Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (2 page)

‘Well … if you are certain?’

I lost no time in following my friend’s instructions and it was arranged that I should depart for Shropshire on the following Tuesday. Any misgivings that I might still have regarding abandoning Holmes were soon dispelled by the sight of him feverishly burrowing his way through swaths of files and notepaper, with which he liberally festooned our room.

Indeed, so engrossed had Holmes become in his latest endeavour that I began to wonder whether he would even notice
my eventual departure! Any attempts that I made at conversation were met by either grunts or snarls, accompanied by the perpetual sound of Holmes’s pencil scratching in his notebook.

When the morning of my departure eventually arrived Holmes dismissed me with a cursory wave over his shoulder whilst he laboured at his desk. Consequently I hurried to my waiting cab without a tinge of regret.

I was well met at Diddlebury station by a fine trap and pair that Cresswell had kindly arranged for me, and soon we were traversing some charming countryside on our way to Delbury Hall.

The hall itself, dating from the early years of the century, was a fine square building of red brick, with a small wing on either side. It was reached by way of a short, bush-lined gravel drive that circled the beautiful lake, which was fed by the object of my sporting quest, namely the River Diddle, although in reality it was little more than a fast-running stream.

Cresswell’s wife Elizabeth evidently did not share her husband’s enthusiasm for my visit. Whereas he was warm and gracious as he greeted me on my arrival in the trap, she was cold and indifferent, dispatching a young groom to take my bags to my room with a most disdainful wave. I was disappointed to discover, upon reaching the room, that I had been relegated to the left wing, which afforded a view no more rewarding than the small stable house at the rear of the main building. After I had unpacked I sank on to my hard, uncomfortable bed and consoled myself with the thought of my beautiful surroundings and the days of good sport that lay ahead.

Our small but adequate evening meal was taken in cold silence and my mood only improved once Elizabeth had taken herself to her room under the pretext of a headache. Thereupon Cresswell and I indulged ourselves in some entertaining reminiscences and a port that was well above average. Sadly Cresswell could not join
me at the river in the morning as he had to give his urgent attention to some cases; as a fellow doctor, it was a situation with which I could easily sympathise. However, the Diddle more than lived up to its reputation and by lunchtime I had a fine brace of brown trout to take back to the hall. The elderly cook, Mrs Bumstead, kindly prepared them for our evening meal and it was only upon their consumption that Elizabeth warmed at last to my visit.

The remainder of my stay, as a consequence, was a positive delight. The glass remained high, the weather fine and the trout continued to respond well to my trusty flies. By the end of the week Elizabeth and I had become firm friends and she stood and waved to me as the trap departed for the station. The greeting that I received from Holmes did nothing to dampen my mood. Evidently the completion of his monograph had filled him with a renewed energy and enthusiasm and he could not wait to read it to me, which was necessary as the writing of the first draft was illegible to anyone but himself.

Although his work contained many points of interest it was true to say that his dry, academic style would only hold the interest of the most ardent students of the subject. Sadly, the country air and the long journey home had left me most grateful for the comfort of my chair and after but a few pages of Holmes’s drone I found myself drifting off into a deep slumber.

Fortunately Holmes was not unsympathetic to my obvious fatigue and he dispatched me to my room with the not entirely comforting assurance that he would continue with his reading as soon as breakfast had been cleared away the following morning.

Therefore my relief at discovering that a most fateful letter had arrived with our first post might well be understood.

S
urprisingly Holmes appeared to be somewhat crestfallen at the letter’s arrival, as breakfast had been completed and he was about to resume his reading when Mrs Hudson arrived to clear the table and deliver our post.

Holmes tore impatiently into the envelopes. Two bills and a letter of gratitude from a former client soon found their way on to the floor. The contents of the fourth envelope, however, were treated somewhat differently and Holmes soon passed the letter across to me for my opinion. The draft for his monograph lay forgotten on the arm of his chair.

The letter was short on content and detail and as businesslike as one would expect from a firm of City solicitors. Morrison, Morrison & Dodd specialized in maritime affairs and, as some readers might recall, would subsequently lead us upon the adventure of
The Sussex Vampire.
However, on this occasion the subject matter of their letter appeared, at first glance, to be altogether more mundane. I read the letter aloud to Holmes:

This cursory communication had been signed by the company’s senior partner.

‘Finer details, indeed! ‘Holmes exploded. ‘There are no details here at all!’

‘Apart from the simple fact that the
Matilda Briggs
has been deserted and now lies abandoned. Surely that extraordinary fact alone is most worthy of note,’ I suggested, whereupon I immediately dived into our directories. From our copy of Lloyd’s Register, I was able to ascertain that the
Matilda Briggs
was one of the first steam tea clippers to enter service and that, to this day, she holds the record for the fastest journey a clipper has made from Calcutta to London. From a legal register I found out that our prospective clients were a firm of well-established solicitors with a reputation for great discretion.

‘Crumbs, Watson! I am being fed nothing but crumbs. To think that I have to rely on that fool Lestrade for any information that might aid me in this case.’ As he spoke, Holmes strode over to the mantelpiece and began filling his first pipe of the day.

