Excursus: The Thorndyke Novels and the Language of Science

Abstract

This brief excursus focuses on Austin Freeman’s detective Dr. Thorndyke and on the means by which lists construct knowledge that then awards the detective authority. In contrast to the texts discussed in previous chapters, the Thorndyke novels have their readers share the story world position of Thorndyke’s assistant, who is constantly amazed by Thorndyke’s deductive powers and, through him, by the explanatory power of science. Thorndyke incessantly emphasizes the importance of facts and data, but it is usually his lists of hypotheses (rather than any particular piece of evidence) that move the case forward. Thorndyke’s lists afford objectivity and mastery. The list form’s close entanglement with scientific practices helps to endow Thorndyke’s statements with authority and a veneer of scientificity.

My hypothesis was perfectly sound, perfectly consistent in all its parts, and perfectly congruous with all the known facts.

—Witness (288)

Richard Austin Freeman has been called “the dean of scientific detective story writers” (Donaldson 1971, IX), and his character Dr. Thorndyke is known as the detective who “sowed the seeds of the modern forensic crime novel” (Curran 2010, 30). This assessment likely derives from the headspinning display of expert knowledge from fields as diverse as chemistry, photography, medicine, jurisprudence, and graphology¹ that usually feature in the resolution of Thorndyke’s cases. Unremitting references to proper scientific procedures and explanations on the use of scientific equipment further strengthen this image. This aura of scientific expertise portrays Dr. Thorndyke (and through him, science) as both infallible and, at least theoretically, imitable. In order to vouch for the validity of the examinations and experiments described in the novels, Freeman claimed to have performed many of them himself; he thus draws on his own status as a medical expert to support that of his character. In fact, many of the prefaces to be found in Freeman’s novels emphasize that all the forensic procedures and scientific facts the novels are based around have their origin in the real world. Some of the early Thorndyke short stories even included images of pieces of evidence examined under the microscope, such as a nerve ganglion or different types of human hair (see Donaldson 1971, 91) that effectively conveyed a sense of realism to Freeman’s readers.

It is the idea of knowledge, or more precisely, expert knowledge, on which the reputation, reception, and marketing of these novels hinge. But what exactly counts as knowledge? Freeman’s novels aim to make readers believe that Thorndyke’s methods are scientifically sound and rely on hard, reproducible facts; yet, actual displays of expert knowledge (usually) only occur at the very end of the novels and function to support rather than establish theories. The idea that Thorndyke’s decisions and actions are guided by well-established expert knowledge, however, pervades almost every page. In this brief excursus, I will unravel the role of expert knowledge in Freeman’s Thorndyke novels and show how the idea of Thorndyke’s competence and expertise is created more through the language and forms associated with scientificity than the display of scientific proficiency itself. I will further discuss how Thorndyke’s method of investigation depends neither on his much emphasized expert knowledge nor, or only rarely, on empirical observations made at crime scenes. To an astounding degree, Thorndyke’s success as a detective hinges on creative imagination rather than established scientific procedures.

Creating Scientificity

Most of the Thorndyke novels are told from the first-person perspective of Thorndyke’s assistant Christopher Jervis. Thorndyke’s relationship to Jervis seems loosely based on that of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson: Jervis is a medical practitioner, and his relation to Thorndyke is situated somewhere between friend, apprentice, and fan. Jervis’s perspective awards the reader access to observations and some medical background knowledge but allows Thorndyke to keep his knowledge to himself until the case needs to be resolved at the end. Jervis’s outside perspective on Thorndyke’s accomplishments crucially contributes to creating an image of Thorndyke as a brilliant thinker.

Framing: Language and Form

Contrary to what many of the prefaces announce, Thorndyke’s status as an expert in the novels is primarily established through the language he uses and through taking advantage of forms associated with scientificity rather than displays of scientific prowess itself.² Thorndyke frequently supports his image as an expert by name-dropping and alluding to real-world experts and their works. Those references, however, usually do not play a significant role when it comes to the resolution of the mystery; instead, they create the impression that Thorndyke’s vast knowledge is important to his investigations, while, in fact, their sole function is to make him appear credible. Similarly, much of Thorndyke’s dialogue that concerns the interpretation of evidence is rendered in list form, and it is this form, I argue, more than the content of his observations that makes his statements appear judicious and unbiased.

