Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (5 page)

‘I saw no more nor less than any of you,’ Holmes replied, while a sly, mischievous smile played briefly upon his thin lips. ‘However, I observed and, therefore, learnt absolute volumes by comparison!’ My blank expression prompted Holmes to continue: ‘Oh, Watson, you know my method. Do not bracket yourself with that idiot Lestrade. Deduce!’

I considered my words carefully before offering my response, drawing long and hard from my freshly lit cigarette.

‘Based upon your, unusually, insistent line of questioning at the shipping office, I would say that you observed something on board the ship that indicated to you the presence of a cargo other than tea.’

‘This is excellent, Watson. Pray continue.’

‘Furthermore,’ I continued, whilst growing in confidence, ‘your request for a sight of the ship’s prescribed route would imply that you hope to discover a slight variation from this route and that this might account for the rogue cargo. In all probability the carvings on the deck will help to provide you with a clue as to this variation.’

Holmes clapped his hands gleefully.

‘Well, Watson, it would seem that the power to deduce is a most contagious condition. In the future I must be careful not to reveal all of the mysteries of my method!’

I had hoped that this line of conversation would draw Holmes out still further in divulging his other thoughts on the matter of the
Matilda Briggs
and her mysterious secrets. However, I was soon disappointed to learn that, for now at least, he was to remain as enigmatic as ever.

I was pleased to note that we were returning to Baker Street in
time for some supper. However, as we were crossing the threshold into 221B, Holmes was alerted to a presence upstairs by an extraordinarily large set of muddied footprints that had been set into the door mat. We were further astonished to note the absence of Mrs Hudson’s customary greeting.

Consequently, it was with great stealth and in absolute silence that we ascended the seventeen steps to our rooms. We arrived on the landing without having disturbed the intruder and then crept over to our door. Holmes cautioned me while he strained to hear any sound that might have indicated the intruder’s whereabouts within the room. Then he reversed his cane so that the loaded brass handle was now raised and poised to strike.

We were both only too well aware of a chronic squeak in one of the door hinges, so it was imperative that we open the door with fluidity and speed. I am certain that Holmes was more embarrassed than relieved when he found himself with his cane held menacingly above his head, over nothing more dangerous than our landlady serving tea to an amiable-looking young man, who was perched on the edge of one of our chairs.

It was with a look of startled amusement that Mrs Hudson glanced up towards her illustrious lodger.

‘Oh, Mr Holmes, I hope that you do not mind me serving tea to your most patient and charming young visitor. After all, I am sure that he has brought something of interest to you.’

Holmes laughed aloud as he hurriedly stowed away his cane. ‘Watson, I say again, the power of deduction does, indeed, appear to be most contagious! On this occasion I believe that Mrs Hudson is certainly correct. Anyone who has awaited us for this period of time must have something more than commonplace to present to us.’

‘Mr Holmes,’ Mrs Hudson ventured as she prepared to leave with her empty tray. ‘If you have only just returned how can you possibly confirm the length of the young man’s wait?’

‘I am certain of this for I know, only too well, of your meticulous attention to housekeeping. I am sure that you would never have allowed our ashtrays to remain so full during our long absence. Besides, neither Dr Watson nor I smoke that particular brand of Indian cheroots and certainly not in that great a quantity. You really must calm yourself, young man.’ Holmes addressed our guest for the first time.

‘Now, Mrs Hudson,’ he went on, ‘if you could manage one more tray for the good doctor and me I shall endeavour to discover the reason behind our young guest’s visit and patience.’ With a charming smile Holmes gently guided our landlady from the room.

The young man rose somewhat nervously from his chair and shook Holmes wholeheartedly by the hand. ‘Mr Holmes, it is such an honour to meet you, and you, Dr Watson, the excellence of whose chronicles has surely led me to your door.’

‘Ha! So it is to Dr Watson and his dubiously embellished literary achievements that I am to be indebted for your visit here today. Well, I must say!’ Holmes gleefully exclaimed. ‘What little reputation my humble practice might possess would look pretty sorry if all my clients come to me in such a manner. Now please resume your seat, while we await Mrs Hudson.’

