Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram from Hell

by Nicholas Meyer Narrated by David Robb, Nicholas Meyer

Overview

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson cross the Atlantic at the height of World War I in pursuit of a mysterious coded telegram in this new mystery from the author of The Return of the Pharaoh.



June, 1916. With a world war raging on the continent, exhausted John H. Watson, MD, is operating on the wounded full-time when his labors are interrupted by a knock on his door, revealing Sherlock Holmes, with a black eye, a missing tooth and a cracked rib. The story he has to tell will set in motion a series of world-changing events in the most consequential case of the detective's career.



Amid rebellion in Ireland and revolution in Russia, Germany has a secret plan to win the war and Sir William Melville of the British Secret Service dispatches the two aging friends to learn what the scheme is before it can be put into effect. In pursuit of a mysterious coded telegram sent from Berlin to an unknown recipient in Mexico, Holmes and Watson must cross the Atlantic, dodge German U-boats and assassination attempts, and evade the intrigues of young J. Edgar Hoover, while enlisting the help of a beautiful, eccentric Washington socialite as they seek to foil the schemes of Holmes's nemesis, the escaped German spymaster Von Bork.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

06/24/2024

Holmes and Watson team up to boost England’s WWI efforts in screenwriter Meyer’s disappointing latest (after The Return of the Pharaoh). In 1916, Watson reunites with Holmes after spending a year treating soldiers who’ve returned from the front lines. Holmes, meanwhile, has continued working undercover to pump the imprisoned traitor Sir Roger Casement for information about German strategy. Casement tells Holmes that Germany plans to “starve England into surrender” via a prolonged U-boat campaign; he also says that a German foreign minister has a plan to ensure the U.S. doesn’t enter the war. A contact at the British secret service dispatches Holmes and Watson to the States to learn more; there, they uncover a plot involving an old nemesis of Holmes’s, and get tangled up in a pair of murders. Unfortunately, Meyer doesn’t focus on those crimes, opting instead to reframe Holmes as a Jason Bourne–style action hero. Meyer’s depiction of an aging, depressed Watson makes more of an impression, but in the end, this is too far-fetched for Holmes devotees and too run-of-the-mill for espionage fans. Agent: Charlotte Sheedy, Charlotte Sheedy Literary. (Aug.)

Washington Post

"Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram From Hell is certainly fun to read . . . In such works of homage and affection, the great detective lives on."

Deadly Pleasures Magazine

"[Meyer] once again proves that he’s especially adept at playing in other creators’ sandboxes."

Toronto Globe and Mail

"Meyer gives us a wonderful plot line with lots of thrills and chills and a chase that makes me long for a film version."

Leslie S. Klinger

"Nicholas Meyer’s stirring tale of the turning point of the Great War reveals the pivotal roles of Sherlock Holmes and his friend Dr. Watson. Solidly based on history, it’s thrilling, full of surprises, yet touchingly poignant in its depiction of the aging partners. Please continue unearthing these lost accounts, Mr. Meyer!"

Booklist

"A thrilling, fast-paced, and dangerous story . . . Of all the Holmes novelists—and there are a lot of them—Meyer is one of the best, and it’s wonderful to see these two characters back in action."

Jeffrey Meyers

"Nicholas Meyer, a master storyteller, brings Holmes and Watson triumphantly to life during the English, American and Mexican intrigues of the Great War. His witty and riveting mystery, based on a crucial historical event, has a brilliant climax."

Dennis Palumbo

"The combination of a terrific plot, surprising twists, and the poignant relationship between the elderly Holmes and Watson makes this a memorable read."

Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine

"The plot is clever and the writing exceptional, but what makes this book stand out is how Meyer weaves into the story dozens of historical figures and events, including the spy plot at the center of the novel."

Wall Street Journal

"Mr. Meyer’s touch is as deft as ever, as the veteran Sherlockian serves up a potent solution of action, deduction, history and affectionate banter."

Julian Fellowes

"For me, Nicholas Meyer has managed the impossible, which is to sound exactly like Arthur Conan Doyle, as he plunges Holmes and Watson into a time in our history when the survival of Britain and the British was under threat. The danger is real and so, by this stage, at any rate for most of us, are Holmes and Watson. The combination is irresistible. It will not surprise the reader that in Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram from Hell, the Great Detective surpasses himself."

Criminal Element

"[Meyer has] written a beautiful ode to friendship set against the backdrop of international warfare and espionage, with a subtly elegant structure that perfectly suits his characters and themes."

