“You know your De Quincey quite well,” said I.
The Pasha grinned. “At last a literate gentleman. Yes, I have much time to read, and De Quincey is a favourite.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “A French philosopher, perhaps the great Descartes himself, has asserted that one should travel in foreign lands but be mindful not to spend too much time away from one’s homeland lest one find oneself a stranger upon one’s return. It is now twelve years since I was separated from my people. My memory of them, of my own family, grows dimmer daily, and I am sure that few remember me. Surely by now I should be permitted to return.”
Holmes listened to this still proud man with great sympathy and said, “I cannot help you. I can only tell you what you already know: that your freedom can only be granted by Government after appeal of your sentence.”
The Pasha’s expression became more intense. “All appeals have failed to go beyond the Governor,” he said. “I cannot rely on the mercy of those who placed me here. But you, my dear sir, can help me. Or to speak more correctly, we can help each other.”
He looked Holmes directly in the eyes and said simply, “I have the pearl.”
Taken aback by his words, Holmes managed to conceal his surprise. The Pasha’s look also told him that he knew of his mission and his true identity. All of this had been told to him of course by Wellesley.
“I have been authorised to spend money for the pearl, not to bargain the release of a prisoner for it,” said Holmes.
“I am aware of that. We too have our sources of knowledge, and ways, devious at times, of learning things. Let me say that the pearl is a thing of incomparable beauty, and that my agents are prepared to deliver it to you in return for my release and safe passage to Egypt. If we cannot strike a bargain, we are prepared to deal with other governments with whom we are already in touch. My request is that you present my offer directly to those who have given you this mission and give me their reply. You are of course free to tell Vansittart or Governor Gordon the whole of our conversation.”
Here he smiled and said, “This might lead to my confinement in prison somewhere . . . or to my execution. In either case, the pearl will be sold to the highest bidder and the funds used against you in Egypt.”
Holmes returned to Vansittart and reported his conversation. Vansittart visibly paled at the suggestion that the Pasha be released in return for the pearl, but he agreed that the offer must be communicated to London.
“That is when I received your message,” interrupted Mycroft, who, during Holmes’s long account, had listened with great interest.
“Indeed, my dear Mycroft, it was precisely at this perplexing moment that I asked you to notify the colonial secretary. My message was brief: object of search located pending final confirmation, in the hands of agents of Arabi Pasha, who as owner demands his release in exchange. Ask authority to negotiate with Pasha, including granting his release, if necessary.”
“An urgent cabinet meeting was called,” continued Mycroft, “which, I am told, lasted well into the night. All the arguments for and against releasing the Pasha were enunciated, including the possible outcry in Parliament should the real reasons for his release be uncovered. Mr. Gladstone listened to all arguments and then stated his views. In anticipation of the success of the Holmes’s mission, he said, the plans for a new crown and title for the Queen had been initiated, and it would be most unfortunate if the pearl were not secured at this juncture. The Pasha was now in possession of the pearl, and of that there appeared to be little doubt. If the price was the Pasha’s liberty, then so be it. He had been exiled for over twelve years and his return to Egypt after so long a time posed no serious threat to British rule in Egypt. An act of clemency by the Prime Minister, on grounds of age and declining health, quietly reported in the papers would be enough to explain his release. When all was said and done, the Pasha might be more of a nuisance in exile in Ceylon than free in Egypt. There was no end to inimical parties, certain foreign powers that need not be mentioned, ready to strike a bargain with the Pasha and attempt to free him. Better free him than have him escape. Mr. Gladstone then added, to a resounding ‘Hear! Hear’ from the Cabinet, that ‘the saving of the one hundred thousand pounds that might have been expended for the pearl would have the firm support of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.’
“And so,” continued Mycroft, “the Colonial Secretary came to me at once, with the message that Sherlock be notified that he had the necessary authority to free the Pasha if he indeed thought that the best resolution of the matter.”
