Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra (7 page)
Read Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra Online
Authors: Paul D. Gilbert
However, my worst fears were soon realized when the Sadhu revealed that the beladau had last been seen in the hands of the aforementioned revolutionary leader, Bal Gangadhar Tilat as he invoked Shiva at a recent rally. Apparently, after the rally had been broken up and dispersed by a line of British infantrymen, a splinter group of the Ghadar movement had fled with the beladau to the Dutch stronghold of Aceh, in northern Sumatra, where they could then regroup following the arrest of Tilat.
The dangerous significance of this situation was not lost upon me. After all, should it have been proved that the beladau was as ancient as it was thought to be, then it would further weaken the British dominance over the people of the Indian colonies who had fashioned this object in the age of antiquity. It fell to me, I reasoned, the only person in possession of all the facts, to reclaim the beladau before the Ghadar, or even the Dutch, could realize the beladau’s destructive potential.
I thanked Mistry for his guidance and for his blessings and immediately chartered a small fishing boat to take me back to Calcutta. For three days and nights I waited in vain for news of available transport to Sumatra. The war between the Dutch and the Sultanate of Aceh, over the control of one the most important and affluent ports in the whole of the Far East, had flared up again. This conflict had been raging sporadically for nigh on thirty years and on this occasion the fighting had been most fierce and had resulted in a significant loss of life.
Understandably enough, there was not a captain in the whole port at Calcutta willing to undertake so perilous a journey, no matter how potentially profitable the cargo might be. Therefore I would have to approach Sumatra by way of a far more tortuous
route. I learned of a supply vessel that was scheduled to take post and medicine to the troops manning the British penal colony at Port Blair, on the Andaman Islands. From there—
‘Holmes!’ I blurted out suddenly. ‘The Andaman Islands! Surely that was the homeland of that ghastly and deadly little creature, Tonga.’ Captivated as I undoubtedly had been by every one of Collier’s words, I now found it impossible to contain myself at the mere mention of the land that had spawned the tale of the ‘
Sign of Four
’.
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‘Yes, Watson.’ Holmes smiled condescendingly at me. ‘Well, in any event, your excitable interruption at least affords me the opportunity to replenish my pipe and to send downstairs for a most welcome tray of tea.’ Holmes uncoiled himself from his chair and sprang up towards his Persian slipper.
‘My dear young sir,’ I said quietly by way of an apology as I made my way to the door to summon Mrs Hudson.
‘Do not trouble yourself, Dr Watson,’ Daniel Collier courteously responded. ‘Besides, as you might have noticed by the increasing hesitation in my reading, the last page or so has been scribed in a far thinner ink than that employed hitherto by my father. This and my father’s faltering script, has placed a strain upon my eyes that might well be alleviated by a few minutes’ break and perhaps a brief refreshing walk.’
‘By all means!’ I exclaimed, relieved at having my rudeness so graciously dismissed.
While Collier went to fetch his coat and his strange
head-wear
, Holmes indicated to me that this might be an opportune moment to recount the information that I had been harbouring ever since my return from my mission to the Marylebone Road.
Having satisfied myself that our street door had been securely closed behind Daniel Collier, I lit a cigarette and told Holmes of everything that I had observed at the corner of Pepys Street on the
previous afternoon and all of what had occurred when I had gone to fetch the papers, after breakfast on that very morning.
Knowing full well of Holmes’s requirement for precise and accurate details, there was not one element of my strange encounters that I had omitted. I must confess that I had been quite looking forward to seeing the look of astonishment upon Holmes’s face once I had completed my narration. However, I was to be disappointed, for when I glanced towards him I realized that his expression had not changed!
I glared at Holmes somewhat aggrievedly.
‘You do not appear to be as surprised at what I have just told you as I might reasonably have expected.’
Holmes turned rather sheepishly away from me before returning my glare.
‘Watson, I will not insult your intelligence by claiming that I had expected this startling turn of events. Equally, however and with due honesty, I must say that I am not entirely surprised either. I would also say that I should be most surprised if you were to report that this ‘phantom’ of yours were not sporting a large pair of straw sandals upon his feet.’
‘He was!’ I exclaimed loudly, completely taken aback at his accuracy. ‘You are evidently in possession of far more information than you have, so far, revealed to me,’ I added with justifiable disappointment.
