Sherlock Holmes In Japan

by Vasudev Murthy

  ‘A fair point,’ I admitted, a little contrite, displeased with myself for having possibly come across as prejudiced.

  The captain shook his head. ‘No one can be held without proof. Nonetheless, I can attempt to question them as the ship’s authority. No, even that seems unlawful. A mere conversation in the library overheard by one person cannot implicate anyone. There is no proof that they were here in this room, is there? This has to be investigated by the police in Bombay. If they wish to question the passengers, they can.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Mr Singh. ‘However, it may be wise to keep them under watch.’

  We sealed the room and continued our grim journey. Ill winds, miasma, call it what you will – the mood was tense and oppressive, with everyone on edge. This was by no means a pleasant journey and all we longed for was closure. I could hardly believe that I was to continue onward to Yokohama, far beyond Bombay. Would I ever reach, I wondered.

  The captain opined that there was strength in numbers and requested me to share my commodious quarters with Simon Fletcher. While I was uncomfortable with the anticipated lack of privacy, I saw the practical necessity and the three of us moved Fletcher’s effects to my room. Shamsher Singh moved in with the captain.

  I walked to the railing on the deck. I needed fresh air and wished to be alone.

  I heard Simon Fletcher walk up behind me, but was in no mood for company. Turning my back to him, I pulled my overcoat firmly about myself, hoping to be ignored. But he refused to take the hint and came up and stood by my side.

  ‘Watson, do not be alarmed and do not respond,’ said the low, steely voice of Sherlock Holmes.

  I did not react. I was paralysed with shock.

  ‘I shall explain everything soon, Watson. At this time, continue the charade. I am Simon Fletcher. You and I will travel together to the hotel in Bombay. Mr Singh may join us, perhaps. I would like to avoid Colonel Burrowe and the rest if possible. Be very, very careful, Watson. Unfortunate accidents are quite possible and very likely. There is a larger canvas available in a city, lacking the constraints of a ship. At the same time, there is a different kind of danger lurking on board as we have just seen. Let us stick close together. There is no other way. Do not ask any questions now.’

  I leaned on the railing to support myself. The familiar firm grip of Holmes on my left arm steadied me. We spent twenty minutes in silence and then returned to our cabin.

  I shut the door. I turned and stared at a smiling Sherlock Holmes.

  He stood there, completely transformed from the ordinary and slightly stout English banker Simon Fletcher to the tall, lean, confident and charismatic friend I knew so well.

  ‘Holmes! Can it be you?’ I finally said, overcome by some emotion, finding it difficult to stand, my head swimming. I held onto a chair for support.

  Holmes rushed forward and helped me onto a sofa. ‘Watson, my sincerest apologies! Had I known you would have been affected in this manner, I would have exercised greater care! Sit down, my dear fellow, and let me get you a drink.’

  A few sips of a brandy that Holmes produced and I was soon sitting up, staring open-mouthed at the man I had thought swept away at Reichenbach Falls and presumed dead, but now, to my utter shock and amazement, had actually travelled with me as ‘Simon Fletcher’ all the way from Liverpool.

  ‘So you are alive!’ I finally whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ said Holmes, ‘and I owe you an explanation. I will tell you all, by and by. But only once we reach Bombay. Till then, we continue our charade.’

  And somehow, with the ship shuddering along, pushed by malevolent winds, three tense days passed on the secretive Arabian Sea and we closed in on Bombay, the Gateway to India.

  Meiringen – Vladivostok – Yokohama

  My friend, you and I are but helpless straw

  in the mighty currents of the Universe.

  Accept the inevitable, for it was decided even before

  you were born in a village in Chiba prefecture.

  I am sorry. I cannot help you.

  Putting together as complex a story as this involves the independent confirmation of many events that purportedly happened, and for which I was not personally present. Indeed, no event occurs in isolation. People recall the same incident in different ways and it is a matter of personal integrity for a chronicler to cross-check and present other perspectives as best as possible. One is also constantly faced with the need to occasionally obfuscate events and mask names to protect the privacy of individuals; I have applied my judgement in this case, but a gifted few may still be able to draw precise conclusions.

