In his private capacity, Freeman was probably more intelligent and erudite than Conan Doyle. He pioneered many forensic techniques that were adapted by the world's police forces and he exposed the fallibility of many then in use. (Fingerprint evidence was a nonsense, he proved. How long before we apply the same scepticism to DNA?) His stories invariably hinge upon some recondite scientific fact or innovation, such as the use of X rays to examine the interiors of mummy cases, decades before such methods became commonplace.
So why have we forgotten Dr Thorndyke? Because, unlike Sherlock Holmes, he is not human. He is an elemental force. He has no family or personal friends. No vices (other than a taste for Trichinopoly cigars). And - unlike the denizen of Baker Street - he never makes a mistake. Not ever. How can we relate to such an Olympian deity? We don't.
Freeman could write like an angel, at least in his early years. His stories from 1910-1920 are often little gems, masterpieces of ingenuity, readable time and again. (His later novels were increasingly flatulent and digressive. They yearned for the editor's pen.) But his greatest character was not Thorndyke but Thorndyke's laboratory assistant, Polton. Whenever little Polton 'crinkled', the story became alive!