‘So you already regard this letter as the beginning of a case,’ I asked speculatively.

‘As you know, Watson, I am loath to make any assumptions before being in possession of the facts. Although in this instance there are no facts at all, other than an abandoned vessel. Any hope that I hold of a worthwhile examination by an investigator
possessed of my abilities lies in the fact that it is impossible for a vessel to arrive at a London dock with nobody on board. We must await the arrival of that scourge of London criminals.’ Holmes finished this statement with more than a hint of sarcasm and began pacing the room while an endless plume of smoke pumped from his old clay pipe.

When Lestrade did eventually arrive, he was in a state of great agitation. Holmes greeted him with a feigned indifference that belied his earlier impatience. We sent down for coffee and once Mrs Hudson had been bundled from the room Holmes threw the letter from Morrison across the room to Lestrade.

‘Since when did my humble practice rely on recommendations from Scotland Yard?’ Holmes asked sharply.

‘I am certain that it does not, Mr Holmes, but if this little mystery is not right up your alley then I am sure that I do not know what is!’ Lestrade replied with surprising spirit.

‘As you might know, I depend on hearing the facts at first hand from my clients in order that I should obtain a full understanding of the matter.’ Holmes stood over Lestrade and waved his finger accusingly. ‘This letter tells me nothing!’ he boomed. He clasped his sinewy fingers together behind his back and turned away from Lestrade, towards the window. Lestrade’s withering glare at me showed he was aghast at Holmes’s ill temper, but I could only offer a shrug by way of consolation.

As if sensing this brief, furtive exchange behind his back, Holmes’s tone mellowed considerably when he next spoke.

‘Despite this less than auspicious beginning, perhaps if you lay the facts before me in a clear and orderly manner this may yet be a matter of some minor interest to me.’

‘That would be most good of you, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade responded, visibly relieved.

‘Although at this stage I will commit myself to nothing!’ Holmes warned as he sat down, cross-legged, upon his chair.
With a dramatic wave of his arm he invited Lestrade to speak and then, to aid his concentration, he closed his eyes and pressed his right forefinger to his lips.

Simultaneously Lestrade and I took out our notebooks, his to read from, and my own to make notes upon for Holmes’s subsequent perusal.

‘Gentlemen, the basic facts are these,’ Lestrade began. ‘Yesterday morning, at approximately half past four, two dock workers arrived for work at Canary Wharf, to discover that a supposedly empty berth was now being occupied by the tea cutter, the
Matilda Briggs.
Surprising as her presence undoubtedly was, still more confusing was the fact that she was not tethered. It was concluded that she had, therefore, drifted randomly into that position. It was subsequently discovered that she had been due to dock two days earlier but at a berth much further downstream. Her late arrival was causing some concern because she is considered to be one of the fastest and most reliable craft in the entire merchant fleet! At the time the reason for her delay was unknown, so that when the dock workers saw her name on the hull they immediately summoned the harbour master.

‘The vessel was boarded at once and to everyone’s astonishment the only crew member on board was a young cabin boy, Carlo Maddalena, who appeared to be on the point of death. He died shortly afterwards in hospital and a nurse heard the boy say with his dying breath: ‘Death himself has surely come for us all!’

‘Not another soul, alive or dead, could be found on board and not a clue as to their fate. Morrison, Morrison and Dodd are acting on behalf of the ship’s insurers and although the Yard will be conducting its own investigations, the insurers have requested an independent inquiry by yourself. Those are the only known facts at this time, gentlemen.’ It was with some relief that Lestrade put away his notebook and he lit a cigarette as soon as he had done so.

Holmes slowly unravelled himself and lit a cigarette of his own.

‘I really must congratulate you on the concise precision of your notes, Lestrade,’ Holmes surprisingly announced. ‘I presume that you have already visited the ship?’

‘You presume correctly, Mr Holmes, although I might have saved myself the bother for all the good that it did me,’ Lestrade responded bitterly.

‘Inspector, all the effort in the world, if channelled in the wrong direction, will always be of little benefit, in the same way as the untrained eye can see everything and yet understand nothing at all. Yet we should always be bothered, otherwise our very existence is meaningless. Were there no traces of the ship’s log? Although, of course, had there been you would not feel the need to consult with me now.’

Lestrade shook his head disconsolately. ‘As you say, Mr Holmes, there would have been no real mystery.’

‘Were there no clues to be found in the ship’s inventory?’ I asked.

‘Sadly that appears to have vanished, together with the log.’

‘Well, whoever is responsible for the
Matilda Briggs
mystery certainly did their job most thoroughly,’ I commented quietly.

‘Yet are you so certain that the ill-fated young man was indeed the cabin boy?’ Holmes asked of Lestrade.

‘Fortunately the crew register was the only documentation that was beyond the reach of the culprit. It was lodged with the harbour master before the ship’s departure.’

