Chapter 51 – This program is brought to you by the sponsor you are viewing (1)

"… Therefore, for the contributions mentioned above, a commendation is awarded to citizen Arthur Conan Doyle and Hanslow Jin."

Unbelievable.

Arthur Conan Doyle shook his head. His expression of discontent was as innocent as that of a child.

"If there is anyone who deserves the most credit for that case, it's not me, but you. I can't understand why I'm being included."

"But, after all, you were the one who uncovered all the suspects' crimes."

I said with a bitter smile.

A few months ago, Arthur Conan Doyle completed The Hound of the Baskervilles in just a few days at Ashfield and promptly sent it to George Newnes.

And Newnes turned it into a book immediately, bypassing serialization in The Strand Magazine… as expected, it was a tremendous success.

In the original history, even long novels were serialized in magazines before being published as books… Perhaps this was the perfect timing when the Sherlock Holmes craze was still very much alive. It was a golden opportunity that hadn't been missed.

"Let all the Sherlockians of the world praise me! I have resurrected Sherlock!"

Well… although I was also partly to blame for his early demise, let's set that aside for now.

Anyway, after finishing the manuscript, Arthur Conan Doyle stayed at Ashfield for a while longer.

Thanks to this, he became acquainted with Mr. Miller and the others, and they were supposed to celebrate Christmas of 1894 and the New Year of 1895 together…

Until Detective Hopkins arrived with a message from Scotland Yard, requesting him to come to London to receive a commendation.

Anyway.

"All I uncovered was that Funsby was scheming something."

"That was important. Thanks to you, I was able to get a clue about who was conspiring with the butler."

"Isn't it more important who pulled the thread rather than who provided the clue?"

"Ah, so humble. Alright, alright. Let's talk about work."

Work… I nodded and smiled.

"How do you like it? Isn't it good to use Holmes again?"

"Well, thanks to you, this The Hound of the Baskervilles is selling quite well. I think it's the best-written Sherlock Holmes story I've done so far."

"By the way, what's with the description of the lioness? It didn't seem that large to me."

Does it make sense to say it looked like a cross between a wolf and a lioness? Those two are from different genera (T/N: The plural of genus is genera.), so hybrids aren't possible. Maybe a lion and a tiger would make sense.

But Arthur Conan Doyle was confident.

"I said it looked as large as a lioness, didn't I? 'Looked.' You might not have seen the monster up close, but that's how it felt to me. What can I do if that's what I thought?"

Ah, yes. And it wasn't actually killed, but just temporarily knocked out…

No, let's not talk about it. We've discussed this several times already, and it's probably not worth mentioning again.

Anyway.

"What are your plans next?"

"Hmm, things are progressing according to plan. As I mentioned before, I'm laying out foreshadowing one by one."

Considering that he's already thinking about a second novel featuring Moriarty as the antagonist, it's clear that Arthur Conan Doyle is a born writer of popular fiction.

Indeed, a caterpillar must eat leaves, and a lion must devour meat.

Trying to eat something that doesn't suit one's body can lead to trouble.

"So will you set your next story in England as well?"

"No, this time I'm thinking of borrowing some material from the American side, like A Study in Scarlet. Have you heard of the Pinkertons? Mr. Miller mentioned them; they might be worth using as a subject."

Oh, is that perhaps The Valley of Fear?

It's a personal favourite of mine, but I suspect the Pinkertons weren't exactly the most upstanding individuals. They were known for breaking unions and using thugs.

Then again, real-life detectives often had similar cases. Holmes's adventures are more fiction than reality.

"So, you plan to gather materials through Mr. Miller's connections. What will you do next?"

"Oh, I'm about to head somewhere."

"Hmmm. Where to? Can I come along?"

"Well… You're welcome to come, but you might find it a bit uncomfortable."

"Why would that be? Where is it that an exemplary British gentleman like me can't go?"

"The Savoy Theatre."

"Oh…"

For a moment, his face turned pale.

It seemed he was reminded of the failed operetta he did for Jane Annie and The Good Conduct Prize.

That… terribly disastrous operetta (T/N: Operetta - usually romantic comic opera that includes songs and dancing).

Arthur Conan Doyle quietly walked away, his face buried in his hat.

Indeed, some histories are best left forgotten.

***

"Welcome, Mr. Hanslow Jin! It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Carte."

Richard Doily Carte, the manager of the Savoy Theatre, was a man with a boyish, innocent smile. With his black moustache, he exuded a jovial atmosphere.

Now that I think about it, the contract was drawn up only with Mr. Bentley in writing, so this was my first time meeting the theatre manager in person.

Carte's black eyes gleamed as he spoke. 

"I heard from Mr. Bentley that you are the person who came from Joseon."

"Yes. Perhaps..."

"Oh, actually, we have a great interest in Eastern culture. You may have heard, but we once produced an opera called The Mikado at our theatre. It was a wonderful time back then..."

Carte murmured, his eyes filled with nostalgia.

Hmm, though I had never heard of this opera before, it seemed to have done quite well judging by his reaction.

"Anyway, if this production does well, we might consider doing another opera based on Eastern culture for our next work."

"Oh, is that so?"

Well, it was a bit too blatant, but I didn't mind the thoughtfulness behind it.

After all, Savoy operas tend to be light-hearted, so they might be more open to using such material.

I nodded and said, "I don't know much in detail, but if you need assistance, I'd be happy to provide some advice."

