‘Nous ne nous sommes pas rencontrés, malheureusement. Nous partons immédiatement pour Bangkok, Monsieur Chea. Merci de le leur faire savoir.’2
Our carriages were ready, just as Mr Chea had promised they would be. Sherlock Holmes paid the coachmen the fare to Bangkok. He asked one to proceed without passengers as quickly as possible, saying that a friend would be waiting by the road some fifty miles ahead. Within minutes, we followed the first carriage. About a mile outside Siem Reap, we arrived at a fork where one road led to Bangkok and the other to Phnom Penh, the capital of Cambodia. Holmes directed our coachman to take the Phnom Penh road and, turning our carriage into a wooded area, we jumped off, returned to the road and hid behind some bushes.
‘Let us lie low now, Watson, and check to see if our simple stratagem has worked.’
We crouched behind the thick vegetation and watched the road with bated breath. The trail cloud of dust made by the earlier carriage on the way to Bangkok was still visible. Within fifteen minutes, we heard the sound of galloping horses and a rushing carriage. They rushed past, taking the road to Bangkok and we heard someone shouting loudly, ‘Faster! Faster! The dust beyond! We can’t let him get away this time or he’ll have our heads!’
The reference was, obviously, to Professor Moriarty, our malefactor in Paris. As the dust settled down and the sound of the thundering coach became distant, we re-entered the road and proceeded towards Phnom Penh.
‘We have bought time, Watson, but not much. That was an exceedingly close encounter and confirms once again that it is possible for a man sitting in a study in Paris to watch our movements as though he were hovering invisibly just above us. We now head south towards Phnom Penh and then move sharply east into Vietnam, to the port of Saigon. There we take a Chinese junk, if one is available, to Macau.’ Sherlock Holmes had clearly done his homework.
The coach was comfortable and the road passable, and except for a change of horses every few hours or so, the journey was swift. The splendour of the Cambodian countryside made no difference to Sherlock Holmes, but I looked at the green fields and ancient temples along the way with considerable appreciation. Some shops by the wayside offered fried and roasted crickets, the local delicacy, which we politely declined to sample. By and by, the coachman announced that we were about to reach a crossroads. To the right would be the road to Phnom Penh and to the left would be a smaller road heading to Saigon. We turned left and after several hours, reached the old and charming city of Saigon.
We changed our disguises at a wayside guesthouse where we ate as well and now, with some help from our friendly coachman, transformed into two Chinese merchants. Holmes’s abilities in the art of disguise were extraordinary; the elaborate robes, the pigtail, the slanted eyes and the complexion – everything was exact. He had picked up a smattering of Mandarin while working on a case at the London dockyards and he used it now confidently. We reached Saigon and wasting no time, went to the port and made enquiries about a ship proceeding to Macau. It was a busy port with plenty of traffic, and within a couple of hours we were on a first-class carriage on the Tek Hwa Seng, a modest Chinese junk plying to Hong Kong via Macau. We dismissed our Cambodian coachman after paying him a handsome amount for his trouble; this must have been the longest and strangest journey he had ever undertaken, with an Indian native and an Englishman transforming into Chinese merchants before his eyes.
While we waited, I wrote and then posted a brief letter to my wife, not giving her any hint of my whereabouts, merely saying that all was well and I would communicate with her again very shortly. I thought a telegram would be dangerous. Yes, the letter would take longer, but it would perhaps bring comfort when it reached.
The Tek Hwa Seng was well furnished and not very crowded and had about fifty passengers with only three first-class cabins. The journey was not expected to take long and the conditions were favourable. We breathed a sigh of relief as the junk slipped out of the port and headed straight for Macau with a possible halt at the Paracel Islands in the South China Sea, a water body known for its deadly typhoons.
‘You see once again, Watson, the extraordinary reach and ability of Professor Moriarty. Nowhere are we safe. The analogy to chess that I had made earlier – quite accurate, would you not say?’ mused Holmes as he smoked his pipe, an accessory quite incongruous with his ornate Chinese changshan attire and pigtail. We were the Chinese timber merchants Wang Tao (Holmes) and Li Hongzhang (I, as Wang Tao’s mute friend), returning to Macau. We avoided any unnecessary contact as our linguistic difficulties would become obvious and arouse suspicion.
