept the stuff for years knowing its deadliness, but ignorant of its nature otherwise. And so without motive, free from hate, revenge, or other emotion of enmity, this woman's dull mind had led her first to commit a murder, and then to face long months of suspense, which to a sharper intellect might have proved an unendurable agony of fear.
Convincing Evidence.
The condemnation of the brilliant theorist's school of detection, is that men (and, of course, still oftener women) are swayed by unintelligibly inadequate motives. Could you have a better illustration of this than is exemplified in the Brall case in 1893. The responsibility of arresting this man (a German and a cabinet-maker) was undertaken after a long and patient investigation, and only after the accumulation of evidence which, in the opinion of the authorities, fully justified every step we had taken. What would Sherlock Holmes have said to these facts: Fritz Brall attended Anarchist meetings, he I was a member of the infamous Autonomy Club in Soho, his friends were Nihilists and revolutionary Anarchists. He received communications from Anarchists in England and foreign countries. Incendiary literature from abroad reached him regularly. His rooms contained numerous acids and other ingredients which are required for the manufacture of infernal machines. He became a nuisance to the other tenants of the house because of experiments with acids, &c., which the neighbours complained had resulted in unpleasant noises and smells. His neighbours' complaints led to his leaving the house. After a number of other premises had been occupied for a week or two, Brall seems to have been dissatisfied with them, none being sufficiently private for him; at last he found a house at 54, Park-walk, Chelsea, which he occupied solely, at a rental he could hardly be expected to afford, being a married man and frequently out of work. On his arrest we found besides a number of dangerous acids, an electric battery, and other apparatus, including plaster moulds and some curious metal appliances. In the area was a deep square hole which Brall had himself dug, removing several flagstones for the purpose. It was four feet wide and several feet deep. Its appearance was precisely similar to that of the storehouse for explosives which we had discovered full of dynamite materials on a previous occasion elsewhere.
Does not Convict.
Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, if you will look at the London newspapers of July, 1894, you will find how misleading were all the appearances. Brall was tried on July 3rd, at the Old Bailey, for having in his possession, feloniously, certain dangerous substances, &c. The whole trial turned on the word "feloniously," for of course there was no dispute as to the fact that we found these things on his premises. Brall was acquitted. The acids, &c., were articles he required for his work as a cabinet-maker. The appliances were chemical apparatus which had been left in his possession by a fellow-lodger who studied medicine. The Anarchist papers were in a language he did not understand; and above all he calmly told the Judge (and the jury believed him) that the suspicious hole in the ground I was to keep rabbits in. The earth would keep them warm, and it was such a convenient place! True he had no rabbits, but how handy the hole would be when he had them.
In romances we can make the facts fit into all the highly suspicious circumstances. In real life we have to take the facts as they stand.
