Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (10 page)

D
aniel Collier concluded reading from his father’s epic journals. As he breathlessly uttered those last poignant words, he allowed the crumpled sheets to fall limply to the floor.

He sank back into his chair as the colour visibly drained away from his already grey and gaunt face and the emotion was plain to see in his eyes. I jumped up immediately and poured him out a large cognac which I handed to him together with a cigarette. He gratefully took both from me, then slowly turned towards Holmes in the hope of receiving some guidance and advice from my friend.

In this he was to be sadly disappointed. In fact, Holmes did not pass even a single comment as to the contents of the letter or its abrupt conclusion. He just stood there silently, by the window, with the stem of his unlit pipe pressed thoughtfully against his forehead.

‘Mr Collier, was there anybody in Cornwall to whom you divulged your destination in London and the reasons behind your visit?’ Holmes then asked suddenly and somewhat surprisingly.

Having just left his father in Sumatra, facing a precarious and unknown fate, Collier was visibly taken aback by a question that appeared so mundane and routine. He was still incapable of an
immediate reply, so he lit his cigarette and took a substantial sip from his cognac.

‘Apart from my landlady in St Ives, Mrs Wakeham, there was not another living soul, Mr Holmes, I assure you.’

Holmes appeared to be satisfied by Collier’s answer.

‘Ah, St Ives! From where you were studying those neolithic “waiting stones” that seem to interest you so,’ Holmes surprisingly declared.

‘Holmes,’ I began cautiously, ‘I do not understand. After all that we have just heard, why do you seem to be so interested in Mr Collier’s landlady?’

Holmes turned sharply towards me. He appeared to be disappointed.

‘Watson!’ he snapped. ‘Surely you would know the answer to that question even better than I. We now know that it is most unlikely that we are the only people aware of our young friend’s presence here in London. That fact is of the utmost importance.’

‘I am certain that Mrs Wakeham would not have betrayed my confidence. Besides, I did not divulge, even to her, the true reason behind my coming here,’ Collier said defiantly.

‘Very likely not; however you must understand that her apparent betrayal has, in all likelihood, been purely innocent. Why should she even think it necessary to withhold that information?’ Holmes asked.

Collier shook his head slowly by way of a reply.

‘Now, Mr Collier, I would suggest that you return immediately to your hotel in Russell Square, there to remain unless you receive word from either me or Doctor Watson to the contrary,’ Holmes instructed sternly.

‘Having now heard the conclusion to my father’s letters, have you no further comments to make or advice to impart to me?’ Collier asked, obviously feeling somewhat crestfallen.

‘Have all of your meals sent up to your room, from where you
should not remove yourself under any pretext. However, should this prove to be unavoidable you should send a note to the green cab shelter on Russell Square or to the Hansom Cab public house, on the Earl’s Court road. Either of these addresses will find Dave “Gunner” King, soon enough.’ By now Holmes had moved away from the window and he placed his hand reassuringly upon Collier’s left shoulder.

Collier gazed up at Holmes as he asked: ‘In heaven’s name, Mr Holmes, who is Dave “Gunner” King?’

‘Save for Watson and I, he is the only man in London into whose care I would confidently entrust your life. On many occasions he has performed a most sterling service for me; quite often this has been far above the call of duty! Do not be deceived by his bluff, round-faced geniality, for it disguises a steely resolve and the heart of a warrior. Ha! Unless I am very much mistaken he has just pulled up outside our door in a four-wheeler!’ Holmes declared theatrically.

‘Ah, so it was to King that you so furtively dispatched that note earlier,’ I declared. ‘Yet surely, even so, you go too far in claiming to know the type of vehicle in which he has now arrived? You are nowhere near the window!’

Holmes arched an eyebrow accusingly toward me. ‘Evidently you did not pay sufficient attention to my notes upon the sounds and tracks made by the wheels of public vehicles and their use in the detection of crime.’ I was certain Holmes had feigned his air of disappointment; however I still could not hide my embarrassment at his justified accusation.