‘That is as maybe, Watson, but you surely know me better than any other man alive. So when I tell you that, although certain elements are falling very nicely into place, our puzzle is far from completion; you should know this to be the entire and absolute truth. I am in little doubt that our mysterious stalker is a man, every inch as solid as either you or I. There is certainly nothing spectral about him and I am convinced that he will prove to be a most accomplished and dangerous individual.’
‘Good heavens! You consider him to be a threat, then?’
The look on Holmes’s face visibly darkened and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper before he spoke again.
‘Oh, indeed I do, my dear fellow, and not only to ourselves, I fear. Our stalker seems to be keeping us under a very close surveillance. Therefore I am afraid we have to assume he is very much aware of the presence of Daniel Collier and our recent association with him. His life is under threat as surely as ours are.
‘In this new set of circumstances, I think that it might be prudent if you were to interrupt his constitutional and invite him to conclude his father’s tale without a moment’s more delay!’
Holmes dismissed me with a cursory wave while he took up a position by the window. I almost collided with Mrs Hudson, who was arriving with our tea, as I hurried off to achieve my mission. However and to my intense relief, young Collier was already arriving back at our door at the very moment that I was flinging it open. I ushered him up the stairs and the bemused young man barely had time to drain his cup before Holmes indicated that he should, once more, take up his father’s letter.
(
1
) ‘The Sign of Four’ – The Andaman Islands was where Jonathan Small was incarcerated in the novel of the above name by Sir A. Conan-Doyle.
W
ithout questioning this sudden need for urgency Daniel Collier lit up the obligatory panatella and picked up his father’s tale where he had left off. Holmes, in turn, lit a cigarette and stared intently at our young client, as if his eyes were boring into his head in an effort to extract the truth from within.
From there it was my intention to proceed to Singapore, via the Nicobar Islands and then to cross the treacherous straits of Malacca to the port of Medan and the capital city of northern Sumatra. By adopting this most complicated route I had hoped to avoid the political maelstrom that was Aceh.
At first it seemed that I was to fall at the first hurdle; after all, an isolated penal colony that was home to a few British troops, convicted criminals and a small number of fierce-looking indigenous pygmies was not exactly teeming with available transport for a bedraggled explorer!
However, the good fortune with which my journeys, so far, had been blessed, had not yet deserted me. Upon landing with the crew from the supply ship, I was led at once by a huge, brusque corporal to the office of his commanding officer. I could not, in all honesty, describe Lieutenant John Sterling as a friend, indeed the only previous occasion of our acquaintance had been
the time when he had rescued me from a drunken brawl, in which I had become embroiled during the first of my visits to Bombay.
Nonetheless, he seemed to remember me well and could not have been more accommodating and co-operative. He was evidently glad of this opportunity to converse with someone who had not become sullied by this ‘God-forsaken hole’ and he even brought out a bottle of a surprisingly fine whisky, which he had secreted in the base of his desk drawer. Over this most welcome drink I briefly outlined to him the intention behind my proposed trip to Sumatra, and my motives seemed to galvanize his willingness to assist still further.
Sterling instructed the commander of the supply ship to divert his route back to Calcutta by way of Singapore. After all, the only cargo on the return trip was to have been the prisoners’ letters home, and Sterling considered those to be of a low priority. He even detached two native subalterns
1
from his unit, to act both as my porters and my guides and one of these, a young giant of a man called Santi Patel, had a good knowledge of Sumatra from the time he had spent there as a youth.
My other companion was to be a quiet young man, Pritesh Chundrasama, who was a devout Hindu and sported quite the largest and densest beard that I had ever seen. I should imagine that any number of rare species had made their home amongst its luxuriant curls! However, this prodigious appendage would in no way hamper Pritesh’s knowledge of Hindu temples, which would certainly prove to be invaluable.
Sterling found me a bunk for the only night that I was to spend on the Andamans and the following morning I had the unusual luxury of having my possessions and equipment loaded for me, back on to the small supply ship that was to ferry us across to Singapore. We anchored off of the Nicobar Islands for only as long as it took to collect the mail from this tiny outpost and a
comfortable crossing soon found us amidst the bustle of the teeming, opulent metropolis that was Singapore.
I had not either the time or the means fully to enjoy the luxurious facilities that were so obviously available. I only had the use of Pritesh and Santi’s services for a limited period and besides, it was my intention to track down the Ghadar and their valuable prize before they could have the chance to disappear completely amongst the dense forests with which Sumatra was so richly endowed.
So it was with a large proportion of my ever dwindling funds that I secured the use of a small, single-masted fishing boat on which I intended to complete the final stage of my Odyssey. It was a decision that very nearly cost us our lives!
