The autumn rain in Edinburgh was intermittent, and the sky was always veiled in a thin mist.
But this did not dampen Lionel and Conan Doyle's enthusiasm for their work.
In the following days, they seemed to be cut off from the outside world, immersing themselves in the story of The Sign of the Four.
The gaslights in the hotel room burned brightly through the night, and manuscript pages piled up, densely covered with Conan Doyle's handwriting.
The story of The Sign of the Four gradually became richer and more vivid through Lionel's dictation.
He not only completely recreated the tragedy from the original work, sparked by an Indian treasure and spanning two generations,
but also meticulously refined the details, profoundly and comprehensively showcasing Britain's colonial and predatory crimes against India.
The information Conan Doyle provided about London's soil and plants was also cleverly woven into the story.
When dictating about Holmes and Watson tracking Jonathan Small, the man with the wooden leg, he focused on depicting the cross-breed hound named Toby.
Lionel's voice carried the vividness of describing a living creature:
"[Toby was not one of those imposing, pedigreed hounds; he even looked a bit scruffy, but his brown eyes held extraordinary wisdom and focus.
When Sherman let him sniff the creosote-soaked rag, his whole body tensed up, his nose twitching violently, as if trying to inhale every complex scent...
He let out a low bark, his tail straight up like a flagpole, filled with excitement and urgency...]"
Conan Doyle recorded everything, occasionally looking up, his face beaming with pure joy.
He was a dog lover himself, with a lively terrier at home.
Lionel's lifelike portrayal of "Toby" made the clever hound seem right before his eyes, one could almost hear its rapid breathing.
He couldn't help but exclaim,
"That's wonderful, Lionel! Toby has practically come to life! Readers will surely fall in love with him!
The focus and intelligence you describe are exactly the most charming qualities of a 'bloodhound'!"
Lionel smiled slightly,
"I have to thank you for the information about London's dog breeds and training methods.
Though Mr. Sherman is a fictional character, his 'expertise' is well-founded."
Conan Doyle once again felt an unprecedented sense of satisfaction!
In the subsequent chase, Lionel vividly depicted Toby's abilities.
Led by Toby, Holmes and Watson traversed the dim London alleys, steadily advancing towards their target.
Toby was no longer a mere tool but an indispensable member; his every bark, every pause, would eventually tug at the readers' heartstrings.
"...[And so, we followed this strange companion, tracing the scent of creosote through the labyrinthine streets, all the way to a timber-yard by the river. Here, the scent grew strongest.]"
Lionel temporarily concluded this exciting chase segment.
Conan Doyle put down his pen, let out a long sigh, his face flushed with excitement:
"God, this is even more thrilling than pure deduction!
Toby's appearance has infused this story with a whole new vitality!"
Lionel nodded,
"Detective fiction shouldn't just be about cold logic and armchair deduction. Chases, adventures, collaborations with various 'experts'...
These elements can make the story's pace varied and also demonstrate Holmes's ability to utilize all available resources."
These five days of intensive work were not just about completing The Sign of the Four; for Conan Doyle, it was more like a masterclass in detective fiction writing.
In between dictation, Lionel would patiently explain why he set up characters in a certain way, why he planted a foreshadowing here, why he made a plot twist there...
And most importantly—how to balance the rigor of deduction with the readability of the story.
Conan Doyle absorbed it all like a greedy sponge; the margins of his notebook were filled with key points.
He felt that the vague concepts in his mind were being clearly outlined by Lionel, becoming well-structured...
——————
When Lionel finished the last section of The Sign of the Four, both of them were exhausted.
After resting for two full days at the hotel, they finally regained their spirits.
Seeing that the weather had cleared up for a rare moment, Lionel decided to let Conan Doyle, a local, be his guide and take him for a walk around the ancient city of Edinburgh.
They strolled along the cobbled Royal Mile, with towering spires and sturdy castles looming vaguely in the mist on either side.
A cold autumn wind swept through the narrow alleys, carrying the scent of the North Sea.
Lionel tightened his coat and suddenly spoke,
"Arthur, I have a longer-term idea for the future of the Sherlock Holmes series."
Conan Doyle immediately shed his leisurely sightseeing mood and looked at him seriously,
"Tell me, Lionel."
Lionel's voice was calm:
"A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of the Four are just the beginning.
There can be many Holmes stories, short stories, novellas, novels, involving all sorts of strange cases.
But I think, if we want this series to truly captivate readers for a long time, and also prevent the creator from getting fatigued, perhaps we need a main storyline."
Conan Doyle chewed on the word:
"Main storyline?"
Lionel turned around:
"Yes. A powerful adversary that runs throughout. Imagine, we need an ultimate villain.
He is almost as intelligent as Holmes, perhaps even more gifted in some ways, but his heart is full of wicked desires, willing to create chaos.
He's like a spider hidden in the shadows of London, meticulously weaving a web of crime, constantly inducing and manipulating different people to commit misdeeds.
And he himself always remains hidden behind the scenes, elegant and cold.
For example, we could call him... Professor 'Moriarty'."
Conan Doyle murmured the name,
"Moriarty..."
An image appeared in his mind—tall and thin, with a pale face, a broad forehead, and deeply set eyes; polite demeanor, speech full of literary allusions...
This image was so oppressive that Conan Doyle felt a chill run through him.
Conan Doyle trembled,
"The consulting criminal! The antithesis of 'consulting detective' Holmes! God, Lionel, this concept is astonishing, so powerful!"
Lionel smiled faintly,
"Actually, Arthur, this could also provide a final release for us, or rather, for you."
Conan Doyle was somewhat puzzled:
"Release?"
Lionel's gaze drifted to the flag flying over the distant castle:
"I mean, if one day you lose your passion for writing Holmes stories...
Then, perhaps, this long-standing battle between good and evil could reach a grand conclusion.
For instance, letting Holmes and Moriarty perish together, falling into a waterfall or some rapid current..."
Conan Doyle almost blurted out,
"No! Absolutely not! Lionel, how could you think that? That's insane!
Let Holmes die? That's impossible! Readers would never allow it! And I would never do it!"
He couldn't imagine personally pushing the detective to his death; it felt like suffocating a child who had just learned to run, absurd and cruel.
Lionel looked at Conan Doyle's agitated reaction, merely smiled, and did not continue the discussion.
He patted Conan Doyle's shoulder:
"It's just an extreme hypothetical, Arthur. Don't be nervous. Come on, the wind is picking up, we should head back."
That night, Conan Doyle slept exceptionally soundly.
He dreamed he stood at the window of 221B Baker Street, beneath him lay a fog-shrouded London, and in the distance, a shadow smiled coldly at him.
——————
The next morning, Conan Doyle woke at his usual time.
After washing up, he tidied his clothes, ready to join Lionel for breakfast in the next room.
He gently knocked on Lionel's door, but there was no response.
A vague sense of unease flickered in his heart.
Conan Doyle tried turning the doorknob and found the door was not locked.
Pushing the door open, the room was empty.
On the desk lay a folded note.
Conan Doyle's heart sank.
He quickly walked over, picked up the note, and unfolded it.
It bore Lionel's familiar, flowing handwriting:
[Arthur: This letter finds you well.
I have reviewed and taken the manuscript of The Sign of the Four. You recorded it excellently, even exceeding my expectations.
I will now complete the remaining work in Paris and look forward to our next meeting.
Your faithful, Lionel Sorell]
(End of Chapter)