With that, Holmes strode over to the mantelpiece, where he collected all the plugs and dottles from his previous day’s smokes. He filled his old clay pipe with these. Clearly somewhat abashed by Holmes’s display of pique, the poor young fellow shifted around uncomfortably in his chair while Holmes smoked in silence for a moment or two.

‘Ah, Mrs Hudson!’ Holmes stole stealthily over to the door which he flung open before our startled landlady had a chance to knock. He then closed it again behind her in an equally abrupt manner. ‘Would you mind, Watson?’ Holmes requested whilst waving towards the tea tray.

As I filled our cups I noticed that Holmes was carefully observing our guest. He was certainly newly arrived from the country, for he sported a green tweed hacking-jacket with matching trousers and a pair of dark-brown brogues. However, it was his headwear that caught my attention, for the hat that sat beside him on the arm of his chair, was an absurdly large, floppy felt thing, fashioned in a striking shade of Lincoln green. Holmes stared at our eccentrically attired young guest with an amused intensity, as though he was deciding whether he was to be taken seriously. When Holmes next spoke, his gaze was still upon him and it was not hard to see why.

The young man bore an uncanny resemblance to a young, although undoubtedly Bohemian, Sherlock Holmes! Although his features were not as sharply defined as those of Holmes, they were just as long and inquisitive. The two stood at exactly the same height, were equally slim, and when the fellow crossed his legs, which he did with remarkable frequency, it was with the same slow, languid movement as that employed by my friend.

‘So you are an archaeologist, very recently returned from the wilds of Cornwall, I perceive!’ Holmes boldly declared.

‘Well, I must say, Mr Holmes, that I do not agree with your appraisal of Dr Watson’s chronicles if that last statement of yours is anything to go by. You are correct on both counts; however I realize that I have kept you both at a disadvantage. I am Daniel Collier, the only son of the renowned explorer and theologian, Sir Michael Collier.’

‘I can assure you, Mr Collier, that my simple observations were merely theatrical examples of the real thoroughness of my method. I should point out that the prints that you left behind on our entrance mat, together with the dry ground in traces on your left knee are unmistakably of the sort of clay found only in our most westerly county. When I then observe red indented calluses set between your right thumb and forefinger, I deduced the
constant use of a type of trowel employed by historians in the field. Your attire indicates that you have only recently returned to London, probably today and therefore your mission is of the very greatest moment.

‘I repeat, Mr Collier, that I have merely employed pure, elementary logic. However, a somewhat prominent package that I can see struggling to free itself from the inside of your jacket pocket seems to suggest that you are about to test my supposed powers to a far greater extent than I have so far demonstrated.’ With that Holmes returned to the Persian slipper for some more tobacco.

‘I cannot deny that the content of the package is the reason for my visit here today. However, it contains nothing less than the most recent report of my father’s latest set of adventures and it may well prove to be the last! Although as to whether that truly is the case is a matter upon which I crave your help and advice,’ Collier implored.

Sensing Collier’s intense agitation Holmes immediately responded. ‘I can assure you that you are very welcome to both.’

‘Bless you for that, Mr Holmes.’ Collier breathed in deeply for a moment or two and he appeared to be greatly relieved. ‘Despite its great length and detail it might be best if I were to read it aloud to you, if that is agreeable to you?’ Holmes nodded his emphatic assent. ‘However, before I begin perhaps it would be best if I were to briefly describe my own current circumstances and how things stand between me and the remainder of my family. If I might crave your indulgence for a moment or two …’ Collier pointed towards the open window from where he drew in some welcome fresh air before resuming his craving for Indian cheroots. Repeatedly he ran his fingers through his long flaxen hair before withdrawing a battered brown package from his inside jacket pocket.

Collier then resumed his seat and began speaking in a hushed, reverent tone.

‘Sadly, my dear late mother contracted the disease malaria
when she accompanied my father upon his vain quest to establish the authenticity of the Biblical reference to the land of Sheba and its supposed location in North East Africa. Her subsequent untimely passing had a profound and debilitating effect upon my father, who then withdrew to his retreat in Buckinghamshire from where he has only recently emerged.’