‘In my opinion, we have actually gained at least seven days by getting off at Myeik and cutting across to Saigon by land. Yes, it has not been comfortable, but I believe we have learned several things. First, that Professor Moriarty will never give up. As we speak, he is possibly poring over a map of this area and making arrangements to head us off. His resources are incalculable and things may possibly become worse now as we head towards China, where we shall fall into the operating region of the Opium Triad. But we simply must press on – there is too much at stake.
‘And, of course, we have learned a lot about the flora of this area and passed through the remarkable lost world of Angkor Wat. If this regrettable matter is brought to a close, I hope to spend time writing monographs3 for private circulation on the botany of the area and the architectural insights of the early Cambodians. But now, let us rest and regain our energies.’
The Tek Hwa Seng made excellent progress over a couple of days and, other than a minor squall past the Paracel Islands, we experienced no discomfort. Holmes and I avoided stepping out as far as possible. He spent time organizing his notes and leaf specimens. Occasionally he would take out his violin and check the tuning, but avoided playing with the bow since there was the distinct possibility of exciting comment. He also looked at the many pages of a musical opera, the score of which he said had been written by a promising young composer in Prague whom he was acquainted with. I admired Sherlock Holmes for the ability to so easily distract himself. I was, of course, secretly pleased that he had no recourse to cocaine.
‘The maritime expertise of the Chinese is quite remarkable, Watson,’ said Holmes, puffing at his pipe. ‘They were seafarers and brilliant naval architects. Many hundred of years ago, they built ships with five masts, weighing in excess of 2,000 tons. To our eyes, the square sails and design seem strange, but they were effective for long journeys. Their Admiral, Zheng He, if I recall from my enquiries at the British Library at St. Pancras some years ago, was a gifted sailor with an open mind, who combined scholarship, ambition and action, the traits of all successful leaders. We have much to learn from the Chinese, Watson. Paper and gunpowder are only two examples of their ingenuity. Their literature must be singular.’
‘I was unaware that you were making enquiries about Admiral Zheng He and the Chinese at the British Library, Holmes,’ I said, slightly weary.
‘You are unaware of many things, Watson,’ remarked Holmes cruelly, adjusting his pigtail.
‘Now, as far as this matter is concerned, while I believe we shall be safer once in Japan, danger certainly awaits us at Yokohama, which would be the natural port of call for most ships. If we are thwarted there and detained by Professor Moriarty’s men, we are lost. We should therefore attempt to enter Japan in an unexpected manner. While I cannot say that we have shaken off Moriarty’s men just yet, it is likely he is somewhat chagrined by his lack of success. Macau offers a more interesting possibility for us, being an enclave of Portugal. From there I propose that we find a way to enter Nagasaki, a small town in the southwest of Japan, which too has a strong link to Portugal.’
After the initial good weather, we did run into a few trying squalls along the way, but the ship was sturdy and the captain experienced. We covered the distance from Macau to Nagasaki in good time, continuing in our disguise as Chinese merchants. The ship stopped at Shanghai for two hours; we stayed on board, not interested in tempting f
ate. The ship moved on, without incident. Finally, at dawn on 29 July 1893, we eased into the charming Nagasaki Bay.
Nagasaki is a prosperous trading city in a picturesque setting. It was once the gateway for Europeans who wished to trade in Japan. The Portuguese and the Dutch, in particular, left a lasting impression, particularly with their architecture. The hills surrounding the city were verdant and I looked at them with pleasure as we moved into the harbour.
Holmes stood at the railing with me, watching the dawn break. He was in a philosophical mood. ‘Do not be deluded by the apparent tranquillity of this scene. We shall now confront the matter that has consumed me since I fell off the cliff at Reichenbach Falls. And that which has received your complete attention for the past two months.
‘We are now at the most dangerous stage of our journey, Watson. We have stayed ahead of the North Star. The two Japanese on board must be apprehended as the ship docks in Yokohama, or the consequences will be shattering. I will tell you why.’
We disembarked at the port and were waved through since we looked Chinese; the community has a large presence at Nagasaki and has trading rights, which give them certain advantages.
We were finally in Japan.
In Paris, Professor Moriarty stared at yet another cable.
