by Ted Riccardi
“It was then that I insisted on a separate guard in the house. Habib made a rapid search through the house but found nothing. I went back to my room but could not sleep. I heard nothing more except rustling in the trees, which I took to be the early morning breeze.
“At daybreak, I left the house and asked the servants to make a complete search. In the afternoon, Habib reported that nothing had been found and that in all likelihood it was a stray animal and that he was convinced that the house was safe. I insisted on my stipulation that a guard be hired. The old man Amendola was employed. I felt relieved that day and laughed at my own fear. It was, after all, only another monster in the attic. But that night the growls occurred again, and when I rushed to the landing I saw Amendola bleeding badly. Poor man, he was almost unconscious when the servants rushed in and saved him. Habib this time was immediately present, terrified himself it looked. He scoured the place but found nothing.”
Holmes listened intently. She spoke without guile, but filled with dread, to me very bravely under the circumstances.
“Your account differs almost not at all with that of the others with whom we have spoken. But, tell me, is there anyone who might wish you and your husband ill and want you to abandon your beautiful villa?”
“I know of no one, Mr. Holmes. Everything has been peaceful and the local population more than generous with our eccentricities. Two years ago, my husband told me that he was having difficulty with the bank and that he would have to spend more time in Europe. He has been deeply preoccupied ever since, even though he has admitted to me that the bank has never been in better circumstances.”
“And you have no idea what preoccupies him at this point?”
“No, I do not. We have grown apart these last few years. I make no secret of it, and we were hoping to grow closer while here.”
“I assume that you did not meet in India.”
Lady Singh smiled. “No, I have never been, and my husband is hardly Indian, having lived so long in England. My sister, Lady Maxwell, is responsible for our meeting. Upon her return from India and its disastrous toll on her, she decided to live in Italy. One of the things that she inherited from her husband was a large tract of land near Pienza in the Val d’Orcia. It was an unfortunate purchase by his father for he found that he had been duped and that he had acquired a mud swamp infested with malarial mosquitoes. He himself contracted the disease, and it is our belief that his premature death was caused in part by the infection. The only good thing was the old villa which, with some repairs, could be made entirely livable.
“After her return from India, my sister decided to take it on and redeem it first from disease and then dedicate it to the longer goal of farming and horticulture. In searching for the suitable experts, she met in Florence one Jaswant Singh, who told her of his early experience as a medical researcher in malaria before he became a banker. It was through him that she found the help to redeem the land, which is now a thriving enterprise, and a husband for her sister. I shall let her fill in the story for you since you already know each other. Perhaps we might all meet tonight. Jenny is due to arrive in an hour at the hotel in Positano, and will come to the convent. Perhaps we could all meet at your albergo since the evening views are so lovely.”
We took our leave of Lady Singh and returned to our rooms. On the way back, Holmes was filled with talk of Jennifer Maxwell.
“A woman of the greatest intelligence and beauty, Watson, someone who has impressed even me, who has little time for the more tender emotions.”
On one of the rare occasions that I had observed, he seemed happy to jest about himself and the attitudes that he had publicly displayed for so long.
“I am most anxious to meet her, Holmes,” said I.
“But please, Watson, keep your well-known charms hidden. You have benefited from our adventures with the acquisition of at least one wife.”
“All right,” said I joining his laugh, “tonight at least I shall be an old doorstop.”
“Good, dear doctor, so be it. And Watson, pack your revolver, as I shall mine. It will be an evening of danger as well as good company.”
Two hours later, we received word that Lady Singh and her sister awaited us in the garden. As we descended, we could see the sisters sitting on the veranda. I followed Holmes’s quick step.
“Lady Maxwell, I presume?” said Holmes.
“Indeed,” she replied with a laugh. “Mr. Roger Lytton-Smith, I presume?” she asked, “or is it really Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”
“It is he, with no disguise whatever this time. And Dr. Watson,” said Holmes, looking in my direction, “the chronicler, nay, the inventor of the great detective.”