‘Do not trouble yourself, old fellow, for if the regular police force continue to ignore my various monographs, there is certainly no good reason why you should not do so also! Nevertheless, I should inform you that there is a particular
four-wheeled
cab that has received the nickname of the “growler”. It is so called because its wheels are guarded by unusual metal rims
that let out an awful grating noise whenever they pull up at the kerb. Unless I am very much mistaken, we heard such a sound a moment or two ago.’

Holmes seemed to be rather pleased with his deductions, so much so in fact, that when I escorted Collier downstairs to the waiting vehicle, I was almost disappointed to see that his prediction had been accurate. King doffed his cap cheerfully in my direction and assured me that he knew Collier’s hotel very well. Notwithstanding this, Collier still seemed to be most uneasy at taking his leave of us while remaining so ignorant of Holmes’s ideas and plans.

In this Collier was not alone and I mounted our stairs fully determined to extract as much information from Holmes as was possible.

To my surprise Holmes was more interested in my ideas and opinions than he was in expanding upon his own.

‘So, friend Watson, I would be very interested to learn what conclusions you have arrived at, based upon all that we have experienced over the past, most extraordinary, twenty-four hours,’ Holmes offered.

At that moment my eyes fell upon the clock and I realized, with some amazement, that there were barely two hours left before dawn.

‘My dear fellow, would it not be more beneficial if I formulated my ideas when my mind is a good deal fresher and clearer? Have a care for the time.’

Holmes followed my gaze to the clock, but merely shrugged his shoulders.

‘Have I not told you on many occasions that time is to be used as our tool and that we should never be its slave? My mind is as fresh and as active as it was twelve hours ago!’ he exclaimed, smiling at my discomfiture.

‘Will you not rest for just a few hours?’

As if in answer Holmes filled and lit another pipe and languidly waved me towards the door. I did not protest at this and dragged myself up the stairs, throwing myself upon my bed once I had reached my room.

Barely two hours later, despite the protests from my body, the activity in my brain was not to be quelled. My thoughts had been alternating from beladaus to ‘giant rats’ and back again, in rapid succession. I decided to steal down the stairs and to join my friend once more in his quest for the truth.

What I saw did not surprise me in the least. The light was still creeping from under the door and when I pushed it gently open I discovered that my friend was in a state of deep meditation. His pipe had long been abandoned to the ashtray. His pose, upon the same chair in which I had last seen him, was unusually upright, so that his unsupported head was perpendicular to the base of his spine. His legs were crossed underneath each other and his hands were folded close to his stomach I deduced, as I consequently discovered correctly from the size of the fire and the coolness of Holmes’s pipe bowl, that he had been in this position from the time that I had deserted him for my bed.

From past experience I thought it best to refrain from breaking in upon my friend’s spiritual quest and I made my way to my room once more. I decided that I should discover the results of his vigil once he was fully rested and recovered.

When I eventually returned to the sitting-room, I discovered, with some surprise, that a revived Holmes appeared to be considerably fresher and more alert than I was! However, he refused to discuss his experience until he had consumed at least two cups of coffee and as many cigarettes. Even then he would not divulge the results of his meditative process, merely the means by which he had achieved it.

As he spoke I suddenly realized that our conversation had come full circle and had reverted to his latest monograph, upon
the subject of meditation. His efforts at outlining this to me, just moments before the arrival of the letter from Morrison, Morrison & Dodd, were now to come to fruition. Holmes explained that by concentrating upon and controlling his breathing he had been able to achieve a deep meditative state.

There were many similarities between his nature and that of Sir Michael Collier and this made it easier for him to understand the processes behind Collier’s thoughts and actions. However, whenever Holmes had used this process in the past, he had been attempting to penetrate the minds of remarkable criminals. On this occasion he was trying to understand a remarkable gentleman.

At this juncture I felt compelled to protest.

‘Really, Holmes! Whilst I can understand your feeling a certain affinity for a fellow free-thinking seeker after truth like Michael Collier, it is beyond belief that you should condone the actions of a man who has readily confessed to betraying his country!’

