by Hugh Ashton
“Why tonight?” I asked.
“Because, my dear fellow, Sir Roderick informed us that tonight and tomorrow night he would be unable to dine with us. I scarcely think that the social whirl of this charming little backwater is of such intensity that he is engaged for those evenings – at least not in the conventional sense. Furthermore, I would draw your attention to the calendar.”
“What of it?”
“Tonight and tomorrow are nights of the new moon.”
“I begin to perceive your meaning.”
“So let us look out some dark clothing, in which we may not easily be observed, and do you, Watson, procure a pair of dark lanterns for us. I venture to suggest that a stout walking stick might also be of use in the coming days.”
“And you?”
“I must go to the harbour, where I will make arrangements for tomorrow.”
-oOo-
Holmes’ two mysterious Chinamen arrived by train late in the afternoon. One was a smaller, slightly corpulent, man of about the same age as Holmes and myself, who wore Western clothes in impeccable taste. He extended his hand to me as Holmes introduced us.
“John Chen. Delighted to meet the Boswell of the great detective at last,” he announced, in English that was the equal of any gentleman’s of this land.
The other Chinaman was of a very different character. He was tall where the other was short, and slender, almost to the point of emaciation, where the other was plump. He was dressed in a loose-fitting dark costume of vaguely Oriental cut, and carried on his back a large wicker basket, out of which came strange cheeping noises, accompanied by a strong smell strongly redolent of fish that was not quite fresh.
“This is Wang Lee,” explained Chen. “He speaks little English, but he is utterly reliable, I assure you.”
The taller Chinaman turned to Holmes and myself, and bowed to us, his hands clasped together and tucked into his voluminous sleeves. “Happy to meet you,” he said in heavy accents.
“Let us go,” said Holmes. “You will be sleeping tonight at the house of our landlady, Mrs Buncombe, who will be providing us with food. I trust that Wang Lee can stomach our European food?”
Chen turned to the other, and spoke to him in their curious sing-song language, receiving a reply in the same tongue.
“He says that European food is not to his taste, but for one or two days, he can stomach it, given the fee you will be paying him.”
“Good,” said Holmes. We had arrived at our lodgings. “I hardly think that this will be welcome indoors,” he said, indicating Wang Lee’s basket. “There is a tool-shed at the rear that may be suitable for it. I do not think we need trouble asking Mrs Buncombe’s permission to use the facility for one night only.” He led the way, and the basket was placed within the shed.
“You have fish?” Wang Lee addressed me directly.
“What does he mean?” I asked of his compatriot.
“Ah yes, of course.” Holmes, rather than Chen, answered me. “It is natural to assume that some fish will be required. Watson, I realise it is an imposition on your good nature, but if you would make your way to the fishing port and purchase some dozen of small fish – pilchards or the like, and as fresh as you can obtain them – I am sure that Mr Lee and his charge would be more than grateful. While you are gone, I will take the opportunity of outlining the situation to our friends.”
I was puzzled, to say the least, but Holmes’ mysterious commands often failed to make sense at the time, revealing their purpose only later, so I hastened to carry out this strange errand. I returned some twenty minutes later with a paper package suspended at a safe distance from my hand by a loop of string. In truth, the smell of the fish was nowhere near as strong as I had feared.
I returned, and viewed the three men in conference, still standing outside the tool-shed. I presented the package to Wang Lee, who opened it with obvious signs of satisfaction, and disappeared with it into the shed. Loud squawking sounds and other noises came from the shed, which ceased as Wang Lee emerged again.
“All finish,” he beamed happily.
“Excellent,” replied Holmes. “Then let us go inside.”
Mrs Buncombe rose to the challenge of her Oriental visitors, and greeted them with what appeared to be unfeigned pleasure. Chen won her heart by praising her collection of Oriental knick-knacks brought from the East by her late husband, and Wang Lee sat impassively silent, doing nothing that might cause any offence.
The meal was very much to my taste, consisting chiefly of a roast of pork loin, and if it was not to Wang Lee’s, he disguised his feelings well.
After dinner, the two Chinamen retired to their room, and Holmes and I to ours, where we changed our garments and prepared for the evening to come.
“I have already informed Mrs Buncombe that we will be out late tonight,” Holmes informed me as we left the house, “and she has kindly lent me the latchkey.”
“What reason did you assign for our absence?”
“Why, none. She never enquired, and I did not see fit to tell her.”
“Holmes, I must ask you this. What are we looking for tonight, and why are those Chinamen staying with us?”
“As to the first, I am not as yet certain, and as to the second, I propose that you see with your own eyes tomorrow morning.”
After a short walk, we reached the castle, and positioned ourselves where we could enjoy a clear view of the lighthouse.
It was, despite the time of year, a somewhat cool evening, and I was beginning to wish that I had packed my hip-flask, which contained some excellent brandy, when Holmes grasped my arm.
“Look!” he commanded, pointing towards the lighthouse, which was flashing in its assigned pattern every fifteen seconds.
“I see nothing,” I complained.
“There, below the cliff, and above the water. One red light and one green. Do you not see?”