And so it began, a long conversation in which Holmes did his best to concentrate on the case at hand, until his interest in Lady Maxwell took charge.
“Have you any idea what the wild beast is that has invaded the villa?” she asked.
“Let us say that I have several ideas, none of which is certain. I need more evidence, which I expect to come quickly.”
The conversations stretched over an hour. I am not privy to Holmes’s, for he and Lady Maxwell early on began to stroll alone together in the garden. My words with Lady Singh, as I recall, were stilted and hers not particularly memorable. We were reduced to pleasantries and then a polite silence.
As darkness fell, Holmes returned to us and said that he would walk Lady Maxwell back to the hotel and that he and I should meet at our quarters. I was surprised that Holmes would wish to walk the lady home in the dark considering the incidents that had taken place. I nodded to him, however, and accompanying Lady Singh back to her hotel in a cab, I rode back to our hotel.
By eleven, Holmes had not returned and I grew concerned. I noted belatedly that I had not seen him or Lady Maxwell on the road when I accompanied Lady Singh to her hotel. This fed my fears that something had happened. It being a short distance to the hotel and the cab driver Salvatore having retired for the night, I decided to walk down the road to see if I would meet Holmes on his return.
It was dark, but I could see the lights from Positano as I walked down the steep hill. For some reason, I began to feel uneasy and I remember shivering in the mist. I clutched my revolver to make sure that it was there. That was the last conscious thought I had, for I suddenly felt something almost feathery touch my ear. A sharp pain in the neck followed and I went into a dead faint.
I know nothing of what intervened for the next thing of which I was aware was that I had awakened in a hospital room in Positano. I tried to move, but my neck caused me unbearable pain.
“Do not try to move, Watson,” said Holmes in his familiar voice. “You are out of any danger, but I must say you gave us quite a fright. And had I kept to the business at hand, it would not have happened. Too long a talk with a beautiful woman.”
He was pale and fatigued and I could see nothing but relief in his eyes.
“What happened, Holmes? The last thing I remember is a prick like pain in the neck and then . . . I must have lost consciousness.”
“You did indeed, Watson, and did not see your assailant in the dark. But I did.”
“And what was it?”
“All in due time. You have been here for almost three days, in and out of consciousness. At times I feared the worst, for the attack on you was far more serious than that on old Amendola. Take rest for a short while longer, dear Watson. I shall tell all when we reach our quarters. I have arranged a special cab to take us back.”
It was late morning the following day when, with the consent of the doctors in Positano, I was allowed to leave the hospital. I was as weak as a kitten and was grateful for Holmes’ strong shoulder as he almost carried me to and from the cab. At the hotel, new quarters on the ground floor awaited us. Once ensconced in a comfortable rocking chair and given a hot cup of tea, I began to feel considerably better. My impatience to hear what had happened must have filled my expression, for without my saying a word Holmes began his intense account o
f what had transpired.
“Let us return to the moment when I left you to walk Lady Maxwell back to the hotel,” he began. “In order to have a bit more time with her, I suggested that rather than take the road back that we walk down the path through the olive groves. You may have wondered why you did not see us from the cab you had taken. But we heard you pass and continued on our chosen path. It took us far longer than I thought it would, for the groves were fenced off into small plots and every few feet we had to jump a fence or scale a wall. We reached the hotel around ten thirty. It was then that I realised that you might come in search of me, but I dallied a bit longer with the lady, finally leaving her around eleven, precisely the time that I judge you to have left our hotel.”
“Quite right, Holmes, it was exactly eleven by my watch.”