A particularly striking example of this strategy occurs in Freeman’s first Thorndyke novel, The Red Thumb Mark (1907), in which Thorndyke presents his evidence in the manner of a mathematical equation, in which “X” stands in for the identity of the culprit:

[L]et us just recapitulate the facts which our friend X has placed at our disposal.

First: X is a person concerning whom I possess certain exclusive information.

Second: He has some knowledge of my personal habits.

Third: He is a man of some means and social position.

Fourth: He is a man of considerable knowledge, ingenuity and mechanical skill.

Fifth: He has probably purchased, quite recently, a second-hand ‘Blick’ fitted with a literary typewheel.

Sixth: That machine, whether his own or some other person’s property, can be identified by a characteristic mark on the small ‘e.’

If you will note down those six points and add that X is probably an expert cyclist and a fairly good shot with a rifle, you may possibly be able, presently, to complete the equation, X=? (Thumb, 112–113)³

This passage is noteworthy in at least three respects. Firstly, none of the six “facts” Thorndyke enumerates even remotely depend on his medico-legal or forensic (or any other) expert knowledge. It is the form of representation and the language of mathematics and logics used to convey them that helps to depict these observations as hard facts. The bold print of the enumerative headers, moreover, contributes to the impression of ordered thought conveyed here. Sabine Mainberger has argued that the use of consecutive numbering alone suggests that the speaker behind an enumerative statement wields a certain amount of control over the items recorded (see Mainberger 2003, 167), and Thorndyke’s collection of what he labels as facts aims to do exactly that.

The second point worth noting is the extent to which this list represents detective work. Thorndyke’s language creates a framework in which detection is depicted as the equivalent of a math problem, where a predetermined equation inevitably renders a single solution if the equation is correctly solved for the variable X.⁴ Thorndyke ultimately breaks down the complex network of interactions that an investigation depends on to the simple three-character equation “X=?” Simplifications in the manner of X equals A or B let Thorndyke make use of what Mainberger calls the “declarative power” and the “postulate quality” inherent in lists and definitions (Mainberger 2003, 92, my translation).⁵ Thorndyke thus validates the content he wishes to convey through the authoritative force of the form he employs.

Lastly, the six items of Thorndyke’s enumeration are logically organized in a funnel structure that proceeds from general to particular. The first two points refer to environmental factors, more precisely, the suspect’s relation to Thorndyke. The third and fourth items refer to the criminal himself and point out identificatory qualities, and the last two points Thorndyke mentions refer to a particular object in the criminal’s possession. The logical structure behind the items Thorndyke enumerates becomes more specific as it progresses and thus is endowed with an almost performative quality. The funnel structure creates the impression that the exclusionary work the list seems to call for as a method of investigation is already being performed with the mentioning of each consecutive item. The first list item, therefore, seems to define a fixed group of possible suspects (i.e., anybody on whom Thorndyke possesses nontrivial information), and each consecutive point appears as a next logical step to narrow down the list thus created. Such fantasies of the controllability of environmental factors and a finite number of possible variables are key functions conveyed through the language and list structures that are so particular to the Thorndyke novels.

When investigating his cases, Thorndyke usually formulates a number of speculative statements which he calls “hypotheses” to express ideas that cannot yet be supported by evidence.⁶ Frequently, these hypotheses are stated in list form. In The Red Thumb Mark, for example:

there are four conceivable hypotheses: (1) that the robbery was committed by Reuben Hornby; (2) that it was committed by Walter Hornby; (3) that it was committed by John Hornby, or (4) that it was committed by some other person or persons. The last hypothesis I propose to disregard for the present and confine myself to the examination of the other three. (Thumb, 24)

By labeling his cogitations as “hypotheses” (rather than, say, speculations or ideas), Thorndyke conjures up the context of a scientific laboratory and thus veils his own, possibly biased, position as the creator of the list.⁷ At the same time, the word field of scientific procedures and customs employed here suggests that there are conclusive means of testing his hypotheses already at his disposal. The display of numbers before each hypothesis helps to create the impression that a variety of possibilities on the topic under investigation have been considered and that these possibilities are comprehensive, that is, the number of options to consider is finite. In the example above, the enumerative form suggests that the scope of the investigation will be limited to the examination of only four hypotheses,⁸ one of which will lead to a solution.