  What does a reader expect from one of my narratives? I shall guess that he seeks to escape briefly from the wearying torment of daily events that erodes his spirit. He desires to remain in a state of suspense and excited anticipation, looking forward to hearing how Sherlock Holmes solved a particularly heinous or baffling crime with exemplary mental dexterity and pure genius, noting minutiae and deducing the astonishing. But is that necessarily fair? Is it right for me, Holmes’s chronicler, to focus only on such cases?

  The answer is, no. There are possibly three hundred extremely sensitive cases that detail how Holmes prevented a catastrophe from occurring in the first place. The tales may not thrill or satisfy the morbid because of the lack of blood or because the majesty of the law was not allowed to be flagrantly violated. However, as anyone from Scotland Yard will tell you, it is the prevention or derailing of a crime that is more satisfying than coming in after the fact and struggling to trace the offender and create a legally sound case for prosecution. It may not make for delightful reading or appeal to the regrettable bloodthirsty tastes of the general public at a time of questionable social decadence, but the discerning scholar will find satisfaction in the clever control of reckless ambition, the prevention of grief and the thwarting of murderous intent. Sherlock Holmes was himself one such scholar, fairly scornful of ‘solving’ a crime, which, in his view, was merely an application of logical thinking.

  But when he was involved in a battle of wits, where the hunted and the hunter were known to each other and the end object was in itself no secret – that was when he revelled and found true satisfaction. Many crimes take time to commit. Similarly, the process of counter-intelligence is extremely subtle, requiring extraordinary patience and creativity, with issues like the psychology of the individual, cultural peculiarities and national sensitivities playing an important role. Whether in the world of crime or that of diplomacy, the most influential remain practically anonymous. For every crime with international dimensions you read about, there are a dozen that were not allowed to happen.

  After the entire episode involving Japan came to a satisfactory conclusion, I researched key events in order to ensure that my chronicles were purely objective and not coloured by my own limited perspective. I was fortunate that Holmes shared his notes. It was a little more difficult getting the notes of Ambassador Sugiyama and Professor Moriarty, but I finally did so using the good offices of many friends. I thought it prudent and ethical that parts of the narrative be in their own voice.

  The reader must remember that he has been a helpless onlooker – if that – to events that could have completely altered the global balance of power and influence. Many individuals possessing significant intelligence and determined motives competed to change the flow of history and commerce. The average citizen either had no idea of the currents or, if he was fortunate enough to read the limited commentary available in the newspapers of the time, could have done nothing since the reports were infrequent, cloaked in hints and of no clear relevance to his everyday life.

  I present to you the notes of Sherlock Holmes, the Honourable Ambassador Sugiyama and Professor Moriarty, with only minimal editing, principally to gently camouflage names. I have not included my own notes of that period, simply because I was under the impression that Holmes was dead (and was therefore in the grip of severe distress) and I was not, in any case, present. However, I pres
ent first the letter that Holmes wrote to me just before his presumed accident.

  MY DEAR WATSON,

  I write these few lines through the courtesy of Professor Moriarty, who awaits my convenience for the final discussion of those questions which lie between us. He has been giving me a sketch of the methods by which he avoided the English police and kept himself informed of our movements. They certainly confirm the very high opinion which I have formed of his abilities. I am pleased to think that I shall be able to free society from any further effects of his presence, though I fear that it is at a cost which will give pain to my friends and especially, my dear Watson, to you. I have already explained to you, however, that my career had in any case reached its crisis and that no possible conclusion to it could be more congenial to me than this. Indeed, if I may make a full confession to you, I was quite convinced that the letter from Meiringen was a hoax and I allowed you to depart on that errand under the persuasion that some development of this sort would follow. Tell Inspector Patterson that the papers which he needs in order to convict the gang are in pigeonhole M., done up in a blue envelope and inscribed ‘Professor Moriarty’. I made every disposition of my property before leaving England and handed it to my brother Mycroft. Pray give my greetings to Mrs Watson and believe me to be, my dear fellow