“In a few minutes I heard your step and then a groan. It was your voice in pain that I heard and I cursed my own weakness and inattention. I ran towards you and saw you there bleeding on the road when suddenly I was grAbbéd from the rear and thrown down. I wrestled the creature to the ground—my baritsu is still serviceable despite the passing years—and found myself staring into the malignant face of an almost naked but hideous dwarf. He tried to throw me, but neither of us could best the other. His grip around my chest was so great that I could barely breathe. Finally, he tired and I knocked him out with a blow to the head. I raced to you. You were unconscious and bleeding steadily, but fortunately slowly, from a small but sharp puncture in the neck. I stanched it with a piece of my shirt and carried you down to the hotel. There, with a quick explanation, I left you with Lady Maxwell and her sister, who sent for the doctors. I raced back up the hill in the hope that I had sufficiently injured the beast for him to be there still. But it was not to be. He had recovered and was gone. I decided then that in the dark a search was almost impossible. There was one place to look, however, and I went there: to Habib’s quarters. As I approached his hut, I heard the growling that must have terrified Lady Singh. With revolver in hand, I threw open the door. There sat a very calm Habib, with the dwarf collared, the leash in Habib’s firm hand.”
“Please come in, Mr. Holmes. You have nothing to fear. He is well chained. I am sorry that you broke into our little secret, and I pray that Dr. Watson will recover.”
“As to Watson, I do not know. He is a strong man, however. You have much to answer for, dear Habib, and I am about to inform Niccolini of the latest happenings.
“Before you do, Mr. Holmes, I would ask you to hear me out. I will tell you what I know, but I cannot tell you more than that And what I tell you will show no disloyalty to Sir Jaswant, my benefactor, who is due to arrive tomorrow. This creature has been the charge of Jaswant for many years, ever since one of his earliest voyages. He found him on a ship to America, a starving stowaway on a large steamer. Jaswant fed him thinking that he would keep him alive until the boat docked and he would follow his own fate. He appeared to be of great intelligence and resourcefulness, and Sir Jaswant took a liking to him. The creature was dumb except for a few words of some language known only to him. When the boat docked in Baltimore, I believe it was, Sir Jaswant thought it was the end of the matter, however enamoured he had become of his newly found pet. A month later, however, in some obscure place in America, the creature somehow found him. Jaswant had no idea how he had spent the month, but decided to keep him, completely hidden if possible. He gave him the name Pepe and it is that name to which he answers.
“It was only after Sir Jaswant’s success in London that Pepe’s existence became difficult. When his marriage to Lady Singh approached, he decided that Pepe could no longer live in London, where a special house had been kept for him. I, an old friend of Jaswant’s, was hired solely to take care of Pepe. Sir Jaswant decided that if he purchased a large villa outside of England Pepe might be happy there. And so we find ourselves here, dear Mr. Holmes, near the villa bought for Pepe to live in, our lives brought together by the existence of this strange but human creature. At first, it worked and Pepe stayed, alone and happy, roaming the trees, never even glimpsed by the local people. But one day, I could not find him. I searched everywhere. Three weeks later, Sir Jaswant notified me that Pepe had somehow returned to England.
“It was then that the problems began. Pepe attacked several people in London, fortunately none of whom died. Sir Jaswant, without making himself known, paid handsomely to keep these events secret. But Pepe’s temper, and his cruelty, have grown more unpredictable despite the kindness with which he has been treated. Indeed, his misbehaviour has increased since Sir Jaswant’s marriage to Lady Singh.”
“As Habib talked, Watson, I observed the creature. He was about three and a half feet tall, but perfectly formed to human proportions, except for his hands and feet, which were tiny. He was extremely well muscled, with smooth yellow skin, almost gold in color. He had a full head of dark, dirty hair and a countenance made horrific by a great sullen powerlessness that issued forth from his dark eyes Indeed, I at first found it difficult to meet his gaze until I realised that his eyes hid the mind of a child.
“And that is his weapon of attack?” I asked, pointing to what looked like a fly whisk that lay next to Pepe.
“Yes, he makes them regularly. He uses it to kill small animals for food. The feathers he takes from birds. The sound and the feel of them calm the victim just before the sharp blade-like part of the weapon is used.”