The fourth hypothesis, however, hides an infinite number of other possibilities from drawing immediate attention. Eric Griffiths has suggested that in an arrangement of items, “[t]he order of items of information is itself an item of information” (2018, 13), and this is also the case for Thorndyke’s hypotheses in the example above. The hypotheses seem sorted in order of likelihood or importance. Hypothesis number four casually acknowledges that there may be other approaches worth considering, but the infinite possibilities that remain besides Thorndyke’s first three hypotheses are summarized into a single etcetera⁹ that is immediately disregarded from further consideration. Even though Thorndyke claims to take an unbiased view of his cases and to consider them “apart from [his] opinions on the subject” (New Inn, 26), his hypotheses are hardly unbiased. It is the form in which they are represented that conceals this fact.

Thorndyke’s repeated use of lists and the connotations they evoke enable him to present basically any statement he makes as scientifically sound. Thorndyke uses lists to convey what he considers to be facts and thus turns the list into a form that creates facts. Liam Cole Young makes a similar argument about popular music lists, in which, he argues, the choice to list individual music titles into a ranking “inscribes the list itself as a viable or legitimate form through which to organize and communicate information” (2013, 508). The mere form of the list lets Thorndyke’s experimental or speculative statements appear like scientific procedures. In The Mystery at Number 31, New Inn (1912), for example, Thorndyke proposes an experimental triangulation method based on listing directions and road properties with the help of a compass in order to identify an unknown location his assistant Jervis is repeatedly escorted to. He suggests that Jervis take notes in the manner of:

9:40 S.E. Start from home.

9:41 S.W. Granite stones.

9:43 S.W. Wood pavement. Hoofs-104.

9:47 W. By S. Granite crossing. Asphalt. (31)

The list form, which neatly divides the entries into columns that indicate the time, direction, and properties of the surroundings, conveys the impression that the data thus collected is precise enough to render an exact result. Listing elements in this manner, however, conceals a number of factors capable of causing considerable variations and thus distorting the result obtained. First and foremost, the list hides that time is only a reliable indicator for distance under the condition that speed remains consistent. Nevertheless, Jervis follows Thorndyke’s instructions, and with the help of his notes, cross-referenced with a street map of the town, the two investigators succeed in drawing up a map that leads them to the desired location (Fig. 5.1). The visual representation of the map thus produced is included in the text and is meant to serve as a piece of physical evidence for the validity and exactitude of the method it was created with,¹⁰ not unlike the microscope photographs that were included with some of Freeman’s early short stories.¹¹

Fig. 5.1

Thorndyke’s map

As Jervis and the reader follow Thorndyke creating this map, Thorndyke initially speaks of the “roughness of the method” (New Inn, 115), as if to acknowledge the experimental nature of his approach, but his next sentence already re-frames his previous statement and suggests all it takes is “a few more proportional measurements for the satisfaction of proving the case by scientific methods” (ibid.). The mentioning of “measurements” being taken appears to be enough to qualify Thorndyke’s approach as sufficiently scientific. Similarly, in the short story “A Wastrel’s Romance,” Thorndyke quotes probabilities to support his argument: “the chances are a thousand to one that the door that the key will open is in some part of Dockhead” (309). The numbers he quotes, however, seem randomly chosen, and no source or reference is given to explain those odds. It is the concept of probabilities and not the actual calculations that matter, just as it is the concept of scientificity much more than the descriptions of scientific proceedings that forms the backbone of Thorndyke’s reputation.

