Read Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra Online
Authors: Paul D. Gilbert
Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (17 page)
The empty warehouse was beginning to take on an atmosphere similar to that of my field tent during the Afghan campaign. Fortunately the wagon arrived shortly afterwards to remove the body. I deliberately withheld my smelling salts from Daniel Collier in order to spare him the trauma of seeing the body moved. In the meantime Holmes had began to remove the oilskin from the two packets.
The first and larger of the two contained one of the most beautifully crafted weapons that I have ever seen. It was every bit as remarkable as Sir Michael Collier had described it to be in his letter. As I lifted it by its red leather handle I was astounded by its weight and balance. Holmes confirmed that the inscriptions on the blade were in the form of a dedication to the Hindu god, Vishnu, and in the vernacular of ancient Sanskrit.
The object that I now held in awe was undoubtedly the famed beladau, which had proved to be Collier’s holy grail and our worst fears were surely confirmed. Daniel Collier’s reaction to the
unmasking of the ‘Giant Rat of Sumatra’ was now of little surprise to us, for he had just inadvertently taken the life of his own long lost father!
Holmes was seated on the floor, close to where Collier was lying, shaking his head disconsolately while he held the other packet tightly in his grasp.
‘We must not open this until we are safely back at Baker Street and our young friend here is better prepared to receive his late father’s final words to him. Oh Watson! To think that I allowed this tragedy to come about.’
‘You must not unjustly chastise yourself, Holmes. The events that led to this sorry culmination, occurred many thousands of miles away, and it is remarkable that you have discovered as much as you eventually did. We had no reason to suppose that it was anyone other than Tilat hidden behind that ghastly mask,’ I ventured, fully aware of the fact that Sherlock Holmes was not normally a man who could be so easily consoled.
‘There is no man alive who could have accomplished more,’ Lestrade offered sincerely and from this source Holmes seemed to derive a little more comfort.
He secreted the packet in an inside pocket and lit up a cigarette while he brushed himself free from the dirt and dust that had adhered to him during his time spent on the floor. I administered some salts to Daniel Collier and, as he slowly returned to consciousness, I could swear that the absence of the corpse now convinced him that the sight of his father’s dead body had been nothing more than a horrific apparition.
‘I would gladly sacrifice myself a thousand times over if I thought that it would restore your father to you.’ Holmes evidently felt that it would be best to dispel Collier’s delusion at the earliest moment.
‘So it is true,’ Collier whispered as he slowly raised himself up from the floor.
‘I truly wish that it were not so,’ I said as I gently fed to him the last of the contents of my flask.
Collier was still undeniably shaken, and it took the three of us to help him climb aboard ‘Gunner’ King’s cab, which was still waiting patiently for us on the corner.
‘Inspector, I shall assume that you intend to join us at Baker Street,’ Holmes observed sternly before he climbed aboard.
‘Naturally, Mr Holmes. As you are all undoubtedly aware, although we are all witnesses to the circumstances of Sir Michael Collier’s death, his son will still have to undergo the full and due legal processes before he is technically a free man. Although, of course, the conclusion is foregone. Besides, my report already promises to be so colourful and outrageous that any further information that I might learn from these letters will stand me in good stead.’
Acting upon Holmes’s instructions, King ensured that the return journey was a far more sedate affair than the outward one had been. Indeed, by the time that we had eventually pulled up outside 221B Mrs Hudson was already awake and busy in her parlour.
Impatiently waving aside her offers of breakfast, Holmes slowly limped ahead of us up to our rooms, obviously still in some pain. He immediately reached for his pipe and tobacco and tore at the oilskin wrapping of the second package, to reveal not one but two hurriedly scrawled letters, signed in the dead explorer’s distinctive hand.
Before requesting that I read from the longer of the two, Holmes sympathetically ensured that Daniel Collier was steady enough to hear his late father’s final words. Collier took several deep breaths as he steeled himself for such an emotional ordeal and then nodded towards me slowly and emphatically.
I read quietly and deliberately; however by the time I had reached the last optimistic sentence young Collier had broken
down again altogether. He appeared to be inconsolable and I led him through to Holmes’s room before calling down to Mrs Hudson for some coffee for all of us.