‘Ah, I had wondered why so little has been heard from him of late,’ I interrupted.

Holmes and Collier both turned quizzically towards me. ‘Then you already know of my father?’ Collier asked.

‘Indeed I do!’ I confirmed emphatically while rising from my chair. I went across to my small library and from there, adjacent to my prized copy of General Gordon’s biography, I extracted a copy of
Journeys Through the Lands of the Bible
by Sir Michael Collier. I displayed this to the author’s son by way of confirming my interest in his father’s work.

Collier smiled proudly. ‘It was certainly one of the expeditions with which he was most gratified.’

‘Thank you, Watson,’ Holmes murmured. Collier immediately handed the volume back to me, as conscious as I had been of Holmes’s irritation at my diversion. Holmes gestured for Collier to resume his story by way of a dramatic wave of his hand. I returned to my seat with my notebook and pencil at the ready.

‘Gentlemen, although it might sound absurd for me to say this, under the present circumstances, but my family are extremely close in all respects other than the geographical. Indeed, ever since the tragic passing of my mother all the more so. My beautiful young sister, Charlotte is, at present, engaged in missionary work somewhere in the depths of central Africa. My father is possibly lost somewhere in the East Indies and I have just returned from my study of the mysterious ‘Waiting Stones’ of Cornwall. The wanderlust has certainly invaded our family and yet wherever it might lead us, we have always felt joined by a 
common familial bond that shall never be broken … not even in death.’ Collier paused for a moment to put a flame to his cheroot.

‘I am familiar with those remarkable standing stones myself. During a recuperative sabbatical on the Cornish coast that very nearly cost me my life,
2
I spent many an hour walking amongst those stones, although I was never able to unlock their ancient secrets,’ Holmes observed reflectively during the brief pause. Collier gravely nodded his acknowledgement before continuing:

‘Therefore the abrupt ending to my father’s most recent letter is all the more surprising. It has been months since he left his retreat to begin his quest to prove that an advanced Hindu civilization had existed long before the period that has been generally accepted by the scholars. He sent me a brief note to the effect that it was his intention to take up the trail of an aged guru whom he had encountered in East Africa and accordingly to sail to Calcutta on the first available schooner from London.

‘That was the last that I was to hear from him until this arrived at my lodgings in St Ives, just two days ago.’ With that Collier extracted the contents of the envelope that had been the focal point of our attention since we had returned to our rooms. So intent was Holmes on examining the envelope before Collier would have a chance to read its contents that he leapt forward and snatched it from the bewildered young man’s grasp. With the same urgency and intent, he held it beside the illumination of a small oil lamp and painstakingly scrutinized every inch of the envelope’s surface with his small magnifying glass.

It was only then that I became conscious of the gathering gloom outside our windows. When Mrs Hudson came in to draw our blinds and kindle the fire, I realized that a long though enthralling night lay ahead of us.

‘M
r Collier,' Holmes began accusingly, ‘why have you retained only one of the envelopes that enclosed these papers?'

‘The first was sufficiently large to contain all of my father's correspondence, so therefore the others appeared to be redundant. However, I have not mentioned the fact that there were more than one letter,' Collier explained.

‘You did not need to. See here …' Holmes moved over to Collier and then to me, with his glass trained on the seams of the envelope. ‘When the envelope was originally sealed the flap folded smoothly over the contents and yet the seams of the bottom two corners are now clearly stretched, almost to the point of splitting in two. This shows something bulkier has been inserted since it was opened. One can sometimes learn more from an apparently unremarkable envelope than from the letter within. Although I am sure that that is not the case in this instance. How many letters are there?'

‘There were three in total,' Collier quietly replied, obviously still enthralled by Holmes's simple process of deduction.

‘Since I have already deduced that the first of these was the briefest and as it bears a London postmark, it must contain items of a personal nature. Therefore, the other two must provide detailed journals of your father's travels. The stationery and ink are of the highest quality, as one would expect of a man of
letters, and the script is strong and confident. May I have a sight of the actual letters before I ask you to read from them?'

‘Certainly.' Collier placed them into the clutches of Holmes's eager, outstretched fingers.