‘Are there no clues as to the fate of the remainder of the crew? If pirates had attacked the ship for example, there would have been obvious signs of violence to be found on board,’ I suggested. I observed Holmes smile proudly in my direction as I posed this question to Lestrade.

‘That notion had occurred to us, but there were no indications of bloodshed or disturbance of any sort. Although …’ Lestrade’s voice trailed away thoughtfully.

All this while Holmes had been prowling around the room restlessly while drawing on his cigarette. However, upon Lestrade’s hesitation he turned round, levelling the cigarette in his direction. ‘Tell me, Inspector; no matter how irrelevant or trivial this might appear to be to you now, might its significance become apparent once we have accumulated more data?’

‘Well, there were some unusual marks or symbols etched deeply into the decking just a few feet away from where the cabin boy had fallen. We could find no implement nearby that could have made these marks, so we have concluded that the cabin boy could not have been their creator. Their meaning, however, remains unknown.’

‘Think, man! Did these markings remind you of anything?’ Holmes insisted.

Lestrade shook his head disconsolately. ‘No, nothing at all. They might have been a crude kind of lettering, I suppose, but from an alphabet that I am not familiar with. However, I have arranged to meet Mr Dodd at the
Matilda Briggs
this afternoon, so you may reach your own conclusions then.’

‘Did the markings appear to have been made recently?’ Holmes asked thoughtfully. He turned towards the window, apparently searching for inspiration from the grey skies above the streets.

‘Yes, now you mention it, they did. The wood that had been exposed was considerably lighter in tone than the remainder,’ Lestrade replied, as if surprised at this conclusion that Holmes’s questioning had drawn from him.

‘I shall make a detective of you yet, Inspector!’

‘Holmes, you seem to be implying that someone took the time to inscribe nonsensical etchings into the deck of the ship whilst some unspeakable drama was being enacted all around them. I do not understand why you are attaching such importance to them,’ I said.

‘It is precisely because they are there when common sense tells
us that they should not be, that I attach significance to them. Besides, we should not assume that they are nonsensical simply because the good inspector and his men cannot understand their meaning. As you know, I will reach no conclusions until I have put everything to the test.’

‘Does the body of the cabin boy display any obvious signs of violence?’ I enquired.

‘There were some unusual blemishes about the boy’s neck but nothing that suggests foul play.’ Again Lestrade shook his head.

‘Although his untimely demise would certainly suggest as much. Is Carlo Maddalena still to be found in the hospital?’ Holmes asked.

‘The post mortem is being carried out at Middlesex Street.’

‘Excellent! Then that shall be our first port of call. Mrs Hudson!’ Holmes called out, at once. Upon her replying he requested that she procure us a cab.

‘Now steady on, Mr Holmes.’ Lestrade stood up to protest at Holmes’s impulsive plans. ‘Are we going to abandon Mr Dodd at the quayside?’

On his way to get his coat Holmes suddenly stopped in his tracks and addressed Lestrade face to face. ‘Inspector Lestrade, Mr Dodd and the
Matilda Briggs
will still be available to us tomorrow, whereas, as the good doctor here will confirm, the body of the cabin boy will not become any fresher over night! I suggest that we make our way to Middlesex Street without another moment’s delay. Oh, and Doctor, be good enough to bring your bag.’ Holmes issued this instruction as he bounded from the room towards the street below.

As I made my way to my room, to retrieve the said bag, I paused to reflect on the stark change that had come over Holmes since the arrival of the letter from Morrison, Morrison & Dodd. All thoughts of his informative but dry monograph had been put to one side and the demons of his night at St Jude’s had truly been
exorcised. Such were the effects of stimulating work on his finely balanced mind.

I hastened my step as he called out once more.

Our cab made ponderous progress through some unusually heavy traffic, which allowed me time to reflect upon the fate of the
Matilda Briggs’
s crew. Had there been a disease or plague on board? Perhaps the bodies had then been thrown overboard to avoid the spread of further infection until only the cabin boy remained alive. At the last even he had succumbed and the only clue remaining was the marks on the boy’s neck.

On the other hand, Holmes’s earlier questioning of Lestrade seemed to suggest that foul play was a possibility that he was considering. To my way of thinking this seemed the less likely notion; after all, had not Lestrade already stated that there were no other signs of violence visible on board? Besides, who or what could be capable of wiping out and disposing of an entire ship’s crew?

Perhaps a mutiny might have resulted in the crew’s annihilation. If that had been the case, however, how would the sole survivor have been capable of disposing of the bodies in the weakened state in which he had been found? Indeed, would he even have had the presence of mind to consider destroying the captain’s log? What would have been his motive for so doing? Unless, of course, he had been the instigator of the mutiny himself. Then that explanation did seem to be most unlikely also.

And so, as we approached the hospital, I had come full circle and back to my original notion of a virulent infectious disease. I decided to voice this in order that we three should approach the cabin boy’s body with extreme caution.

‘Watson,’ Holmes responded, ‘there is much merit to your notion that a disease wiped out the entire crew of the Matilda Briggs. However, it does contain one profound flaw….’