Holmes had returned to his Chetty Street hotel, where he awaited Gorashar’s return and the response from Mycroft. The latter was first to arrive. One of Vansittart’s orderlies brought the response from London. The Cabinet had agreed to the Pasha’s release but with conditions: once returned to Egypt, the Pasha would be under solemn oath not to engage in any public activity whatsoever. He was to remain a private citizen and to hold no public office. He would be allowed to leave Ceylon as soon as possible in the company of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and an adequate military guard. So that there would be no delay, arrangements had been made with the captain of the ship, the Susannah II, now at anchor in Trincomalee harbour, to wait for the arrival of special guests of Government. Mr. Holmes was authorised to carry the pearl with him. In Alexandria, he was to deliver it to General Gordon, who would see to its safe transfer to London. Mr. Holmes was also to be afforded every facility for his trip to England should he desire to return directly from Egypt. In a separate note, Vansittart said that the Pasha had agreed to all conditions and was already preparing his departure. Holmes wrote out a short note in reply, asking Vansittart to arrange their travel to Trincomalee.
“It was just after I read the message, Watson, that I became aware of a great commotion in the street below. A large crowd had assembled, mostly Tamilians, and stood in almost total silence. After a few moments a small group of them moved from the back of the crowd to the front. They were carrying two corpses lying on bamboo stretchers. Once they reached the front of the crowd, the procession moved rapidly down the street and out of sight, leaving the street almost deserted. At that moment, Gorashar appeared to inform me that the dead were Thyagamma and Nelusko, the finders of the pearl. They had been found brutally murdered in their rooms, and the sombre crowd was taking them to the shore for cremation.”
“No one seems to know when the murders occurred,” Vansittart said. “The bodies were found only a few hours ago. They had been stabbed and their faces horribly mutilated, as if the killer had been angered by something, perhaps by his inability to find the pearl. If the pearl was the motive, the two had been murdered needlessly, since they had already sold it to the Atkinson Brothers firm and no longer had it in their possession. There are no suspects.”
“Let us examine their rooms while the crowd is gone,” said Holmes. “Perhaps we may learn something.”
Gorashar took Holmes directly to the victims’ hotel, one far more run-down than his own. The lobby was dark, and empty except for a sweeper working in one corner. Holmes placed a fistful of rupees in the sweeper’s hand, and he took them directly to the rooms, no more than two small windowless cells on the second floor. There were beds but nothing else. Bloodstains were everywhere, but there was little sign of a struggle. Whatever little had belonged to the victims had been taken. The prints of bare feet were everywhere, and whatever clues might have been were destroyed by the many who entered after the bodies were discovered.
“We are too late. There is nothing to be learned here beyond the obvious,” said Holmes. He turned towards the sweeper. Putting a few more rupees into his hand, he asked him what he had seen. The sweeper said that in the dark of the previous morning, at about four a.m., two people entered the hotel dressed in Arab costume. The sweeper saw their faces: they were European, a man and a woman. They went directly up the stairs to the second floor, remained there for a few minutes, then came down and left in a run. He thought nothing of their comin
g and going since nocturnal traffic in the hotel is common enough during the pearl season. It was only after the bodies were found that he associated the two with the murder. When pressed, the sweeper could say little more than that one of those who entered was very tall. He added in a voice filled with fear that the face of the dead pearl fisher Nelusko had been covered with what looked like claw marks.
“Obviously, Watson, the bloodletting which I so feared but knew would associate itself with the Moonstar of Mannar had begun. Gorashar and I returned to my quarters. He repeated his judgement that the pearl had been sold before they were murdered and that it was now in Trincomalee. I told him of the Pasha’s claim.”
“The Pasha is telling the truth,” he said, “for the present owner of Atkinson Brothers is his agent and was here for two days bargaining for the pearl. He left with it while Thyagamma and Nelusko were very much alive. But who would have killed the two pearl fishers after the pearl was sold? Do you think the two seen by the sweeper are the murderers?”
“‘We do not know for sure,” said Holmes. “Learn what you can in the bazaar. Then follow me to Trincomalee.”
Gorashar left, and Holmes went directly to the circuit house. He spoke with the Pasha, who was ready to depart, and told him that they would leave as soon as Vansittart had finished arrangements.