Holmes studied the letters with a brief intensity before returning them to our young client.

‘Watson, kindly note the fact that the writing employed in each of the letters sadly reflects the fluctuations in Collier's state of mind and his circumstances, as his journeys progressed. The first is written in a strong, bold steady hand, probably in the man's study. The second is written in a similar hand, although its fluctuations indicate the motions of the vessels in which he travelled, and the same stationery and ink are in use. However, the third, truncated, missive is an altogether different affair.

‘The writing is now an erratic scratching. The stationery comprises various types of coarse Indian paper and the ink is weak and watery. The fact that it ends abruptly and in mid sentence is most suggestive and is, therefore, of the most concern. Now, I must charge you to omit not a word nor any nuance as you read from each letter in turn.'

Holmes sat crossed kneed upon his favourite chair. His pipe was nestled in the ashtray closest to him while his tightly closed eyes aided his deepest concentration.

Daniel Collier read aloud with a clear, steady and most expressive voice, as if he was reciting from a piece of prose. ‘The first letter is dated the fourteenth of July, 1897.'

‘Why, that is fully thirteen months ago!' I offered and I observed a brief condescending smile playing over Holmes's thin lips, although his eyes remained tightly shut as he listened to the reading.

‘He signs off simply with his initials,' Daniel Collier breathlessly concluded.

‘What a remarkably honest and heartfelt insight into a man's regrets and his very soul. We must thank you for allowing us to share it with you,' I said quietly.

Holmes reacted as if my words had broken a spell and he had been awakened from a deep trance. He leapt from his chair and immediately lit a cigarette with the glow from one of our fire's dying embers. He smoked in silence for a moment or two, then glanced at the clock.

‘Look at the hour!' he exclaimed. ‘I have been most neglectful, Mr Collier. We must refresh you before expecting you to read still further. Watson, you must use your charms, with the fairer sex, and secure for us a tray or two of supper from Mrs Hudson.' This request from Holmes was as surprising as it was welcome and I embarked upon my simple mission with understandable enthusiasm.

When I made my triumphant return, with news of soup and
braised kidneys, Collier excused himself so that he could clear his head with a brisk walk down Baker Street.

‘Holmes, I have noted, down the years, how you have always demanded precision and brevity from your clients when they have been outlining their cases to you. Yet in the case of Daniel Collier and his father's remarkable letter, you appear to have hung upon his every word with great intensity and without the impatience that you normally fail to conceal,' I observed quietly while we awaited both our supper and the return of our client.

Holmes observed me quizzically for a moment or two while he lit his cherry-wood. ‘Sometimes it is as important to have an insight into the character of the principal in a case as it is to be in possession of the relevant facts. In this instance we are fortunate indeed, for Sir Michael Collier has laid himself bare before us and revealed a remarkable nature. Besides which, I am already convinced that we are about to delve into areas that are considerably beyond the realms of my usual investigations. Therefore, it is impossible, at this early stage, for me to distinguish between those facts that are irrelevant and the ones that might guide us to the truth.'

‘You have already heard something that so convinces you?' I asked incredulously.

Holmes smiled enigmatically, as he drew leisurely on his pipe. ‘Something suggestive, perhaps,' he stated simply. Unfortunately I was to learn nothing more of my friend's thoughts at this time, for a moment later the welcome sight of Mrs Hudson, awkwardly bearing a heavily laden tray full of food, interrupted us. Daniel Collier returned from his constitutional a moment later and the three of us made short work of our impromptu meal.

Once our empty plates had been cleared away, a glass of port had been poured for each of us and our cigars were under way, we three returned to our seats by the fire and Holmes invited our client to read from his father's second letter. After a long draw
from his cheroot and a sip from his port, the young archaeologist cleared his throat and began to read.

‘The envelope is post-marked Calcutta and the letter itself is dated the fifteenth of October 1897.

I heard Holmes emit a grunt of approval and admiration as Daniel Collier read out this last paragraph. He held up the palm of his hand in front of the young fellow's face, to temporarily halt his narration, then he proceeded to fill his pipe from the Persian slipper.