Expert Knowledge

Freeman’s Thorndyke novels contain numerous references to real-world expert literature and abundant descriptions of police or forensic proceedings. The characters regularly consult specialist books such as Alfred Pearce Gould’s Elements of Surgical Diagnosis (1884) (see Witness, 139) and frequently perform chemical analyses (such as the Marsh test for detecting arsenic), which the texts describe in minute detail in order to let the reader follow along the testing procedure (see “Brodski”, 229). The emphasis put on the importance of following procedures and scientific practices at times verges on the didactic.¹² Thorndyke, for example, draws attention to the importance of accuracy when performing scientific operations when he explains that “[w]e must label this [piece of evidence] at once or we may confuse it with the other specimens” (ibid.). The didactic element becomes even more prominent in the references to the merits or in the critique of renowned contemporary scientists such as Gregor Johann Mendel (see Witness, 24) and Sir Francis Galton (see Thumb, 31; 68).¹³ Such references give both Thorndyke’s story world audience and Freeman’s readers a glimpse at the kind of knowledge that Thorndyke would consider general education for practitioners in his field. At the same time, these references establish Thorndyke’s identity as an expert in a variety of scientific disciplines.

The purpose of these manifold references goes hand in hand with the effect produced by the frequent use of the form of the list: both techniques create a backdrop of scientificity for Thorndyke’s investigations. The foregrounding of expert knowledge supports an ideology that is characterized by a “belief in the attainability of incontrovertible, objectively verifiable truths, and a naively optimistic belief in the capacity of a ‘scientific’ approach grounded in ‘pure reason’ to uncover those truths” (van der Linde/Wouters 2003, 81) that is typical of the Thorndyke novels.¹⁴ Much of the appeal of the clearly structured working processes and scientific practices Thorndyke advertises lies in the implicit promise that following such protocols will yield reproducible results, and characterizing Thorndyke as a brilliant thinker who relies on these practices awards this strategy additional weight.

The scientific and medical references are sometimes themselves displayed in the form of the list and therefore suggest that the subject matter dealt with in an investigation can easily be classified into clearly separable categories. The novel A Silent Witness (1914), for example, contains a list of deformities of the human hand that are presented as useful information for identifying a person: “[l]ost fingers, stiff fingers, webbed fingers, supernumary fingers, contracted palm, deformed nails, brachydactyly and numerous other abnormal conditions” (285). The enumeration of these deformities in the manner of categories suggests that the identification (and, by implication, the apprehension) of a suspect or perpetrator is a matter of working through routine lists of criteria that require simple yes/no decisions. In a similar fashion to Thorndyke’s list of hypotheses discussed above, this classificatory list, too, contains in its final item a kind of etcetera that at the same time includes a potentially infinite possibility of further options.¹⁵ Paradoxically, those options appear easily manageable because of the limited space their abstraction into a single list item takes up on the page.

Freeman’s novels employ the verifiable validity and reliability of the scientific methods they describe to corroborate the idea that Thorndyke’s (very different) method of investigation is just as reliable, reproducible, and scientifically sound as the sources he quotes and the (chemical) tests he performs. Similar to the language of scientificity used in Thumb, the novel A Silent Witness has Thorndyke explain his process of reasoning in terms of a chemical reaction:

I would draw your attention to the interesting way in which, when a long train of hypothetical reasoning has at length elicited an actual, demonstrable truth, that truth instantly reacts on the hypothesis […]. I may compare the effect to that of a crystal, dropped into a super-saturated solution of salt, such as sodium sulphate. So long as it rests, the solution remains a clear liquid; but drop into it the minutest crystal of its own salt, and, in a few moments the entire liquid has solidified into a mass of crystals. (291)