  Very sincerely yours,

  SHERLOCK Holmes1

  The Account of Sherlock Holmes (from his personal papers)

  I lost my balance and fell off the ledge at Reichenbach Falls and plunged into the icy cold water below. And thus began a journey that I never thought I would undertake in my lifetime. A journey so strange, so full of unusual events that, as I write this, I wonder if it all really happened.

  I knew through reading the newspapers that many were very anxious to know my whereabouts and many grieved for me. It caused me embarrassment to know that I was thus missed. I could have done something – but no, I could NOT have done anything; shadows, dangers, the relentless battle between good and evil – I had to do what I had to do and that meant absolute silence. I hope I will be forgiven for my deliberate silence helped me in the subsequent events that unfolded, which were full of the gravest import to modern civilization. How close were the mighty empires England and France to cultural annihilation, in a manner almost impossible to comprehend. And Japan! Without exaggeration, I believe that the rest of the world would have attacked Japan and destroyed it had I not intervened. Thankfully, the entire sordid matter never became public. Circumspection. It is the first word in the dictionary of diplomats and detectives and is a trait absolutely necessary for keeping the honour and integrity of nations and individuals intact.

  But let me start from that fall.

  After Professor Moriarty allowed me time to write a final letter, which I addressed to Watson, I also readied myself to fight him physically. I am no coward and found an opportune moment to pounce on Professor Moriarty. We fought on that narrow ledge high above the Falls. We had to reach a conclusion and while it appeared that both of us lost our balance and fell, it would now appear that Professor Moriarty managed to cling on to a protruding shrub and survived.

  The fall was from quite a height, but I was not alarmed. In fact, I felt a strange sense of anticipation. I remember wondering how the experience of death was likely to be; death is, after all, a natural and logical conclusion to one’s life force and I did not feel any fear. I tried to calculate the rate of descent and the force of compression on my flesh and bones. I would not survive. The surface tension of the water would shatter me completely, I remember thinking with equanimity. Much has been said about the velocity of thoughts as one approaches the point of death and I can say that in my case my mind moved with remarkable speed in a million directions.

  When I hit the water, it was certainly with greater force than I had calculated. While the cold was intense, the force of the impact was even more so. I lost consciousness, though I have a vague recollection of boulders splashing into the water as well. I probably sank to the bottom and was taken away quickly by the raging current. Had there been onlookers, they would have concluded, quite logically, that I had been killed on impact or by drowning. I was carried away in a state of unconsciousness over a considerable distance very swiftly. I marvel that I did not hit a rock when I fell.

  When I regained my senses, it was night and I was stuck between the large roots of a tree on the banks of the swiftly flowing stream. It was bitterly cold even in May. I knew that I would suffer from hypothermia if I did not do something quickly. Slowly and deliberately, I got up and examined myself for injuries. Other than a mild headache, a bruised shoulder and a throbbing sensation in my right calf, I was surprisingly unharmed.

  I made a rude staff from a tree branch and collected my thoughts. What should I do? Where could I go? Danger was still in the air and the safest strategy was to avoid drawing attention to myself. My mind moved swiftly and I decided that Professor Moriarty and his men would be better served if they believed I was dead and unaccounted for. And at that time, it may be recalled, I had no idea what had happened to him and thought it better to assume that he too had survived and might well be close at hand, determined to conclude matters. He would not rest till he was sure of my destruction.

  At a distance of perhaps half a mile, I saw the weak flicker of a light. I began walking towards it, knowing that I needed warmth and rest. I needed to recuperate in order to think clearly and plan a course of action. Death could not be cheated twice.