My eyes followed his pointing finger, and indeed, I could just make out two coloured specks of light in the places indicated. It was, as Holmes had remarked earlier, a night on which there was almost no moon, and I had to strain my eyes to discern the details of any objects surrounding the lights. “I see them, Holmes. Are they the riding lights of fishing boats?”
He shook his head. “No, they are not moving. These are fixed lights. Here,” and he passed me a pair of powerful field-glasses, which showed me that that the lights appeared to come from lanterns affixed to poles in the water, the support of the red lantern being taller than that of the green. “With a little mental agility on our part,” went on Holmes, “I think we are able to ascertain their purpose.”
“Your meaning?”
“Imagine yourself in a position so that the lights are in line with each other, the red above the green. Where does that lead?”
I pondered the conundrum, which as Holmes had remarked required not a little mental effort. “It leads to the cove behind Mrs Buncombe’s house. And these lights therefore serve as a guide to the visitors who come and leave the beer bottles.”
“Indeed so, Watson. And look!” his finger pointed to a barely discernible shape in the water which I recognised, with the aid of the field-glasses, as being a small sailing vessel, scarcely more than a dinghy. “And another!”
“We should summon the police,” I told Holmes.
He shook his head in reply. “This is no matter for the police. Remember, the whole purpose of my investigation is to prevent a possible scandal, not to cause one,” he reminded me. “I am confident we will have our chance to nip this business in the bud tomorrow night. For now, let us content ourselves with being observers, and tomorrow morning, my plan is to discover still more.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
I quite forgot the chill of the evening as we spent the next hour observing about a dozen small boats make their way to the hidden cove. Most appeared to come from the open sea, but there was one notable exception – a pleasure yacht by her appearance, which made its way from the general quar
ter of the lighthouse, starting out some ten minutes after the last small boat had entered the cove. “I had guessed as much,” remarked Holmes, when I pointed out this vessel to him. After this yacht had reached the cove, the two guiding lights were extinguished, and we could see no movement for about another hour. I was once again regretting my lack of foresight in the matter of my hip-flask, and was about to propose to Holmes that we quit the place, when he drew my attention to a procession of small boats leaving the cove. “The evening’s entertainment is at an end,” he said softly to me. “We may withdraw now, I think.”
Confident that my friend had solved at least part of the riddle, I thankfully turned my steps towards Mrs Buncombe’s house, and the warmth of my bed.
-oOo-
The next morning saw Holmes and myself at breakfast. We were joined halfway through our repast by John Chen, who bade us a good morning and tucked into his porridge, followed by bacon and eggs, like any Englishman. Indeed, were it not for his physiognomy, and basing one’s judgement only on his speech and dress, one would have taken him for a native of these shores.
“Wang Lee is upstairs, but will join us when we are ready,” he explained, helping himself to toast and marmalade.
“Watson,” remarked Holmes to me as we left Chen finishing the last of his coffee. “We will be spending a day on the water. The field-glasses, and dare I suggest it, your hip-flask, would be of great utility, I think. I would also advise warm clothing.”
Soon after, he and I, accompanied by the two Chinamen, with Wang Lee carrying the mysterious basket with which he had arrived, made our way to the harbour, where two small rowing boats awaited us, presumably the results of Holmes’ visit the previous day.
Holmes greeted the boatmen standing by, and proceeded to commandeer one of the boats for himself and me, leaving the other to be occupied by the two Orientals. John Chen, dressed in a smart blue duffel-coat, manned the oars, with Wang Lee, now unmistakably in bright Chinese garb, and his mysterious basket occupying the bow. Holmes took the oars of our craft.
“I may require you to provide our propulsive power at some future point in our expedition,” he remarked to me, “but at present I will indulge myself in a little exercise.” I have mentioned in the past that Holmes, though of what appeared to be a thin sinewy build, was possessed of considerable strength which was in no way hinted at by his appearance. He proved himself to be an oarsman of no mean skill, and we were soon in the middle of the channel separating the port from the lighthouse. “You may care to observe that post that we are about to pass,” said Holmes.
The post to which he referred was a wooden pole, protruding from the surface of the water for about ten feet. Affixed to the top of the pole was a hook.
“Undoubtedly,” I remarked, “this hook was used to attach one of the lanterns that we saw last night.”
“I am convinced of it,” replied Holmes. “If you will take the trouble to look in the other direction towards our lodgings on the other side of the channel, you will see the other pole to which the green lantern was attached.”
I looked in the direction indicated, and indeed, the two poles pointed straight toward the hidden cove at the bottom of the orchard.
“I think there can be little doubt,” added Holmes, “of the purpose of these poles, which are clearly placed here as a support for the lanterns that we observed last night. It is plain that they have been placed as navigation aids to guide visitors to this secret landing place.”
We rowed on a little further, taking careful note of the position of the poles and their relationship to the lighthouse.
“I think,” Holmes remarked, “we were best if we moved to one side of here,” and so saying, pulled us closer to the coast, along the shore from the lighthouse, but in a position from where we were still able to observe it.
“What is our plan?” I asked Holmes.