This description implies that the way in which Thorndyke reasons and creates hypotheses is comparable to a chemical reaction that, once initiated, will inevitably progress to a resolution. Furthermore, the comparison suggests that such a chemical reaction of hypothesis and evidence can be as consciously provoked as the dropping of a crystal into a sodium sulfate solution.¹⁶ Moreover, the crystal and the solution share properties on the molecular level (“its own salt”), which, transported to the context of Thorndyke’s hypotheses, implies that there is an inevitable, natural connection between the (possibly random) creation of hypotheses and the successful resolution of a case. Lastly, the solid aggregation state of the end product of the chemical reaction awards the appearance of tangibility to Thorndyke’s method. While the detective (as the agent who drops the crystal into the solution) plays a crucial role as the instigator of this (chemical or investigative) process, the criminal and the crime itself have no place in Thorndyke’s analogy, except, maybe, as the receptacle in which the reaction takes place and which does not play a role for the reaction itself. The sole purpose of the crime (or receptacle) is that it contains facts (or, in the analogy, a chemical solution) that can react on the detective’s actions. The analogy thus denies the criminal any possibility to outsmart the detective. Similar to the language of mathematical equations used in Thumb, it is the language of chemistry rather than an application of the scientific discipline itself that validates Thorndyke’s conclusions in this example.

The purpose of such metaphors is to fuse the palpability and reliability of scientifically tested and approved procedures with the modus operandi of detective work, and with Thorndyke’s approach to investigations in particular. Such a fusion, however, veils and aims to veil that a detective’s ability to responsibly handle a piece of evidence (such as correctly taking a fingerprint)¹⁷ is clearly distinct from their ability to analyze and process observations and decide what may serve as evidence (such as making sense of a variety of fingerprints found at a potential crime scene). One is a mechanical process, and the other is a creative one.

The importance of science as a signifier of reliability and stability extends even to the paratexts of these novels. The prefaces and publisher’s notes included in several of the novels and short story collections draw on the author’s status as a medical expert, and they emphasize the accuracy of Freeman’s fictional representation of actual methods and procedures. In the author’s preface to the volume John Thorndyke’s Cases, Freeman informs his readers that he “[has] been scrupulous in confining [him]self to authentic facts and practicable methods” and that “the methods and solutions described in [the stories] are similar to those employed in actual practice by medical jurists” (1). The Publisher’s Note preceding New Inn similarly vouches for the author’s “broad base of knowledge” in various disciplines and his status as a “capable medical doctor” himself (n.p.).¹⁸ The Preface to Thumb not only goes as far as to reassure the reader of the novel’s accurate portrayal of scientific procedures but also takes it upon itself to “draw[…] attention to certain popular misapprehensions on the subject of finger-prints and their evidential value” (7) and to announce that the novel will set right such beliefs.

The attitude the Thorndyke novels take toward their readers, as well as the lists used in the novels, diverge significantly from those that appear in the novels of Agatha Christie discussed in Chap. 4. While in Christie’s novels, the reader is encouraged to interact with the lists and try to make sense of them in the context of the investigation, the lists and scientific references in Freeman’s novels serve to corroborate Thorndyke’s status as expert, whose knowledge and methodical competence are to be admired rather than emulated. At times, the lists and scientific explanations in Freeman’s novels take on an almost didactic quality. Readers are not supposed to solve the case but rather marvel at Thorndyke doing so.¹⁹ For this reason, it does not matter if the solution Thorndyke proposes for a case brings to light details or clues formerly unknown to the reader (see, e.g., Witness 283; 288), while in a Christie novel, such a feat would be considered a grave breach of the fair play rule. The Thorndyke novels dangle before the reader Thorndyke’s method of investigation as an approach hypothetically available to anyone, yet, at the same time, Thorndyke’s unceasing insistence on the importance of expert knowledge makes clear that, in practice, only very few people exist who meet the requirements to be able to apply this method.

Science Meets Creativity: Hypothesizing About Thorndyke’s Method

Thorndyke’s method gives the appearance of being solely based on scientifically sound and reproducible reasoning. As the above sections have shown, the mere labeling of Thorndyke’s thoughts as hypotheses awards them authority and claims to scientificity. The individual investigative steps Thorndyke takes, however, are often situated closer to the realms of creativity than science. Thorndyke uses scientific methods and procedures to confirm rather than to create results. The lists, scientific language, and expert knowledge that are so abundant in the novels thus create an aura of scientificity around what is essentially a creative process. Such an approach clashes strongly with the ideal of mechanical objectivity as “blind sight, seeing without inference, interpretation, or intelligence” (Daston and Galison 2007, 17) that came to dominate conceptions of science around the mid-nineteenth century and continued to be influential in the early twentieth century.

