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A Pot of Caviare is a rare Doyle tale of international intrigue and romance. Set against the backdrop of pre-war Europe, it follows an English gentleman who becomes ensnared in a dangerous espionage caper while attending an elegant continental gathering. What begins as a lighthearted society adventure – symbolized by the indulgence in a pot of caviar – soon turns into a high-stakes game of cat and mouse when secret documents disappear. Doyle ratchets up the tension as identities are unmasked and loyalties tested amid champagne and masquerades. This drama, which Doyle later adapted as a one-act play, combines witty social observation with suspenseful plotting. As a short novella, A Pot of Caviare gives readers a taste of Doyle's capability in the thriller genre: a blend of charm, romance, and espionage that predates the spy fiction boom of the mid-20th century.
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A POT OF CAVIARE
CHARACTERS
A POT OF CAVIARE
NOTES ON COSTUMES, ETC.
Arthur Conan Doyle
Early Life and Education
Medical Studies and Early Career
The Birth of Sherlock Holmes
Other Literary Works
Personal Life
Spiritualism and Later Life
Honours and Legacy
Table of Contents
Cover
PROFESSOR MERCER.
COLONEL HENRI RAMEAU (of the French Army).
JACK AINSLIE (of the Diplomatic Service).
MR. RALSTON (an Engineer on the Northern China Railway).
MR. PATTERSON (a Missionary).
MRS. PATTERSON (his Wife).
JESSIE PATTERSON (his Daughter).
Miss SINCLAIR (a Nurse at the Scottish Mission).
The SCENE is an upper room of the Scottish Mission in the European Quarter of Ichau, which has been cut off and besieged by the Chinese “Boxer” rebels. It is the fifth day of the siege. A whitewashed room with sandbagged and screened window up stage c. A small wooden table E.c. and chairs R. and L. A trestle-table against the wall L. above door, with revolver, haversacks and field-glass case heaped on it, and under the table a wicker-hamper containing wine and a pot of caviare. A small medicine chest is on the table. Ammunition and other boxes are piled here and there. The room is untidy and Uttered with rubbish. Doors up R. and down L.
(When the CURTAIN rises AINSLIE is “sniping” from the window, with RALSTON on his right “spotting” through field-glasses. Both men are dirty and unshaven and are haggard with the strain of the siege. AINSLIE is a cheerful youth; RALSTON is a disillusioned pessimist of 45; his wrist is bandaged.)
(Distant rifle fire.)
RALSTON (tense). Look out—
(AINSLIE fires.)
Got him. That’s number 13 (adding another mark on wall).
AINSLIE (reloading). That’ll teach those yellow devils to keep their heads down.
RALSTON. Yes, for the moment, but the brutes push their sungars nearer every day. (Moving L. to trestle-table and speaking in a strained, hoarse voice.) We can just hold them as long as our ammunition lasts, but once that’s gone, and at this rate there won’t be a dozen rounds left by to-morrow, we shall be swamped. I was writing farewell letters half the night, just in case I didn’t get another chance. The end may come at any moment.
AINSLIE. Don’t you worry. The relief might be here to-night. The Colonel is quite confident— I heard him telling Mrs. Patterson this morning that the relief column must have started three days ago.
(Gunfire very faint in the distance.)
RALSTON. I don’t know how the women stand the suspense; they’ve been magnificent, and old Patterson too: nothing seems to worry him, but I suppose he would regard martyrdom only as a glorious crown to his work here. Amazing point of view !
AINSLIE (sardonically). The only thing that really worries old Patterson is the fear that the R.C. Padre may pinch some of his converts when they’re in the trenches.