‘Do you know, Watson, that sometimes it seems to me that, no matter how good our intentions might truly be, our interference can lead to doing more harm than it does good. If we had allowed Collier to reach his son, by now he would have passed over the symbolic beladau and, in all probability, made good his escape, with nobody else any the worse off!’ Holmes complained bitterly.
‘Although you would have sacrificed your most precious of principles and relinquished your relentless pursuit of justice had you done so,’ I reminded him.
At that moment Mrs Hudson arrived with our coffee. Collier walked slowly from Holmes’s room, a moment or two later, still rubbing his reddened eyes and hunched at the shoulders. I offered him a cigarette to go with his coffee as he took his seat.
‘I am ready now, gentlemen,’ he stated simply, and Holmes gestured to me that I might now read from the second crumpled piece of parchment.
My dear son, I received news of your intention to seek a consultation with the remarkable Mr Sherlock Holmes by way of a wire sent to me by your landlady in St Ives. Therefore, I am certain that, by now, he has fully acquainted you with the events that led to the tragedy aboard the
Matilda Briggs.
I beseech you not to judge me too harshly. Obviously I knew that I was doing wrong by stowing away illegally in the first place. However, I was in no doubt that I would have no great difficulty in making good my escape once the business of unloading the tea had begun. I little realized that the rumours regarding the illicit gold were well-founded and that the crew of the
Matilda Briggs
had no intention of even touching the tea. Nor the pepper for that matter.
Their intended docking position was ignored and it was only when I began to make out some of the instructions that were being shouted by the captain on deck that I realized the serious peril that my discovery would place me in. After all, there is a world of difference between the reaction of a tea importer from that of a gold smuggler, in such a situation.
I wasted little time in secreting myself once they had docked and, to save you the embarrassment of my dilemma becoming public knowledge, I decided to disguise myself in the robe and mask of the ‘Giant Rat’ in which Tilat had originally wrapped the beladau.
I strapped the beladau, wrapped in oilskin, to my belt and had every intention of going over the side in order to escape unnoticed. However, events moved far more quickly than I had envisaged that they would do and I was only half of the way up the stairs from the hold, when the hatch was flung open and I was confronted by the crew!
There was no escaping them from my precarious position on the stairs and so I allowed myself to be lifted up on to the deck by my arms. My wrists were then trussed up behind my back, with a piece of ship’s cord and Captain Handley, as the crew addressed him, considered the best way of dealing with me. Evidently the offloading and delivery of the gold was a matter of far greater urgency, and I was left tied to a mast while they went about their nefarious deeds.
Since we were docked at St Katherine’s, I can only assume that the gold was supposed to be delivered to a destination somewhere in the City. The scheme had been well thought out, because a small cart was already awaiting them. Once the cart had been fully loaded Handley returned with instructions that two members of the crew would remain with me on board and that they would join the others at the designated meeting point, when they had dealt with me.
Once the cart had departed I looked up and observed my two guards. One was a middle-aged able seaman, who wore the scars of his many years before the mast with a weary indifference. He clearly did not have the stomach for the task that had been set for him and had to be cajoled by his companion before he dragged me back up to my feet. This companion of his, whom I had heard referred to as Mandel, clearly relished the prospect of disposing of me. His round-faced and youthful countenance belied his inherent maliciousness and he withdrew his long blade with a malevolent glint in his eyes.
As he approached me with his gaze firmly fixed upon my throat, I employed one of the many leg strikes that I had recently been taught. I sent my right foot crunching into the able seaman’s shin just below the knee. I did not need to be informed by that howl of his of the damage that I had done, because I could feel his bone crack clean through at the moment of impact. He fell writhing to the deck and rolled back and forth while he clutched his shattered limb. I had not realized, until it was almost too late, that while he had been holding his wound the able seaman was also sliding out a long thin knife that he had kept hidden down the side of his boot! Once again my resource was my foot and I brought this crashing down upon the side of the man’s neck. The blow killed him at once.