"Haha, I will ask you when the time comes."

After this casual ice-breaking, I began to peruse the list that Richard Doily Carte had handed over.

" First of all, we plan to use mostly our Savoy troupe's resident actors. Since this work has many female characters, I have prioritized casting our leading ladies: Leonora Braham, Jessie Bond, and Sybil Grey. For the male roles, I think Duncan Young, Rutland Barrington, and tenor Edward Relph would be great for the role of Peter. "

I wouldn't know; it's hard to make sense of such a list.

After all, how much could I know about the names of actors from this era?

Considering that the theatre scene in Korea is practically dead, I have hardly any foundational knowledge. Perhaps I could draw from later films, but that's about it.

So, I had no choice but to cautiously ask Richard Doily Carte.

"Um... are they all talented individuals?"

"Of course. As singers and actors alike. Ah, they do have issues with alcohol, but isn't that common among entertainers?"

Well, that's not entirely untrue for this era.

It's a time before there were broadcasting ethics and whatnot.

"But, isn't it too late in their careers to take on the role of Peter? He's just a teenager."

Checking the ages of the actors, I found they were older than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. How could such men play the role of Peter?

When I mentioned this, Richard Carte nodded in apparent embarrassment and said, "But, Mr. Author, teenage actors often lack the necessary skills. Tenors are even more so."

Hmm, that is indeed a problem.

Even in the 21st century, it's possible to find good child actors given the improved perception and opportunities available, but in this era, it wouldn't be so easy.

Then again, even today, there are cases where actors in their 40s play high school students...

"But I understand that, but it would be better to use actors in their twenties who can at least appear as young as possible."

"Hmm, if that's the case..."

After all, having a bearded old man portray a teenage boy seems a bit... off, doesn't it?

Ultimately, I genuinely wanted to use actors who could fit the content as closely as possible.

Surely there must be at least one child prodigy actor in this era.

Perhaps sensing my thoughts, he nodded and agreed, albeit reluctantly. "I will try my best to find someone suitable. I should also arrange for public auditions."

"I'm sorry, but I would appreciate that."

"Haha, it's no problem. We are also putting everything on the line for this project."

Richard Doily Carte spoke with a fiery determination, stating that he would do whatever it took to revive the fallen theatre.

Truly a passionate man.

But this was good for me too. With him taking care of that, if it serves as a stepping stone for a great performance, I couldn't ask for more.

"Well, honestly, it's not that difficult. Once we announced we would adapt your work into a play, we received quite a bit of sponsorship."

"Oh, sponsorship?"

"Yes. In fact... heh, we even received support from the Duke of York."

Hearing the mention of the Duke of York, I could only nod in acknowledgment.

The title of duke is simply a euphemism.

Just as the Prince of Wales is synonymous with the heir apparent to the British throne, the Duke of York is a title given to the British prince.

Speaking of which, I remember that the prince's consort is a fan of mine. The image of her in cosplay at their wedding still lingers in my memory.

Hmm, perhaps I really should write a short tribute piece or something.

"Next up is the composer... actually, we have also opened public recruitment for a composer."

"Ah, I see."

I could only nod in agreement.

To be honest, the composing side was something I couldn't touch.

Usually, the resident composer would take care of such matters, but I heard that the Savoy Theatre's resident composer was Arthur Sullivan, who co-wrote the script.

In other words, he was the same man who had run away with the resident playwright, W. S. Gilbert.

Thus, the Savoy Theatre decided to hold an open audition for a new composer.

"So, how did it go?"

"As you know, Europe has a stronger tradition in opera, right? So, we also reached out to France, Germany, and Austria."

"That must have been quite expensive."

"With royal sponsorship, this much is necessary."

With a determined look, Richard Doily Carte spoke as if failure was not an option.

After all, even if he's not the king yet, he might become one someday. If we produce a disgraceful operetta, not only could the business fail, but we might even have to leave England altogether.

The term "do-or-die" wasn't an exaggeration.

For me, it's not my problem to handle; I just need to provide my opinions comfortably. If it improves the quality, I'm all for it.

"So, who applied? Surely there were some candidates?"

"Um, actually…"

Contrary to his previous fiery demeanour, Richard Doily Carte hesitated, looking away momentarily.

What is it, making me curious?

I was about to urge him to speak up when—

"Director! Is this the person!?"

"Richard, you're already here?"

"Of course, I had to come in person to meet the esteemed Hanslow Jin!!"

What's with this strong German accent?

I stared blankly for a moment at the person who burst through the door.

First impression: quite handsome. Central European style with short eyebrows, a bit reminiscent of the privileged class I met when I met Churchill. A common yet striking face.

But.

What stood out were his eyes.

They weren't particularly large. But his pupils, shining brightly, stared at me with an unwavering gaze, as if stars were embedded in them.

This was the third time I felt this way.

The first was when I wrote The Knight of Mathematics with Lewis Carroll, and the second was when I wrote The Hound of the Baskervilles with Arthur Conan Doyle.

In other words, it was the aura of a person who fully recognized their genius and dedicated themselves entirely to it—an almost superhuman quality.

And this superhuman walked briskly towards me, grabbed my hand, and shouted,

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Author! I am Richard Georg Strauss, who will be composing for your work. Please take care of me!!"

"He's a candidate. Not confirmed yet."

"Oh, come on! Are you going to send me back to Germany?!"

"... Uh."

Wait a minute, Strauss?