BookReporter

"The resolution of this epic tale is as unpredictable as everything that has preceded it. In order for WWI to end in favor of the Allies, Holmes and Watson’s mission must be a success. Being aware of the war’s outcome does not take away from the enjoyment of reading Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram from Hell. This is a Holmes tale that no fan of his novels should miss."

Alex Ross

"For decades, Nicholas Meyer has held sway as the preeminent author of Sherlockian tales, and Sherlock Holmes and the Telegram from Hell demonstrates his strengths in profusion: crisp plotting, rich cultural-political background, many flashes of wit, and an abiding zest for the game."

John Collee

"Another tour-de-force from Nicholas Meyer, once more channelling Conan Doyle to tremendously entertaining effect, this time weaving in a Mexican-American connection which is, remarkably, both true to history and stranger than fiction."

The Big Thrill

"A delightful, fast-paced, historically correct novel . . . that perfectly captures the zeitgeist of the period."

Bookreporter on The Return of the Pharaoh

"This is not only another great mystery to solve but a grand adventure."

Library Journal

05/01/2024

Beginning with 1975's The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, Meyer has been editing and annotating the supposed diaries of Dr. John Watson describing his adventures with Sherlock Holmes. In this sixth such endeavor, 66-year-old Holmes, having recently been undercover in the United States to break up a German spy ring, is now, along with Watson, sent back to the States as himself. It's 1916, and they supposedly are garnering support for the U.S. to enter the war. In reality, they are seeking a mysterious German telegram that will keep the U.S. neutral until the U-boats are unleashed to quickly end the war. Watson is beaten, stabbed, and shot as they avoid assassination attempts and end up in Mexico. Here they finally steal the telegram and uncover a potential invasion of the United States. VERDICT Meyer is an author, screenwriter, director, and life-long Holmes fan. In addition to editorial notes and photos of many characters, he also weaves real people into this fabulous tale, including Alice Roosevelt Longworth and a very young J. Edgar Hoover, all while keeping the game very much afoot. Baker Street Irregulars everywhere will enjoy this.—Roland C. Person

NOVEMBER 2024 - AudioFile

Author Nicholas Meyer's introduction sets the scene for David Robb's excellent narration of this WWI story. In 1916, Watson and Holmes reunite after several years apart. Watson has been treating wounded soldiers, while Holmes has been undercover, extracting information from an imprisoned traitor. Germany has a diabolical plan to "starve England into surrender," and it's up to the two aging partners to prevent the enemy from succeeding. Robb sounds appropriately haughty as Holmes, while his portrayal of Watson presents an able mind in a body that creaks with age. Robb depicts the pair as they ponder age, dodge assassination attempts, elicit the help of socialite Alice Longworth, and avoid the machinations of a youthful J. Edgar Hoover. Despite occasional slow moments, Robb keeps things entertaining. S.J.H. © AudioFile 2024, Portland, Maine

Kirkus Reviews

2024-06-15
As World War I rages, Holmes serves, solves, and spies, and Watson faithfully records.

Fifty years after topping bestseller lists withThe Seven-Per-Cent Solution, which put Sherlock Holmes’ drug addiction front and center, Meyer continues to offer his own puckishly provocative version of the legendary sleuth. In his sixth resuscitation of Holmes, sturdily narrated once more by Dr. John Watson, the detective is a war hero, a fighter for social justice, and something of a diplomat as well as a brilliant crime reconstructor who solves the baffling shipboard murder that provides a trans-Atlantic version of the traditional locked-room mystery. The tale begins in 1916, when Watson is treating casualties of World War I, in which Holmes valiantly served and was injured. They debate the case of Roger Casement, an Irish nationalist currently on trial in Britain for treason. Casement, like many other characters here, was a real historical figure. Meyer weaves him into the episodic narrative along with sly Alice Roosevelt Longworth, U.S. Ambassador to Mexico Henry Fletcher, and several others, and includes vintage photos and documents as well. The Sherlockian mystery is solid and delightful on its own, but Meyer’s portrait of this moment in history adds a surprising and fascinating bonus. An additional meta layer is provided by an imaginative introduction in the form of a letter Meyer receives from a Japanese industrialist, along with the pages of Watson’s diary that account for the bulk of the novel.

Ingenious international froth studded with historical tidbits.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940191996189
Publisher:	HighBridge Company
Publication date:	08/27/2024
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Wondering who on Earth might be calling so late, I slipped on my jacket and unbolted the door, astonished to behold a figure emerging like a wraith from a thick, sulfurous fog.

“Holmes!”

“May I come in?” His voice was ragged, not the familiar, crisp tones to which I was long accustomed.

“Certainly.”