Clearly feeling aghast at my appearance and the fearful injury that I had just wrought, Mandel became more hesitant and he held back for a moment or two. I dropped to the floor and swung my leg around, in the monkey style, so that it swept Mandel from his feet. He fell to the deck and although he was only momentarily stunned, this allowed me the time to take hold of his knife, which had spilled from his grasp, and I worked on my ropes with its glinting sharp blade.
I had not the time to sever the rope clean through, yet it had weakened sufficiently for me to able to tear it apart with a
powerful jerk of my shoulders. With my hands now clear I felt prepared for Mandel’s next move. Seemingly undaunted by my new-found freedom and the damage that I had exacted upon his friend, Mandel came towards me once more and I noticed that he was slowly pulling a small revolver from his inside pocket!
Before he had the opportunity to cock it, my left hand crashed against his wrist. As the weapon fell harmlessly away from him I lunged forward and my iron palm struck him cleanly upon a pressure point in his neck.
I had not intended to kill him, nor was I even certain at that moment that I had done so. However I could see that he was fighting for his life and would not be capable of any form of movement for some time to come. At that moment I became aware that the ship was slowly drifting away from its original moorings! Evidently Captain Handley, in his efforts to dissociate the
Matilda Briggs
from St Katherine’s, had untied her before he had departed in the cart in the belief that the high morning tides would carry her away downstream.
I hurriedly carved a clue as to what had occurred into the decking with Mandel’s blade. I inscribed it in Sanskrit in order to bolster the belief that Tilat had been behind the killings. I hauled the seaman’s body over the side, and the revolver, together with Mandel’s knife followed it into the chill, murky waters shortly afterwards.
I was on the point of checking Mandel for a pulse when I realized that the gap between the ship and the wharf was rapidly expanding. Soon it would be too late for me to make my escape. I leapt up on to the handrail and made the jump to the shore with barely half an inch to spare! I teetered on the edge of the embankment with my clenched toes and threw myself forward on to my face, to avoid an icy drenching.
My predicament was clear and I lost little time in sprinting
away from the scene of my crime as the
Matilda Briggs
began to disappear round the bend of the river, becoming clouded by the early-morning mists. As you are now doubtless aware, I was fortunate in coming upon a deserted warehouse in a spot that was ideal for my purpose. I soon discovered that a small schooner, the
Bellerophon
was taking on crew and would be departing for the Far East within the next few days.
In the time remaining to me I have decided to channel my every effort into seeing you, my dear boy, for one last time. This, however, has proved to be no easy task. Your Mr Sherlock Holmes seems to have erected a cordon around us both that has proved to be impenetrable. Indeed, during my last attempt at gaining access to you, I was almost apprehended by an associate of his, a man who appears to be shadowing my every move. Mr Holmes’s minions seem to be everywhere. There is no escaping them and they are closing in upon my hideaway even as I sit here in my warehouse writing this to you.
Once I am safely out of harm’s way I will instruct my solicitors to dispose of my property in a manner that is beneficial to both you and our beloved Charlotte. In the meantime I can only leave you my letters and the sacred trust of Tilat’s beladau, both of which you will find here at the appropriate time. I sincerely hope and pray that my timely departure will spare you the ignominy of having your father’s infamous deeds being made public knowledge. The imminent departure of the
Bellerophon
certainly makes this seem most likely.
Have faith that my true intentions were always for the common good, however they might subsequently be misconstrued. Nonetheless, I have committed a grievous sin in the eyes of God and I am imprisoned within a nightmare of my own creation. So now I intend to journey once more to the hills of northern India, there to throw myself upon the mercy of the great masters and the grace of the most supreme soul.
You have always made me proud, my dear boy, and I regret that my actions will have made it impossible for you to reciprocate those feelings. God speed.
As ever yours,
MC
It seemed strange that such an emotive letter should conclude in so formal a style. However, Daniel Collier seemed oblivious to this anomaly and he was greatly moved by his father’s final words. Neither Holmes nor I could think of a suitable response, and Collier slowly rose and stared out from our window with such intensity that he seemed to be searching for his father’s image in the swirling, angry clouds outside.