The straits of Malacca, which separate Sumatra from the rest of Indonesia, were the only means of access available to me, given my aversion to the fierce conflict that was continually blighting my most obvious port of call, namely Aceh. The straits provided me with direct access to the port and regional capital of Medan, and their fierce currents guaranteed me a swift crossing.
However, as with the fastest of mustangs, the current’s incredible speed came at a dangerous cost, for they are nigh on uncontrollable. My maritime ambition certainly exceeded the size of my craft and almost from the first, we were being vigorously tested by the fearsome tides that seemed to swirl around us from every point of the compass.
To begin with, while I manned the rudder Pritesh and Santi strained together in their efforts at controlling the sail. However, by the time that we were halfway across, our efforts were beginning to appear to be as futile as they were reckless. The infamous currents of the straits of Malacca evidently had not earned their reputation without good reason and before long the strong, erratic winds were pulling the mast and sail to their very limits.
Furthermore, I soon discovered that my rudder was all but useless and I eventually abandoned it in favour of taking some more effective measures.
I helped Pritesh and Santi to pull in the sail and lower the mast before we decided to lash them down, together with all of our possessions, underneath a large oilskin sheet that we had brought along for this purpose. With the entire deck now covered in the oilskin the three of us were now reduced to clinging on to the heavy ropes that secured it, and we each offered up suitable prayers to our respective gods!
It is, indeed, a most humbling experience to realize that your fate and life itself, have been taken from your hands and abilities and then entrusted to destiny and the harsh elements with which you have been bombarded. The salt from the waves stung our eyes and their chill came close to numbing our fingers, yet still we clung on to the life-preserving ropes.
Occasionally I lifted up my head and glanced towards my stalwart companions. I was thankful to see that they were enduring their suffering with a stoic calmness and bravery and were clinging on to the lashings with a most admirable tenacity. By the time that the elements had finally exhausted themselves, so, indeed, had we three, and we were all unconscious when we eventually reached the lush, green shoreline of Sumatra. The currents of the straits of Malacca had fulfilled their obligations and we were eventually aroused when our miraculous craft shuddered to a halt against a tree-lined sandbank.
As we struggled to our feet we looked about us, confused as to our exact location and yet smiling towards each other with relief that we were still alive. Before we began to explore our immediate surroundings, we decided to untie the ropes to determine how much, if any, of our supplies had survived the crossing. To our great joy it appeared that the oilskin had certainly done its job well and before long we gorged ourselves on chunks of
bread and some surprisingly fresh mangoes. Amazingly my cigarettes and matches remained as dry as when I had first stowed them away and I gratefully put these into immediate employ!
With our strength now regained, we managed to haul the boat away from the sandbank and drag it into a more secluded area of coast from where we could decide in which direction we should strike out. In the absence of a point of reference, any examination of my maps proved to be futile. However, by using my compass I dispatched Santi to the north and Pritesh in a southerly direction in the hope that at least one of them would return with news of a useful starting point for our further travels.
If I had been hoping for a speedy response I was to be seriously disappointed, for it was to be a full three hours and several more cigarettes before a dejected Pritesh returned to our tiny camp, empty handed. He had maintained the course that I had prescribed for him, but all that he had encountered was a never ending forest that became thicker and more impassable with every stride that he took. Our hopes, therefore, rested upon Santi’s broad shoulders and the north.
This time our wait was not a lengthy one and Santi was striding in the manner of a triumphant returning hero when he eventually came into view. As it turned out, he was not unjustified in doing so. He had just returned from a small isolated village that was perched upon the banks of a tributary to the important Alas river. Furthermore he had previously met some of the families who lived there, and two brothers were prepared to assist us in hauling our boat to the Alas tributary in order to repair and relaunch it.
The task we had set our ourselves was not without its difficulties, but with the help of Santi’s friends we managed to fell enough small trees from which to fashion a rolling trolley upon which to transport the boat. Fortunately the terrain we were
traversing was remarkably level and although the journey seemed to be considerably longer than the two miles that it actually was, we managed to complete it just before nightfall, with our boat and equipment intact.
Before turning in for the night I expressed my surprise at the stringent protective measures that were being taken around such a strategically insignificant outpost. Lines of menacing, sharply pointed fencing, interspersed by large open fires that were constantly being stoked, were set up along every inch of the village’s small perimeter. In my view this appeared to be a disproportionate precaution for a village so far removed from the conflict in Aceh.