I had not seen my singular friend in over a year. Always favoring a touch of the dramatic, the detective could not have devised a better entrance. I stood aside to let him pass, wondering not only at his unexpected presence, but also his appearance, for despite the indifferent lighting I could see that he sported a black eye and a chipped bicuspid.

“And a cracked rib, I fear,” he confided, noting my confusion.

“Come into the surgery. Let me see.”

“First let me sit.” Knowing better than to insist, I gestured to a chair by the hearth, though at this time of year there was no need of a fire. Holmes lowered himself carefully into the chair and sat still for several moments, his eyes closed.

“You are not at the front?” He spoke at last without opening them. “How fortunate—for me. Didn’t you say you intended going?”

He had raised a sore subject. “After Juliet’s death, I volunteered at once. The training and skill of a battlefield surgeon I knew would be of inestimable value, but I was rejected on account of my age and my leg. It is hard for me to stand for long periods. Thus I was posted to the Royal Marsden, treating secondary wounds, though these are bad enough, including sepsis and gangrene, many ultimately involving amputations.” It still rankled that I had not been accepted for active service. London was crawling with older men – and women – in one form of uniform or another and I felt it a blemish, even if no one else was of that opinion, but the detective’s appearance drove these considerations from my mind.

“Holmes, what has happened to you? Who has done this? Could you see the blackguards? And why are you not in Sussex, attending to your bees?”

“I did it to myself, Watson. Or rather, it was done at my direction. I’m too old for this,” he added in a murmur, echoing, as it happened, my own ruminations. But whatever “this” was, his battered appearance confirmed his statement. I was relieved to see his imperious, beaky nose had not been broken, though in addition to the other changes in his physiognomy, I now noticed a hideous grey goatee I had seen once before. The memory of that disguise did not bode well.

“Holmes, let me have a look at you,” I repeated. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“There’s no need,” he replied, closing his eyes. “The shiner will heal, as will the rib, and I daresay the tooth can be replaced somehow or other.”

“At least let me draw you a bath and let you have a hot soak.” It was obvious he hadn’t had a wash in days.

“Later.”

I took a chair opposite and repeated my question.

“What hasn’t happened?” he answered. “I must admit my rosy prognostications of two years ago were at best—” here he hesitated before concluding ruefully, “premature. You might well be entitled to whisper, ‘Norbury,’ Watson.”

With slower movements than usual, (I now perceived the knuckles of his right hand were bruised and swollen as well), he took out his silver case and with some
difficulty extracted a cigarette and tapped it clumsily on the cover before lighting it, at which point his grateful inhalation was usurped by a cough.

“Holmes, you must let me bind your ribs.”

“In due course,” he replied, shutting his eyes briefly once more. “Might I trouble you for a glass of water?”

I had learned from a lifetime in his company there was no point arguing with him. Rather than presenting himself at a hospital, he had come here with some definite end in view, which he would communicate in his own good time.

“Of course. And something to eat? Let me fix you a sandwich. You look starved.”

“Thank you, just water for the moment.”

“Wait here.” Allowing him to sit there, his eyes still shut, I stared at that scraggily goatee and rose to fetch his drink. As I ran the tap, it was easy to remember, to drift back two years, (only two, and yet a lifetime) and recall those optimistic prognostications, following our capture of the German spymaster, Von Bork, near the cliffs of Dover in that scorching August of 1914. Holmes had said to me then:

“There's an east wind coming, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared.”

“Premature,” the detective repeated, reading my mind as though he were inside it, but not inaccurate.” Opening his eyes, he took the glass I handed him. “Though I maintain my prophecy. The sun will shine again on England.”

“You will forgive me saying so but it is hard to imagine the sun shining upon England when her best blood is presently irrigating Flanders fields.” I could not forbear thinking about Maria’s poor nephew.

“I’ve been wrong before,” the detective allowed. He sipped the water, wincing as he swallowed. “Still each of us must do what we can to see that civilization survives.”

“And what have you been doing to save civilization?” I rather dreaded to learn. With his snaggle tooth, his smile more nearly resembled a snarl. Though I knew him to be sixty-six and he was clearly the worse for wear, yet those grey eyes - the left admittedly bloodshot - shone brightly as ever. “Holmes, come into the surgery. I insist.”

“Very well.” He allowed me to lead him there where I clicked on the lights and gingerly helped him out of a tattered mackintosh and dirty singlet. In the light, his slender torso was black and blue, his rib cage clearly visible, so emaciated was he now.

Seeing my look, he smiled grimly. “Where I’ve been they don’t give you much to eat and what they serve up is scarcely digestible.”

“And you’ve been kicked.”

“Set upon with hobnailed boots, aye.”

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