before this story began, the world was introduced to a fictional character destined for such immeasurable acclaim that he would overwhelm his creator’s efforts to be done with him. The essence of this character’s appeal was not derring-do, as in the dime novels of Beadle & Adams, but rather in his uncanny ability to unravel a set of data that had stumped lesser men and proceed to a logical and incisive conclusion. He was so coldly rational that he was often compared to a machine, the Analytical Engine of Charles Babbage. His name, of course, was
Sherlock Holmes.brbrTo those of us engaged in medical research, however, the remarkable methods of Conan Doyle’s
consulting detective were not at all revolutionary — they were merely a popularization of the modus operandi we employed in our quotidian efforts to alleviate human misery. The connection of analytic
detection to medicine was unmistakable. Doyle himself was a physician, as were both Joseph Bell, widely considered the model for the character, and Oliver Wendell
Holmes, the man for whom the
detective was named. And while
Sherlock Holmes may have trod the back alleys of Victorian London to ply his trade, the scenes of our crimes were no less exotic and often even more grisly.brbrTo make sense of nature’s felonies against the human body, you see, physicians are compelled to study not only the living, but also those who have succumbed. Our clues lie in internal organs, blood vessels, skin, hair, and fluids, and we need as much access to these as
Holmes needed to footprints, handwriting, or hotel records. It is only through painstaking examination@!LÌÌÌÌÍÿ¾Û€
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