Targets disappeared on the way back to Bangkok from Siem Reap. Attempt failed at Angkor Wat. Awaiting instructions.
He drafted a wire to his associate, Tsong Wang, in Shanghai.
Kyoto
It is safer to live in dreams, my friend. There we shall
meet the lovers we never had. We can listen
to the most wonderful music there, that which does
not deserve to be played in the real world.
After refreshing ourselves in Nagasaki, at lodgings that a friendly Japanese gentleman at the port had recommended, Holmes and I considered our plan of action. Every security agency was likely to have been compromised and it was necessary to maintain absolute secrecy. Oshima-san, according to Holmes, was possibly the only person we could fully trust.
‘I would venture to say, Watson, that we shall not find safety till we actually enter the building that Mr Oshima operates from. The focus of all the forces must now be on Japan. I have deliberately not kept in touch with Mr Oshima all this while. Who is to say who is monitoring telegrams in Tokyo? And yet, time is of the essence. We must reach Tokyo very quickly. I must call Masako Nohara and consult with her.’
We had stepped outside, after discarding our Chinese guise, to visit the Meganebashi bridge, a local attraction that our hotel manager said was a place of exquisite beauty and tranquillity. Holmes needed a place for quiet deliberation and a smoke. Both of us wished to stretch our limbs and feel the earth after the extended voyage. The city was certainly beautiful, with Dutch and Portuguese churches, Buddhist temples, manicured gardens and well-designed roads. The people were singularly courteous.
We found the nearest post office and Holmes placed a call to Masako Nohara. Their conversation was brief and to the point. We continued towards Meganebashi bridge.
‘Developments, Watson. Perhaps significant,’ said Holmes, as we walked. ‘Miss Nohara says that Mr Oshima has suddenly taken ill with symptoms of food poisoning after a meal at a restaurant and is currently recuperating. He will be back at work on the fifth. She recommended we keep to the interior till then as the Yakuza would certainly expand their search to include all ports of entry. It appears that someone made enquiries about us at Saigon just yesterday. Also, the Emperor of Japan is away in Sapporo and will also return only on the fifth. She advises us to plan to reach only on the sixth to be on the safe side and not communicate with her any further till then. In brief, we must lie low. We still have a slight time advantage over the North Star, so her advice is sound.’
While he smoked his pipe, leaning on the railing of the bridge, I opened a map of Japan, planning our logistics. ‘Holmes, the journey from here to Tokyo touches the cities of Fukuoka, Hiroshima, Okayama, Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya –’
Holmes stopped me. ‘Watson, what was that you said? What are the cities we shall be passing by on our way to Tokyo?’
‘Fukuoka, Hiroshima, Okayama, Kobe, Osaka, Kyoto, Nagoya, Shuzuoka …’
‘Have we not heard the name of one of those cities in the recent past, Watson?’ Holmes asked, his brows furrowed.
I shook my head. ‘No, Holmes. I have no recollection. The only Japanese we have met thus far were Mr Oto and Mr Fujimoto at Bodh Gaya. I did not speak to Mr Oto, much less discuss the cities of Japan.’
‘But I spoke at length with Mr Fujimoto, my dear fellow!’ Holmes was positively excited now. ‘And I now recollect! Mr Fujimoto and Mr Oto were monks from the Kinkaku-ji temple in Kyoto. And he gave me a letter of introduction to the chief priest. There is not a moment to be lost. We need sanctuary wherever we can get it. Let us take the next available train to Kyoto, Watson.’
We rushed back to the lodge, where Holmes verified that he had the letter from Mr Fujimoto.
I was apprehensive. ‘We cannot read the Japanese script. Are you quite certain this is a letter of introduction, Holmes, and not something that would put us in difficulties?’
‘An astute observation, Watson. That thought did cross my mind. But given the disposition of Mr Fujimoto and the length of the letter, it seems probable this is a letter of introduction. We will have to take our chances. Let us make haste.’
On enquiry, we found that the most convenient route was overland to Fukuoka, with a ferry transfer to the Honshu mainland. From there, a number of convenient trains were available that could take us all the way to Tokyo. We were soon on an overnight train to Tokyo through Kyoto, after a quick visit to the telegraph office, from where I sent a wire to my wife. Holmes also sent out a couple of wires.