With some difficulty it was explained to me that during the past year two young children had been carried off by a rare
man-eating
tiger, indigenous to the shores of Sumatra. Understandably the villagers were determined that this tragedy should not be repeated. However, and despite these determined precautions, I endured a most fitful night’s sleep and I maintained a loaded revolver by my side.
After two days of hard work the repairs to our boat had been completed and, as a final act of kindness, Santi’s friends helped us achieve a successful launch. The tide was in our favour and soon we found ourselves drifting serenely downstream towards our original destination, namely the port of Medan. Upon our arrival we managed to secure the boat discreetly and while Pritesh and I endeavoured to replenish the supplies, Santi went off to enquire into the movements of the Ghadar.
As it happened Medan turned out to be a far larger and more cosmopolitan municipality than I had expected, and it soon became apparent to me that this newly found commercial affluence was due in part to the conflict in Aceh. Traders in gold and black pepper, Sumatra’s most sought-after exports, were being forced to move their point of trade to a safer harbour, and I was
by no means out of place amongst such a motley collection of international traders….
After a period of much hesitation in his reading, no doubt as a result of his father’s deteriorating writing style, Collier suddenly broke off entirely. Inexplicably and for the first time since Collier had began to read, Holmes seemed to lose his concentration. He slapped his hand down hard on the arm of his chair, while letting out a high-pitched yelp. Then he jumped up and, after lighting a cigarette which he smoked feverishly, Holmes began to pace back and forth in front of the fire.
‘In heaven’s name, Holmes! I cannot, for the life of me imagine what has disturbed you so,’ I exclaimed with some concern and confusion.
Holmes stopped his pacing and looked from Collier to me and back again. Somewhat taken aback by the attention that his exclamation had generated, Holmes smiled awkwardly and thought long and hard before replying to my anxious remark.
‘Oh, it was nothing more alarming than an attack of leg cramp, I assure you.’ He began to stretch his legs while he was speaking.
While it is true to say that Holmes was prone to sit with his legs tightly crossed beneath him when in a state of deep concentration, a position from which it is possible to contract one’s calf muscles, I had never known him to be so afflicted before. I could not imagine another reason for his strange reaction, but did not dare to question him further in the presence of our client.
‘Mr Collier, I apologize for my abrupt behaviour, but I sense that there was a reason for your prolonged hesitation,’ Holmes explained.’
‘Though it was a surprising juncture for him to do so, my father decided to conclude his second letter at this point. As you have no doubt observed for yourself, it is becoming increasingly difficult
for me to make sense of the remainder and I was merely steeling myself before continuing.’
Holmes nodded his acceptance of Collier’s statement.
‘His actions are not hard to understand when you consider that from this point onwards he was not certain as to when he would next have an opportunity to dispatch another letter to you. After all, he was about to embark upon a journey into uncharted waters. His time in Medan was the ideal moment for him to send this,’ Holmes concluded.
‘Now I understand,’ I stated quietly, although in reality my remark could not have been further from the truth. I was not convinced by Holmes’s claim to have been attacked by leg cramp and I searched for another reason in the last few lines of Collier’s letter. Interesting though the narrative undoubtedly was, I could find nothing in his references to gold and pepper-traders, or Santi’s enquiries into the movements of the Ghadar, that would normally have provoked such a strident reaction from Holmes.
‘Can you confirm that the postmark upon your father’s second letter was from Medan?’ Holmes asked suddenly, so breaking up my chain of thought.
‘I presume that he had entrusted the letter to either Pritesh or Santi to post on their way back to the Andaman Islands, for the envelope bore the mark of Singapore,’ Collier replied.
‘That seems to imply that he did not expect to be returning by that route himself,’ I observed.
Holmes turned suddenly towards me, staring intently as if my words had instigated a further chain of thought within him.
‘Very likely not, although, of course, it would be a grave error for us to jump to any conclusions before we hear the remainder of Sir Michael Collier’s journals. However, the conclusion of the second letter presents me with the perfect opportunity to stretch my troubled legs and also for you, Mr Collier, to rest your aching eyes.’ Holmes still appeared to have been gravely distracted and
he added quietly, in fact almost to himself: ‘Of course there is still the problem of the third letter. I shall be out for an hour or so and I suggest that you make good use of my room.’ Holmes made this seem more of a directive than a suggestion and one that Collier had begun to act upon even before Holmes had left the room.