  The light came from a small hut set in the middle of a pasture, the kind that some Swiss farms keep for visitors and tourists. I concluded that it was as safe an option as any. I hobbled towards the hut – for the pain was now acute – and looked around to see if there was anyone outside. There was nobody that I could see. I moved closer and peeped in cautiously. I could see someone reading in the dim light. A middle-aged man, perhaps, resting in front of a warm and inviting fire.

  I did not hesitate. I knocked firmly and heard the gentleman push back his chair and walk towards the door.

  ‘Who is there?’ enquired a confident voice in an unusual accent.

  ‘A traveller in need. I seek your help, sir, and shall trouble you no more than necessary.’

  The bolt was withdrawn and the door opened.

  Instead of the clean, ruddy face of a Swiss farmer, I saw an oriental visage peer out. I did not allow my surprise to manifest; it would have been poor manners.

  ‘I have had a minor accident and request your assistance,’ I said, surprised to hear my voice quaver just a little; the incident had obviously weakened me more than I had realized.

  ‘Please come in, please come in!’ said the gentleman hospitably and soon enough I was in the warm hut.

  He examined me in the light and exclaimed, ‘Ah, you are wet and hurt! I must insist that you change – here, I have an extra set of clothes, though I am sorry that they may be of an inadequate size, since you are tall and I am not! And I see a wound on your head. That will not do, that will not do at all!’

  With considerable fussing, this courteous gentleman quickly ensured that I was dry and warm and that my head was bandaged. I was taken by his efficiency and attention to detail, traits that I was to find useful in subsequent days.

  He busied himself and served me an excellent hot dinner in short order. Within an hour of my arrival in that remote hut, I was feeling better. He was also silent and far from inquisitive. But he smiled often and kept the fire going. The warmth of his memory remains today, starting with the warm hut in which he ministered to me.

  I felt I owed my unusual host an explanation.

  ‘I sincerely regret the intrusion,’ I said. ‘I have taken undue advantage of your hospitality, Sir, and owe you an explanation.’

  ‘Please do not mention it,’ said my host, with a warm smile. ‘All that can wait till you are rested. Please sleep and we shall talk tomorrow.’

  I continued, nevertheless. ‘I am Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective. I was in
the vicinity, conducting an investigation and regrettably suffered a minor setback and fell at the Reichenbach Falls. I was washed ashore quite close by. It is important that my presence remain undetected, though I can hardly insist on it, given that it is I who have walked in unannounced. My life is in danger.’

  ‘I am Hiroshi Sugiyama, ambassador of Japan to Switzerland,’ said my host, with the most elegant bow. ‘And of course, Mr Holmes, while I was not expecting you, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am already aware of your reputation through my friend Masataka Kawase, who was our ambassador plenipotentiary in London, and consider it a remarkable honour to meet you at all. As for my presence here, I was merely taking a brief holiday, indulging in a private passion, writing haikus, a Japanese form of poetry. The Swiss farms provide great inspiration for poetry, with their bracing climate. I shall leave for Berne shortly and resume my duties.’

  I had already realized that this was no ordinary person. I had observed his deliberate choice of words, his careful enunciation, the porcelain hands that conveyed an interest in the arts, the extreme tidiness of his hut and his tact. I felt he would have to be taken into confidence. There was no time to lose.

  ‘Mr Sugiyama, I am being pursued by certain criminal elements. I am presently at a disadvantage and need to be invisible, in a manner of speaking. Certain nations and men of integrity would be better placed if I conduct additional investigations under cover. May I stay here for a few days? I would, of course, recompense you for your inconvenience.’

  ‘I see,’ responded Mr Sugiyama, thoughtfully. ‘A most unfortunate circumstance, Mr Holmes, most unfortunate. I am happy that you are presently safe and shall endeavour to be of assistance.’

  After a moment’s silence, he said, ‘We must plan the next course of action soon. You must first sleep. That will allow facts to be weighed dispassionately in the morning.’