Within the feathers, I found attached a white object, whittled out of bone with an extremely sharp point, so sharp that even a touch of the point penetrated the skin.
“A small dab of poison on the end of this and the victim’s quick death is assured.”
“Yes,” said Habib, “but luckily Pepe has limited access to such things.”
“I left Habib, confident that he would not allow Pepe to escape, at least for the moment. I returned to the hotel in Positano to find our two lady friends anxious about my return. The doctors were guarded about your prognosis, but towards morning you took a turn for the better. They suggested two more days in hospital for rest before you ventured out. I then asked that the ladies leave Positano for Pienza, Lady Maxwell’s residence, where they would be safe. I said nothing about what Habib had told me. They left in the morning, and I promised Lady Maxwell that you and I might call on her someday soon after our return to Rome.
“I then went to the Villa Alessandrini to await the arrival of Sir Jaswant Singh. Habib and Niccolini were already there. I told Niccolini of the events of the night and of your condition. A look of anger passed over his face.
“You have brought a monster to our region,” he said to Habib. “The law will not be easy with you.”
“Please listen to Sir Jaswant before you make your decisions,” said Habib. “Something has gone wrong with our plans.”
Within an hour, a phaeton drew up to the villa, and Sir Jaswant, one of Britain’s most powerful men, alighted. He was a tall man, about fifty, lithe and graceful in his movements. He boasted a dark black beard, and his head had been shaved clean.
“My deep apologies, gentlemen, for the grief that has been caused here. I hope that we can make amends for what has happened.”
He motioned us to the sitting room, where we sat and discussed what was to be done. He argued eloquently for his point of view, and finally convinced Niccolini, who was the most recalcitrant.
“In essence, I affirm,” said the banker, “that if the Italian authorities bring no criminal charge against Pepe, Habib, me or my family, that I will take Pepe to a home for the criminally violent and insane, near the Franco-Swiss border, where he will reside permanently at my expense. He will never enter either England or Italy again. The reason for my tardy arrival is due to the complicated arrangements I was forced to make with the authorities at the borders. At first they refused to allow Pepe’s entry, but now there is no difficulty. In addition, since my wife’s experience has been so painful, I am prepared to deed the Villa Alessandrini to the citizens of Ravello to house
an orphanage for the town and surrounding villages. My wife and her sister are only dimly aware of Pepe’s existence and I wish that it remain so. Amendola has indicated to Habib that a sufficient emolument will seal his lips and calm his fears.”
“Sir Jaswant,” said Niccolini, “the attacks on Amendola and Watson are criminal offenses in Italy, and it is difficult for me to overlook them. However, if Watson also agrees, then I will go no further with the matter.”
“I cannot speak for Watson. He is fully conscious now and capable of deciding on his own. You must ask him,” said Holmes.
It was a short time after that the assembled gentlemen visited me at our hotel. After listening to Sir Jaswant’s entreaties, I agreed to the arrangements and directed that during my convalescence Holmes be empowered to speak for me.
The following morning Sir Jaswant and Habib left for Berne with their strange baggage. Holmes and I remained in Ravello for another week and then returned to Rome. He had much to say about the “the small human being,” as he referred to him.
“Pepe is from some distant shore of the Indian Ocean, the Andaman Channel or perhaps even Australia, dear Watson, and while I was willing to accommodate Sir Jaswant in the matter, I am sure that our small human friend appeared in his life long before his sea journey to America. He indeed may appear again. In the end, it may not matter at all, however.”
Shortly thereafter, Holmes left for Pienza, where he remained for several weeks. It was the beginning of a deep relationship with Lady Maxwell that lasted well over a decade, until her tragic death in a riding accident on the road to Montepulciano. Holmes was with her when she died. In so far as one can, he has recovered from this great bereavement and has moved on. One of his consolations has been the lines of Goethe:
