Before Sherlock Holmes, Arthur Conan Doyle wrote this tale of Victorian commerce and moral consequence. John Girdlestone, a prosperous African merchant, runs a City trading firm with his nephew Ezra, a man as cold as the counting house where he oversees his clerks with a stern eye. When Girdlestone's oldest friend John Harston lies dying of typhoid, he makes a final request: protect his young daughter Kate and her modest inheritance. What follows is a drama of fiduciary duty turned sour, as Ezra's ruthlessness and the temptations of African trade test what it means to keep one's word. The novel crackles with the atmosphere of a Victorian counting house narrow passages, brass plates, the smell of commerce and poses an uncomfortable question: when wealth is at stake, what won't men do? This is Conan Doyle before the detective, writing about the darker arts of business with the same precision he'd later bring to crime.