There was no rail to Trincomalee from Pearl Town, so Vanmsittart arranged for horses and a small armed escort. For a part of the journey they also travelled by elephant. The trip took two days and was an unexpectedly grueling one. Several times they were forced to take long detours so as to avoid the rebels under Rama IV, the rebellious king who lived in the jungles north of Kandy, and in whose hands no Englishman was safe. A few times they caught sight of these rebels, dressed in dark green, armed with rifles and daggers. Despite the dangers, however, they arrived at their destination. Holmes and the Pasha went directly to the shop of the Atkinson brothers, called Les Portes d’Argent, or The Silver Doors. They were led into a large room where they waited for Abdul Latif, the Pasha’s agent.
“Notice the doors,” said the Pasha. “Jewellers must always have many ways of egress.” There were six silver doors in the room. The one directly in front of us opened and Abdul Latif, a tall thin man not unlike the Pasha in appearance, entered. Latif bowed to the Pasha and placed a small box in his hand. The Pasha opened it and handed it to Holmes.
“Here is the Moonstar of Mannar,” he said. “It is truly fit for a queen. You may test it in any way you like. Five hundred seventeen grains, a perfect sphere.”
It was indeed a beautiful thing, thought Holmes, one of the most exqusite examples of devil’s bait he had yet encountered. He studied it for several moments, then returned it to its box.
“It is indeed what it has been claimed to be,” he said.
“You may take it now,” said the Pasha.
Holmes took the box and put it in his small bag. “The first part of the work was now finished. If all went according to plan, the Pasha and I would board the Susannah II in a few hours and we would be on our way to Egypt, the Pasha with his freedom, and I with the pearl for Her Majesty,”
Holmes stopped here for a moment, as if deep in thought. “And here, Watson, I made a fateful decision. I chose not to rest with this simple solution. Rather than accompany the Pasha, I decided to send him on ahead with the armed escort to the Susannah II. I told him that I wished to attend to some unfinished business and would follow shortly.”
They parted just outside the shop. Holmes turned and entered the winding lanes of the Trincomalee bazaar. He had not gone far when he sensed that he was being followed. He ducked into a small shop for a moment, asking the proprietor if he could leave by the back entrance. Puzzled, the shopkeeper nevertheless led him to the back. As he went through the door, he saw Moran standing there, barring his way. He held a pistol, barely concealed by his vest, pointed directly at Holmes’s middle.
“Which way, Moran?” he said with some impudence.
“To the left,” answered Moran.
Moran’s sister soon joined them. They returned to the Portes d’Argent. Latif lay dead on the floor, his throat slit.
“Let us have the pearl,” said Franziska.
“With great pleasure, Madam,” said Holmes.
He handed the box to Moran, who opened it and gave it to his sister.
“For you, for now,” he said.
Franziska appeared mesmerised by the pearl, and she took no notice of anything about her.
“I have waited for this moment as if for an eternity,” said Moran. “When Moriarty went over the Reichenbach Falls, time stopped for me. All that I am—and ever will be – I owe to that great soul, Moriarty. I learned everything from him. His mind was the sharpest that ever thought on English soil. His heart the strongest and the cruellest. And you, you fiend, you destroyed that great genius.
“My sincere condolences, old fellow,” said Holmes, “but you must understand that I am of course of a very different view. Do not forget that Moriarty came after me at the falls. Had he pursued a more intelligent path, he would be alive today, albeit sitting in a London jail. But to bring our attention back to present matters, I do hope that you are aware, dear Colonel, that in taking the pearl you are stealing from an agent of the British Government. Rather foolhardy, I would say.”
“The pearl is now ours,” said Franziska, returning from her delirium. “Let us kill him here. Let us not miss this chance.”
At this moment Holmes was defenceless. Both Moran and his sister had guns trained on him, and he was foolishly unarmed. But again the unexpected happened. Suddenly all of the silver doors opened, and filing in one after another in total silence were the rebel soldiers of Rama IV, all armed with rifles. Neither Moran nor his sister moved.