“We attempt to catch some mackerel,” replied, bringing out a couple of hand-lines from under the thwart on which he was sitting, much to my amusement, given his past remarks about anglers. “And while we are doing this, we will watch the reactions of those in there,” glancing towards the lighthouse, “to the antics of my friends there,” glancing towards the boat containing the two Chinese. “By the by, Watson, I would advise you to pull that cap of yours a little further forward over your eyes. Your face is too visible for my liking.”
“I had no idea my appearance offended you to that extent,” I retorted.
Holmes chuckled. “My dear fellow, this concerns the matter of your possible identification by person or persons unknown from there,” looking once more towards the lighthouse, “and has little to do with my pleasure or otherwise concerning the sight of your countenance.”
“What in the world are they doing?” I asked, looking at the other boat, as we cast the fishing lines over the side of the boat. Wang Lee had opened the basket, out of which appeared a large black bird with a long neck.
“That, my dear fellow, is probably the only example of its kind in the British Isles. It is a cormorant, as you have probably deduced for yourself, but one which has been trained to catch fish and return them to its master. Wang Lee is probably the sole practitioner of the skill in this country, and we are lucky that he is a friend of John Chen who was able to persuade him to help us in this way.”
“How do you come to know Chen?”
“I would have thought it evident. We were fellow students at University. His father is some kind of nobleman in his own country, and he wished one of his sons to learn more about the Western barbarians, as we appear to that ancient civilisation. Chan and I have maintained contact since our student days, and he has been of invaluable assistance to me whenever I have wished to know more about anything concerning the land of Cathay or its inhabitants.”
As I watched, the bird dived off the edge of the boat, and disappeared beneath the waves. Some twenty seconds later, the sleek black head broke the surface of the water, a fish of some six inches in length held in its beak.
“Holmes, I appreciate that this Oriental and his bird possess a certain skill, but what is the purpose here?”
“It is a bow drawn at a venture, I confess, but one that may well prove to be of great value,” replied Holmes. “It is a curious sight to watch, is it not?” I assented. Indeed, my eyes were fixed on the interplay between man and bird, as the latter continued to dive and retrieve silver fish from the depths. Every few attempts, Wang Lee would reward the creature for its efforts by allowing it to devour one of its catch. “My hope is,” went on Holmes, “that the inhabitants of the lighthouse will likewise find this an intriguing sight and will show themselves on this balcony the better to observe these strange goings-on. And here,” he said, “is the first of them.”
A figure had indeed appeared on the balcony, and was watching the antics of the Chinese and the bird with rapt attention. Holmes took the field-glasses and, as surreptitiously as he could manage, watched the other through them. He shook his head. “Not yet, I fear, but there is still time.”
He gave no indication of the meaning of his last words, and started to whistle idly, in defiance of the popular superstition among sailors governing the practice. “Aha!” he suddenly exclaimed. “This is what I have been waiting for!”
The man on the balcony had obviously been calling to another within the building, though his words were inaudible to us at our distance. It appeared that his call had been answered and he was joined on the balcony by another figure, seemingly clad in a curious white garment.
“We have him!” exclaimed Holmes, peering through the field-glasses and handing them to me. “You are my witness to this, Watson. Tell me what you see.”
I adjusted the focus. “It is Sir Roderick,” I replied. “And he appears to be wearing a laboratory coat.”
“Precisely so,” replied Holmes. “This is not evidence that can stand up in a court of law, naturally, but it is further evidence for my case, even so.”
“Evidence of wha
t, Holmes?”
“Evidence, naturally, that the lighthouse is being used as a laboratory for the production of this ‘Heroin’, and that Sir Roderick himself is the principal agent in its production. We have seen enough, Watson. It is now time for us to return. May I trouble you to take the oars this time? I wish to consider our next move.” With that, he relinquished control of the boat to me, and curled up in the bow, the smoke from his pipe making us appear from a distance to be more of a steam-launch than a simple rowing boat.
-oOo-
That evening, John Chen and Wang Lee having departed Falmouth, together with the cormorant and a suitable supply of fish, which included several fine mackerel caught by Holmes and myself in the course of our surveillance, we prepared for our nocturnal expedition.
“I do not anticipate immediate violence from the principal in this affair,” Holmes said to me. “It would be the height of folly for Sir Roderick to attempt any such moves, particularly as we are both known in the neighbourhood, following your recent medical ministrations in the public house. His minions, on the other hand, may prove a trifle less amenable to reason, and so I am taking my revolver as an additional inducement, should my words prove ineffective in this regard. You could do worse than to equip yourself with that ashplant you purchased yesterday.”
His words seemed to me to be practical, and I therefore picked up the stout stick, testing its balance, and hoping that I would not have occasion to use it in the fashion that Holmes had just described.
“Tonight, tempting as it may be, I fear that your hip-flask must be left behind, Watson. We must be silent as the grave.”
“I fear that will not prove to be a prophetic simile,” I remarked.
“Do not fear,” said Holmes. “As I say, I am relatively confident that there will be no physical violence on this occasion, but even so, I feel it will be as well for us both to be prepared against such a possibility. Have you the dark lanterns? Excellent. Let us sally forth, and prepare to meet the foe. I have already marked out a spot where we can wait undetected until the time is ripe.”