The inseparability of science and creativity in Thorndyke’s approach to investigation becomes evident in Thorndyke’s repeated explanations of his method:

Shuffle your data about. Invent hypotheses. Never mind if they seem rather wild. Don’t put them aside on that account. Take the first hypothesis that you can invent and test it thoroughly with your facts. […] Then try with a fresh one. (New Inn, 158)

Thorndyke’s explanation reads like a step-by-step instruction manual. The short, paratactic statements are easy to follow. The simple grammatical structure invites the idea that the implementation of those instructions can also be easily accomplished. The list-like structure further suggests that the process of coming up with a solution is linear and a matter of trial and error, and that errors will be easy to identify. Variations of this explanation occur throughout the Thorndyke stories (see, e.g., Witness, 229; New Inn, 91), and although not all of them are presented in list form, the idea of a set of easy-to-follow instructions remains the same.

That Thorndyke’s instructions are not as straightforward or easy to follow as they seem becomes clear when other characters talk about his abilities. Thorndyke’s assistant Jervis at one point describes the detective in terms of a “magician offer[ing] you his hat to inspect” (Witness, 211) to then conjure up something material out of thin air, and Thorndyke’s employee Polton describes his abilities in terms of artistic genius:

Ordinary men have to reason from visible facts. He doesn’t. He reasons from facts which his imagination tells him exists [sic], but which nobody else can see. He’s like a portrait painter who can do you a likeness of your face by looking at the back of your head. I suppose it’s what he calls constructive imagination, such as Darwin and Harvey and Pasteur and other great discoverers had, which enabled them to see beyond the facts that were known to the common herd of humanity. (ibid., 258)

Both descriptions have in common the creation of something from nothing, that is, the creation of something that is not based on graspable or observable facts. Both Jervis and Polton have a scientific or medical background that, so Thorndyke repeatedly implies, should grant them access to Thorndyke’s allegedly scientific way of thinking and methods. Yet, both of them are incapable of describing what they observe Thorndyke do in terms that render it accessible to others.

Polton’s statement makes evident the tension between creative imagination and scientific method that the Thorndyke novels are characterized by. Polton’s words make apparent this paradox, but at the same time he attempts to brush over it: he emphasizes Thorndyke’s reputation and renown as a scientific thinker by putting him in a line with scientists “such as Darwin and Harvey and Pasteur and other great discoverers” (ibid.) presumably known to the reader.²⁰

The vocabulary around concepts such as “data,” “tests,” and “verification” (ibid., 210–211) that Thorndyke describes his method with stems from the semantic field of laboratory environments, whereas other characters describe what he does in terms of magic, art, and creative imagination. In “The Art of the Detective Story,” Freeman himself emphasizes that a good detective story involves both “ratiocination” and “imagination” (Freeman 1976, 9). Freeman’s novels are known for being centered around “the positivistic mysteries of contemporary forensic science” (Knight 1980, 110), and for Thorndyke’s meticulous application of expert knowledge to solve his cases, but a closer look reveals that this knowledge only serves to give a scientific shine to what is essentially a creative process.

Science, of course, always involves a degree of creative thinking, and “knowledge is the mostly provisional result of artful, often messy, laborious, multifarious, ineffective and time-consuming work,” and is thus closely connected to creative acts (Erchinger 2018, 3).²¹ The Thorndyke novels conflate the practical and reproducible processes of experimentation that are associated with the paradigm of science which Daston and Galison have termed mechanical objectivity with the creative aspects of science that are, for example, involved in coming up with hypotheses. The novels strive to portray the creative aspects of science as similarly reproducible as the mechanical following of established procedures. By portraying Thorndyke’s investigative methods through formal structures and vocabulary associated with scientific and laboratory contexts, Freeman’s novels create the impression of scientificity and reproducibility. Ultimately, they paint a picture of the creative aspects of Thorndyke’s method as scientific in the sense of being unbiased, reproducible, and mostly automated proposed by Daston and Galison (see 2007, 321).