Holmes considered me in silence for a moment or two, with a wry smile that permitted a stream of smoke to issue from between his teeth.

‘Ah, so that is your summation of page after heartfelt page of a man doing battle within himself. Surely you must have come to the realization that none of Collier’s decisions was taken lightly. His intentions, prior to his meeting with this self-styled “Giant Rat” were clear enough, I would have thought.

‘His passion for archaeology and adventure had brought him to the very bowels of political and religious revolution. Once he had become aware of the potential significance of the beladau he decided, without a moment’s hesitation to reclaim this object from the clutches of the revolutionary Ghadar movement that threatened the stability of his country’s Empire. Were these the motives and actions of a traitor?’ Holmes asked pointedly.

‘Well, no, of course not,’ I replied without hesitation, although
somewhat taken aback by my own admission. ‘However, his subsequent actions certainly seem to throw his loyalties into question.’

‘No, Watson; his subsequent actions are those of a man whose mind is in a state of turmoil. Do not forget that the letters suddenly become far more erratic and discursive and that, in reality, Collier spent many weeks, perhaps even months, in the camp of the Ghadar. During that time, while he practised and trained in the martial art of Indonesian silat, he gradually became influenced by the personality and qualities of Tilat and as a consequence Collier began to question the validity of his original motives and intentions.

‘That brings us, therefore, to the fundamental question of Britain’s right to rule in India. Do not reproach me, Watson, for I am fully aware that you suffered much during the Afghan campaign and that your favourite book is
The Life of General Gordon.
However we must not forget that Sir Michael Collier is undoubtedly a much travelled man who has seen and experienced a great deal that is extraordinary. Obviously he would, therefore, view these things in an entirely different perspective from our own.

‘Furthermore, he has encountered many individuals who have attained a profound spiritual awareness and he has become greatly influenced by them. Let us not forget his ‘lotus flower and the thorn’ enigma. In that sense do we even have the right to question the morals of the man, as we sit here snugly in our rooms in Baker Street? No, our task is to try to unravel his fate after he left the shores of Lake Toba.’

Holmes had not allowed me the opportunity to respond to any of these statements of his, such had been the speed and the passion with which he had delivered them. Once he had at length paused, in order that he might put a match to another pipe, he had rendered me as breathless as he undoubtedly was. I glanced
up at him, as he sat there by the window, his long sharp features silhouetted against the grey, murky dawn outside and I could see that he was greatly moved by the travails of Sir Michael Collier.

‘Did your extensive meditation shed any light on the possible outcome of Collier’s journeys and his subsequent fate?’ I asked at last.

Holmes viewed me quizzically for a moment or two before he replied. Perhaps he was unsure as to whether my question was of a cynical or sincere nature. Evidently he was convinced of the latter.

‘Sadly, it did not, although it did provide me with a profound insight into the nature of the man. I am convinced, therefore, that he would have followed Tilat’s instructions to the letter and set about negotiating the Alas River. That he was successful in this endeavour we know from the fact that Collier’s final letter was dispatched from Banda Aceh. As to whether Collier survived the journey from Meulaboh to Aceh is not so certain. As you might recall, it was his intention to dispatch his letter on board a packet ship from Meulaboh and it is likely that the ship’s last port of call would have been Aceh.

‘In his condition and with the Dutch evidently in hostile pursuit, it is highly improbable that Collier could have survived the journey from Meulaboh to Aceh; much less make it through the hostilities raging all about him as he tried to reach the quayside. No, I am afraid that Sir Michael Collier has been lost to us … and to his son,’ Holmes concluded, evidently much saddened at the thought.

I nodded solemnly in full agreement with Holmes’s assessment of Collier’s likely fate.

‘Of course, if Collier had survived, I am of little doubt that he would have made contact with his son by now. After all, he should have arrived here several days ahead of his letters, had he lived,’ I offered.

Holmes viewed me with an air of amused surprise.