“So, Moran,” said one of the men, “another trick.”
He slapped Moran across the face, pushed him to the floor, took his gun, and aimed it at Moran’s head.
“No!” shrieked Franziska.
The soldier saw the box in her hand and took it from her. His talons moved viciously. “What have we here?” he asked mockingly. He opened the box and held the pearl up so all could see it. “‘Well, so now we have it. Let us then amuse ourselves with it.”
He motioned to the three of them and they filed out between the leader and his men, their hands tied behind their backs. In an hour’s walk, they reached Foul Point, a cliff that extends into the sea to the south of the town of Trincomalee at a height of about three hundred feet above the sea.
“Here, Watson, in this most beautiful place, was enacted the final portion of the drama. Moran and I were led to within a few feet of the precipice. Opposite us on the ground sat some fifty of the rebel army, their leader, now identified as Rama IV, at their center. Franziska sat to his left, the ropes now taken from her hands in honour of her sex.”
King Rama stood up. “You English have brought our island to ruination. Your stench is everywhere. You have fouled our soil. I live only to rid the motherland of your pestilential presence.”
He paused. “But let us make this night pleasant for us. Mr. Holmes, honoured guest, let the royal festivities begin here this very night for your beloved queen.” He took the pearl and placed it on the ground between two small rocks.
“You will fight for the pearl—and your lives. Strip them! Bring the hoods!”
Holmes looked at me, a bemused look in his eye. “Moran and I, stripped to the waist, were to fight it out to the delight of the rebel army. There I was again, Watson, on the brink of an abyss with a mortal enemy bent on my destruction, the very one who had almost caused me to fall into the Reichenbach Falls.”
He stopped his account to light his pipe. “You have heard, no doubt, of the andabatarian gladiators of ancient Rome?”
“No,” I replied.
“A most interesting custom,” interjected Mycroft, lifting his heavy eyelids with difficulty, “which may have derived in the end from the ancient Indians. Hoods were
placed over the gladiators’ heads to blind them. Without sight, they fought more amusingly and of course more cruelly, to the great glee of the Roman audience.”
“Never did I think that I would ever find myself in such a position,” said Holmes. “I suddenly thanked Heaven for my hours of practice walking and living in the dark. As soon as the hood was placed over my head, my ears, and my skin came alive. I knew that Moran, through far stronger than I, would be no match for me. My other senses, so patiently cultivated in my training in Benares, became so strong that they more than made up for the lack of vision. I could sense Moran’s slightest move. I could hear his breathing, the smallest sound that he caused, the smell of his breath and of his sweat. Without eyes I had no back, no front. All my senses were equal and functioned in all directions. Moran could not do the same. Indeed, as we began our duel, I made myself almost imperceptible. He could not hear my breath for I dropped it to an inaudible minimum. I could feel through my feet the vibrations of his heavy step, but he could not sense mine. I waited calmly as he moved. Purposely, I taunted him, so as to let him know where I was. Then, as he rushed towards me, I moved out of his way and gave him a kick to the stomach. It brought him down, stunned and writhing in pain. I pulled the hood from his head. “‘Come, my dear Colonel, this will give you a better chance.”
“Despite his pain, I could hear his fury rise, and so deftly did he move that he caught me by my foot. I escaped from his grasp, however, but felt a rush of pain as I extricated my leg. Moran rose and rushed towards me, but I dodged, and tripped him, throwing him off balance. As he fell, I delivered a hard blow to the jaw. He moaned as he hit the ground, panting in pain at my feet, no longer able to move. I tore the hood from my own head. I sat him up, and he revived.”
“You fiend,” he cried.
“Come, come, my dear fellow, one wins some, and one loses others. You unfortunately, have just lost a big one.”
It had been no contest. The great Moran had been unable to find Holmes. He raged in the dark, pummeling the air and growling like a bull. Subduing him required the skill that one uses in subduing a blinded elephant. He was still dangerous, but not for a practised hunter.
The Oriental Casebook of Sherlock Holmes Page 32