The train was slow but comfortable and spotless. We had already started developing a favourable opinion of these interesting people and their elaborate culture.
‘A mania for precision and timeliness similar to the Germans, but perhaps more colourful,’ Holmes observed. ‘I was also pleasantly surprised to learn from our efficient hotel manager, Mr Yamamoto, that Nagasaki has an English language newspaper called The Rising Sun and Nagasaki Express and the editor, Arthur Norman, is a Freemason. I have brought a slightly dated copy with me; perhaps you would care to peruse it and tell me if there is anything there that may be of interest. Meanwhile, I shall shut my eyes and listen to you.’
I was pleased to read an English language newspaper after so long. ‘Let me read out the headlines, Holmes:
‘Emperor to visit Nagasaki within a month (Ah! We shall miss seeing him then, Holmes) … Guy de Maupassant dies of syphilis in Paris on 6 July (Hmm, reported late. How did we miss that, Holmes?) … King Kamehameha III of Hawaii declares 31 July as Sovereignty Restoration Day (Now what is that about?) … Tension grows between China and Japan over Korea (Why, I wonder. Well, we shall read momentarily) … Daniel Williams successfully performs the first open-heart surgery without anaesthesia (This verges on the unbelievable, Holmes, but the progress of medicine must be applauded, yes indeed!) … The first cultured pearl has been extracted by Kokichi Mikimoto (How wonderfully exotic, Holmes! I wonder if I can get one for my wife) … Senior priest at Kinkaku-ji temple found dead in mysterious circumstances (Tragic indeed!) … Morita-Za kabuki production of The Tale of the 47 Ronin received with acclaim (Now what is kabuki, Holmes? And what an unusual title!) –’
‘Stop right there, Watson!’ exclaimed Sherlock Holmes, sitting up, his eyes alert. ‘What was that about the Kinkaku-ji temple? Was that not the place our two Japanese friends were from?’
‘Yes, Holmes. The report says a senior priest there was found dead. Let me read it out for you.’
Kyoto – From our special correspondent
Mystery surrounds the death of Ataru Hayashi, one of the distinguished senior priests of the Kinkaku-ji Temple in Kyoto. The temple is the seat of the Shikoku-ji school of Zen Buddhism. Ha
yashi-san was the Chief Custodian of several ancient relics and manuscripts and was considered an able administrator, brilliant musician and scholar. Last Sunday, after the evening prayers, Hayashi-san retired to his private chambers, mentioning to others that he proposed to practise on his koto for a while, meditate and then retire for the night, a routine he was known to follow. The next morning, when acolytes knocked at his door to serve him tea, there was no response. After repeated attempts to elicit a response failed, the chief priest was informed and he authorized the opening of Hayashi-san’s room. The priest was found dead on the floor of the living room, his eyes wide with terror and with froth encrusted around his lips. A koto with its strings cut was found next to him. Two cups of tea were on a small table nearby, indicating a possible visitor. An inventory revealed that no object in his custody had been stolen. Japan’s top criminal detective Shinji Kurosawa has been assigned to this case and we have been assured of rapid progress in the matter, though there are no immediate leads. We shall endeavour to keep our readers updated.
‘Well, well! Now that is a remarkable coincidence, Watson. The very temple we propose to visit is the scene of a crime! The report, though extremely brief, has two or three interesting points I wish to look into this further, should I have the opportunity.’
‘Yes. The cups of tea and the koto with the severed strings, Holmes?’
‘Watson, you excel! But I am also intrigued by the comment on his visage. Why was he terrified? That, of course, may also be symptomatic of poisoning. Perhaps you recall the case of The Devil’s Foot in Cornwall. What might have been the reason, Watson? Well, one can conjecture, but perhaps not on this trip.’
Destiny would have something else to say, however. We reached Kyoto by mid-morning and set out to the Kinkaku-ji temple, a well-known landmark in an already enchanting ancient city that was once the capital of Japan. The attire of the people, the designs of commonplace objects, the sweeping arcs that highlighted the reliefs of the temples, the emphasis on minimalism and nature – I was quite fascinated and made several appreciative comments. Even Holmes, usually indifferent to beauty, was constrained to remark that the city appeared to contain the very essence of Japan.
Sherlock Holmes In Japan Page 17
