Canadian Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

A brand new paperback version of The Canadian Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Stephen Gaspar has just been released and can be found (along with a the Kindle version) on Amazon.

Here is an excerpt from the first chapter... enjoy.

     In May 1897, soon after the adventure of The Devil’s Foot, Sherlock Holmes and I began a series of adventures across the Atlantic, in Canada.         
    We had been sitting silently for some time across from the hearth in our Baker Street rooms. Suddenly, without any provocation evident to me, Sherlock Holmes turned and said, "So, Watson, what urgent word from our friend Sir Henry Baskerville in Canada?"                I was completely taken aback and stared at my friend in mute amazement.           
    After a moment of silence, Holmes spoke, "You need not look at me as if I were a practitioner of black magic."         
    "How did you guess?" I asked, for we had indeed received a trans-Atlantic cable from Sir Henry Baskerville that very morning, urging us to join him at his cattle ranch in Canada.         
    "I did not have to guess, you told me everything. We have shared these rooms long enough that I know your every mood, and may I say, my dear friend, that you are easier to read than The Times. Your long bout of silence told me that you are worried over some matter, and I have observed you observing me with deep concern. Recently you have mentioned that you have some misgivings regarding my health of late and urged me to take something of a holiday from my cases. Your gaze occasionally came to rest on that single muddy black boot I keep atop the bookcase to remind me of our exploit at Dartmoor and the legend of The Hound of the Baskervilles. When we last heard from our friend Sir Henry, he told us how he was now dividing his time between Baskerville Hall and his now rather large Canadian farm. He also mentioned he would be in Canada about this time of year, and that there were some peculiar doings there that would no doubt interest me, and so left an open invitation for us to visit him in Canada. Hence your unease; you fear I will take up the chase."         
    "How did you know we received word from him just this morning?"         
    "I heard Mrs. Hudson ascend the stairs earlier, and I assumed she came to give you the telegram that is protruding from your pocket. You are a man of immediate action and would under most circumstances inform me of its content. You chose to hold it from me, so I inferred it contained something you were reluctant to reveal. What could it be but another case?   Add this to what I mentioned before and I deduced we had received a telegram from Sir Henry in Canada requesting our presence to help solve yet another mystery. He did not write but sent a trans-Atlantic telegram which tells me the matter is urgent. You yourself picked up on this, hence your worry and reluctance to tell me about it."         
    I slumped back into my chair, resigned to the fact that it would be forever impossible to keep a secret from my friend, whose powers of observation and deduction I had both witnessed and chronicled these many years.           
    "Holmes, as your physician and your friend, I strongly advise against a journey to Canada. Surely the climate and harsh conditions would be detrimental to your health and wellbeing, and could prove too much even for your constitution."         
    "Nonsense, Watson," he uttered stifling a chuckle. "All I need to know is, should I book two passages or just one?"         
    "I could not forgive myself if I let you brave the wilds of a frontier colony alone," I remarked, knowing my friend's iron resolve when he sets his mind to something. I decided he would benefit my presence rather than my absence, and I conceded to accompany Holmes.         
    At Waterloo Station, we caught a train and travelled to Southampton, where we would board a ship bound for Canada.
    "Are you not afraid you over-packed, Watson?" remarked Holmes as we sat in our private car. 

   "I do not believe so," I replied. "You can never pack too much when travelling far from home. I have my woolens and winter wear. It is best to be prepared. You never know what we can expect and we may not find a Hudson's Bay post for supplies."           
    Holmes chuckled softly. "Really, Watson. My brother Mycroft may be the family expert on the subject of Canada, but even I know it is not the backwards, backwoods country you would believe. I am certain we will find all the comforts of London over there and be as at home as we are on Baker Street."         
    "I certainly hope so," I commented, taking little offence at his slight. "You know how irritable you become when deprived of your test tubes and scrap books and your chair by the fire."         
    "Touché, Watson," he replied, goodnaturedly. "Your point is well taken."         
    Most of the trip we spent in some silence, I reading up on the manners and customs of Canada from a small pocket gazetteer I purchased prior to departing London. Holmes spent much of his time staring out the window with heavy knit brows, occasionally glancing at the telegram from Sir Henry Baskerville that prompted this trip.
     "There is, I believe Watson, something different in the way Sir Henry worded his telegram that is not in keeping with his levelheaded manner."         
    "Are you saying Sir Henry did not send that wire?" I asked.         
     "On the contrary, only Sir Henry could have sent it, but observe," Holmes remarked and he went on to read it aloud:
            HOLMES NEED FOR YOU TO INVESTIGATE CANADIAN MYSTERY
            PLEASE COME AT ONCE URGENT                                     
                                                                            BASKERVILLE
      "He is direct and to the point," commented Holmes. "No greetings or salutations. He actually states the urgency of his situation, and we can read the desperation in his words. We both know Sir Henry is not an excitable man but rather a most practical young man with a fine mind and not without his own resources. Yet he seems to have little recourse left to him and is practically begging us to come to his aid. These are deep waters, Watson, deep and deadly." In Southampton we booked passage on the steamship Dominion City. The master of the ship was Captain Jerome Appleby, a rough looking, taciturn old sailor, whose side whiskers and rugged appearance, which included a crooked nose and a scar on his cheek, seemed to come out of Clark Russell's sea-stories. Fortunately Holmes and I made the acquaintance of the more gregarious first mate, Mister Pitt.           
    "I have been sailing the oceans of the world for two and twenty years gentlemen," declared the handsome, moustached Mr. Pitt at dinner one night. "Things are changing, I'm afraid. Steamships like the Dominion City are the heralds of the future. Soon all that will be left plying the oceans will be these iron hulled vessels spewing smoke across the sky. Almost gone are the days of the glorious wooden square riggers."         
    As he spoke, I saw the sadness in his eyes for a golden age that was coming to a close, and I too felt a pang of nostalgic regret.           
    "Surely many of the older wooden ships are sound vessels with many useful years remaining," I remarked to Mr. Pitt.           
    He shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not, Doctor. Owners are discovering steel-hulled ships leak less and can carry more cargo than the older square riggers. Freight rates are low and insurance rates are high. No, gentlemen, I am certain the romantic days of sailing ships are all but gone."

Books by Stephen Gaspar can be found on Amazon