Thorndyke’s compilation and use of reference works is a particularly striking example of this conflation of creative imagination and mechanical objectivity. The use of reference works has a long tradition in detective fiction. Henderson, the detective in Adams’s The Notting Hill Mystery, both brings up real-world reference works and organizes his own case file with a number of referencing tools, and Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes frequently consults encyclopedias and self-compiled reference works.²² The Thorndyke novels take up this tradition but modify it to accommodate Thorndyke’s method.

Just like Sherlock Holmes, Thorndyke often uses his self-compiled case index to back up the hypotheses he creates. Thorndyke’s index, however, is not based on actual cases but on imaginary ones. In Thumb, the first Thorndyke novel, the detective explains how at an early stage in his career he plotted a number of imaginary murders and ways in which they could be detected, and he lists criteria that went into his considerations. Thorndyke furthermore “added, as an appendix to each case, an analysis with a complete scheme for the detection of the crime” in order to turn his cases into “fully indexed” volumes of “really valuable works of reference” (114).

The belief in and appeal of thinking in detectable and repeatable patterns is clearly evident in Thorndyke’s explanation and unites the appeal of working with prototype models with the idea that scientific thinking is constituted by attention to minute details and a detached attitude that has its origins in the mid-nineteenth century (see Daston and Galison 2007, 27). Thorndyke uses the cases in his imaginary case collection as “elaborate prototypes” (Thumb, 115) for the actual cases he investigates, even though these prototypes are the sole result of his imagination rather than the abstraction of a pattern observed from actual cases.²³ Thorndyke relies upon these prototypical case models to confirm his hypotheses and thus handles them in a similar fashion to material pieces of evidence found at crime scenes. An initially creative process is thus referred to as an established scientific method.²⁴

Thorndyke claims to have “acquired as much experience from those imaginary cases as […] from real ones,” and to have learned the hypothesis-based method he currently employs to solve cases from them (New Inn, 159; see also Witness, 253). Thorndyke’s method is thus based on a model of knowledge in which the investigator is already in possession of a set of prototypical solutions to any possible case and, in near-omniscient fashion, only needs to classify new observations and allocate them to a finite number of predetermined categories. Those categories already exist in the investigator’s “mental catalogue,” which, van der Linde and Wouters argue, is a common feature to detectives who base their conclusions on knowledge acquired before the investigation begins (2003, 76).

The investigator’s mental index, in similar fashion to Thorndyke’s written case indices, thus “produces an imaginary of control” and “suggests the idea that complex narratives can be dissected into discrete units” (Stäheli 2016, 23).²⁵ Thorndyke thus champions the idea that everything that concerns an investigation is knowable and can be explained with rational thought, so that solving a case comes down to narrowing down a finite number of options. This becomes evident when Thorndyke explains:

each time that you fail to establish a given case, you exclude a particular explanation of the facts and narrow down the field of inquiry. By repeating the process, you are bound to arrive at an imaginary case which fits all the facts. Then your imaginary case is the real case, and the problem is solved. (New Inn, 159)

Such statements are based on the idea that the investigator has or can gain access to all and any of the details that are relevant to a case, and they preclude the possibility that anything can be genuinely new (and thus fall outside established patterns of categorization).

Thorndyke’s position as an expert and the list’s formal vicinity to scientific disciplines such as statistics mutually reinforce one another to portray the investigative steps the detective takes and the conclusions he draws as inevitable scientific causality. Those features also imply that a number of facts can only be arranged into one feasible hypothesis. Freeman’s novels combine the idea that the world and its contents are knowable to science with the comprehensive capacity of creative imagination, and they portray the latter quality in terms of the former. This strategy effectively veils the limits of meticulously following established forensic procedures that depends on hard facts and idealizes scientific reasoning as a means of creating stability and warding off chaos or harm. The following chapter will elaborate on the role that knowledge and its concrete representation plays in Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories.