Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra

by Paul D. Gilbert

  ‘Theories and notions, indeed! A simple examination of the cabin boy’s body will surely enlighten one of you soon enough,’ Lestrade said in a strangely exasperated tone. It suddenly occurred to me that we had not heard a single word from our companion throughout the entire journey to Middlesex Street. Yet, when he did eventually speak, it was of great surprise to both Holmes and myself that his words proved to be so profound. Neither of us could think of a single response and the remainder of our journey was continued in silence.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SHIP OF GHOSTS

  Lestrade’s presence ensured that there was no delay in our being shown through to the hospital’s large and crowded mortuary. It was in a solemn silence that we approached the slab on which Carlo Maddalena had been laid, for it was only now, as we gazed down upon his youthful countenance, that we realized just how young the final victim of the tragedy appeared to be.

  Even the stone-grey pallor of death had done little to diminish the innocence of his round and cheery features. My short-lived experience of service as an army surgeon during the Afghan campaign, and my subsequent association with Holmes, had presented me with aspects of death in its many and varied forms. Even so, I am strangely proud of the fact that my sensitivity to such sights had not been hardened by these experiences. I noted that even Holmes was clearly moved by the sight and gestured for me to approach the young man with my bag while he and Lestrade stood back.

  I moved gingerly but most thoroughly upwards from the feet, but discovered nothing of note until I reached the young man’s neck. I was duty-bound to concur with the findings of the police surgeon, in that the only visible possible cause of death was two large bruises at the front of the neck. Obviously, as rigor mortis had set in, the original colour of the bruises was impossible to determine. The only thing that I could say with any certainty was that there was no damage to the skin and that the injury was internal. The blemishes were certainly not caused by any poison or illness that I could recognize. Not surprisingly, my findings were shifting my opinions more and more towards those of my friend.

  I was on the point of standing upright, once more, when my eyes fell upon two small curved marks that were almost indiscernible, positioned an inch or two above each of the larger marks. I beckoned Holmes to join me and noticed, with some amusement, how a tentative Lestrade reluctantly followed suit, peering around Holmes’s shoulder at the object of our attention. Holmes barely gave these new discoveries a moment’s consideration before turning on his heel and striding from the room.

  In a state of some confusion I bundled up the contents of my bag and soon followed after Holmes, eventually finding him waiting impatiently for me in the cab outside the hospital. We could not move off immediately as Lestrade still had some official business to conclude inside, so I took Holmes to task for his unusual behaviour in the mortuary.

  ‘Well, I must say, Holmes, you could not have been more indifferent to my discoveries even if you had tried! Are they really of so little relevance?’ I asked.

  ‘On the contrary, Doctor, they are of the greatest significance; however there really was no necessity for me to examine them with closer attention, for I had already expected them to be there!’ He uttered these astonishing words with an airiness that was irksome in the extreme.

  ‘Surely you realize that the shape of these marks indicates that the poor young fellow was killed by nothing more than the inside of a man’s hand. The smaller marks, which I so very nearly missed, were certainly made by the culprit’s fingertips. I would have thought that this fact alone was worthy of note?’ I implored.

  Holmes turned sympathetically towards me once he had realized how his apparent dismissiveness seemed to belittle my findings.

  ‘My dear fellow, your examination has now placed this case on an entirely different footing, for the perpetrator of those blows is undoubtedly a most singularly skilled and dangerous individual. Each one of those marks fell upon a fatal pressure point and for a blow of that force to land on each one of those with such deadly effect, indicates to me that we are dealing with a skilled master of the deadly arts. As to how such a person happened to be upon a deserted ship and why he should attack a helpless cabin boy are matters that I refuse to be drawn upon at such an early stage.’

  These last words of Holmes were obviously designed to forestall my next barrage of questions. However, this was now academic for at that moment Lestrade rejoined us and a subtle gesture from Holmes suggested to me that he was not as yet prepared to share this new information with the good inspector.

  ‘Well, Mr Holmes,’ Lestrade chuckled quietly, ‘you seem to have learnt as little from the examination of the corpse as the rest of us.’

  ‘That, Inspector, remains to be seen!’ Holmes sternly rebuked Lestrade and with that he rapped on the roof of the cab with his cane to stir the driver into motion. Lestrade promised to arrange for us to meet Mr Dodd at Canary Wharf on the following afternoon and we diverted to allow him out at Scotland Yard on our way to Baker Street. I remained there only long enough to down a welcome cognac, for mine had not been the most pleasant of experiences, before continuing to my surgery where I had some work that could not be neglected for a moment longer.

  I was occupied for the remainder of the day and as a consequence did not see my friend again until the time of our appointment on the following afternoon. I arrived at the wharf promptly at two o’clock, only to be confronted by two of Lestrade’s largest and most saturnine constables who would not let me pass until they had received a cursory nod from their superior.

  Lestrade waved for me to join him at the quayside where he was standing next to a most singular-looking individual, whom I correctly assumed to be our prospective client.

  Alistair Dodd, of Morrison, Morrison & Dodd was a man in his mid fifties, of average height, whose long black frock-coat did nothing to disguise how rotund he really was. This was also evident in his corpulent face which was decorated with an absurdly dark, coiled moustache that was positively dripping with pomade! This he was constantly twisting impatiently with the fingers of his right hand, which caused me to consider twice before I extended my own to him. His handshake was as weak and oily as I had anticipated and I wasted no time in releasing my grip. He hardly gave me a glance as he pointed towards the ship in front of us.

  ‘Apparently we have been prohibited from going on board!’ Dodd protested. ‘I must say, Doctor Watson, that your associate holds a mighty high opinion of himself. He does not wish to run the risk of our disturbing any clues that he might discover. Clues indeed, stuff and nonsense if you ask me! After all, Inspector Lestrade here is a professional policeman!’

  ‘He is also very aware of Mr Holmes’s methods and, I am certain, that he would be more than willing to attest to the miraculous success that his methods have always yielded!’ I rejoined, determined to defend my friend to the hilt.

  ‘I have no difficulty in confirming everything that the doctor has told you, Mr Dodd, and I am certain that none of us would be standing here this afternoon were it not the case.’ I felt strangely proud of Lestrade at his defence of Holmes in his absence and I was on the point of telling him so when Holmes suddenly summoned me to board the Matilda Briggs. I did so somewhat sheepishly, for Holmes had also insisted that I come alone.

  ‘His effrontery is intolerable!’ Dodd blustered. ‘You would do well to warn Mr Holmes that my patience is wearing somewhat thin and that should this tomfoolery of his continue for much longer, I shall seriously consider advising my clients to seek assistance from another source.’ I acknowledged this advice by sarcastically doffing my hat in Dodd’s direction, then I slowly began ascending the gangplank, leaving him still twisting his ridiculous moustache.

  As I came upon the deck, I could understand at once the cause of Dodd’s confusion at the investigative techniques of my friend. He was stretched out, lying flat on his stomach, with his right hand raised above his head as if he was shielding his eyes from a non-existent g
lare.

  ‘Really Holmes,’ I began, ‘you really cannot afford to be so cavalier towards our client if—’ Holmes was determined not to hear another word upon the subject.

  ‘Watson!’ he warned me. ‘Now, would you be good enough to pass me down a sheet or two of your notepaper and a sharp, stout pencil?’ Then, in answer to my questioning glance, he added: ‘I wish to take some rubbings from this piece of decking.’

  I was on the point of querying this request when I remembered Lestrade’s reference to a set of strange but irrelevant markings that he had noticed during his own examination of the ship. Evidently Holmes was attaching more importance to these carvings than his professional counterpart.

  As I stood there, staring down at Holmes, I suddenly became aware that the stiff autumnal breeze was being chilled by its sweeping across the broad expanse of the Thames. I immediately turned up the collar of my coat to guard against it and lit up a cigarette with some difficulty.

  By the time that Holmes had completed his rubbings our client’s patience had become exhausted. He and Lestrade arrived on deck just as Holmes was brushing himself down.

  Dodd’s plump features were reddened by his impatience and Holmes could barely suppress a mischievous smile as he cheerily greeted the two of them on board. ‘You really should not upset yourself, Mr Dodd, Watson and Lestrade will tell you that my methods are not always of the most conventional. However, any hope that I may have had of unravelling your little mystery would have been made that much harder had the two of you added your own footmarks to those that have already confused the issue.’

  ‘Well, I must say! Little mystery indeed!’ Dodd exploded.

  ‘Perhaps I am not doing full justice to the problem with this flippant description of mine. For this could well prove to be one of the most challenging cases that I have ever been involved in and it is certainly unique in the annals of crime. Now please, gentlemen, kindly allow me to continue with my work.’ With that, Holmes turned his back on the two of them and threw himself down on to the deck once again.

  This time he took out his lens and began slithering around on the boards like a viper in pursuit of its prey. Every so often he would pause for a moment or two and examine something or other with minute diligence. Occasionally he would emit a loud grunt of disappointment. Then again he might laugh to himself as he made a more positive discovery although, of course, the nature of each find would remain a mystery to the rest of us for some time to come.

  After a while he paused from his reptilian motions and withdrew a small buff envelope from his inside pocket. He gestured for me to hold this open while he then proceeded to shuffle together a small pile of what appeared to be dark and dusty grain from the deck. He then poured this delicately into the envelope with as much care as if he had been handling gold dust.

  Once he had brushed himself down for a second time Holmes proceeded to examine every inch of the polished handrails with his glass while I began to sense Dodd’s growing impatience. At last, when Holmes paused to light a cigarette, Dodd could contain himself no longer. He addressed himself quietly to Lestrade but at a level just loud enough for Holmes to overhear.

  ‘I must confess, Inspector, that based on this first evidence, I am not altogether convinced that employing Mr Holmes and his so-called method is in the best interests of my clients. Surely his glowing reputation is pure hyperbole and if the best we can come up with in the next few days is an envelope full of dust, then I will advise my clients accordingly.’

  ‘That, sir, is your privilege,’ Lestrade responded. ‘However, this is a criminal matter and I am duty bound to take the best advice that is available to me. For all that his ways are unconventional, which I do not always approve of, Mr Holmes has rarely failed in his unorthodox investigations.

  ‘Thank you, Lestrade.’ Holmes smiled broadly through a thick plume of smoke. ‘I can assure you both, however, that I shall get to the bottom of this matter with or without Mr Dodd’s approval! Now I shall conclude my examination of the ship below decks. Alone! ‘Holmes glared defiantly at Dodd before slipping through the narrow hatchway.

  Throughout the twenty minutes or so that Holmes was below the three of us stood smoking in an embarrassed silence. I walked over to the furthest handrail and paused for a moment to speculate upon the mysteries that Holmes expected to solve merely by examination. I gazed across the dark brooding river that was heaving with mercantile traffic, bringing to our doorstep all the fruits of the Empire. The skies above were as murky as the waters beneath, overcast by the incessant discharge from a thousand poisonous chimneys and funnels.

  The Matilda Briggs would have been partly responsible for this, being a product of the transition from sail to steam. She was quite small for her class, probably no more than 150 feet in length, and had undoubtedly been built for speed. We subsequently discovered that she had been launched in 1874 specifically to deliver tea from the Indies in as few days as possible. Therefore she had been fitted with two full rigs of sail, one at each end of the deck, together with two incongruous funnels in mid-deck which rendered her the most absurdly ugly craft that I had ever seen.

  Now, of course a heavy shroud of sadness hung over her. The all-pervading silence of her empty decks was accentuated by the sound of the gentle wash playing on her bows as an endless stream of blackened barges churned their way along the river. The tightly furled rigs reminded me of a grove of lifeless trees in the midst of a harsh winter and all the while I pulled on my collar, although now I was chilled at the thought of the awful tragedy that had recently taken place here and the ultimate fate of all those poor souls who had served on board.

  The grating pomposity of Dodd’s voice broke in upon my thoughts.

  ‘Well, I must say!’ he began, between one of his frequent examinations of his elaborate gold pocket watch. ‘I have an appointment in the city to attend, of far greater significance than this, for which I cannot be delayed. Doctor Watson, I should be glad if you would advise your colleague that I shall expect a report of some tangible progress before the week is out.’ With that, one last twist of his ridiculous moustache and a most disdainful doffing of his hat, this singularly disagreeable man took his leave.

  Of course, his dramatic exit would have carried far greater gravitas and dignity had he experienced less difficulty in negotiating the gangplank down to the small pier. As it was he gingerly edged his way down at a painfully slow pace, guiding each step with his gold-tipped cane. On one occasion he completely lost his footing; he turned round towards us and Lestrade and I realized his worst fears by laughing heartily in his direction. He turned sharply away and completed the remainder of his hazardous departure unscathed. A smart brougham was patiently awaiting him at the quayside and that was the last we saw of Mr Alistair Dodd.

  At that precise moment Holmes emerged through the hatchway. He pointed in the direction of the rapidly departing brougham.

  ‘That, I take it, is our esteemed client,’ Homes declared.

  ‘Have a care, Holmes,’ I warned. ‘For all of his absurdities, should Mr Dodd ever decide to withdraw his commission, I am certain that he has enough influence to render any further investigation on our part difficult in the extreme.’

  Holmes lit a cigarette and smiled mischievously through its thin, blue plume of smoke.

  ‘The doctor does have a point, Mr Holmes. Has your examination of the ship yielded any clues that might have escaped my men and me?’ Lestrade asked, almost as if he was hopeful of a negative reply.

  For an instant Holmes appeared to be strangely surprised at the question.

  ‘Well, I suppose there are probably only three of any real note, although to evaluate their significance at this early stage would, of course, be purely speculative,’ Holmes quietly replied.

  ‘Three!!’ Lestrade squealed, whilst distorting his weaselly features into a mixture of rage and frustration. ‘Well, I find that very difficult to believe. My men and I surveyed the craft most thoroughly,’ the inspector in
sisted.

  ‘That is as maybe, but as Watson will certainly attest, I have long insisted that most men have only the ability to see, without making a worthwhile observation. It is the equivalent of reading a great book whilst lacking the power of comprehension. It is a futile waste of time and energy!’ Holmes concluded.

  ‘Surely Holmes, you can divulge to us the path that these three clues might be leading us upon?’ I suggested hopefully.

  ‘Now, Lestrade, perhaps you would kindly furnish Watson with the name and address of the shipping line that owns the Matilda Briggs. My day’s work is by no means complete.’ Ignoring my last request, Holmes now glided along the gangplank, down to our waiting cab while Lestrade scribbled a brief note for me as we followed in Holmes’s wake.

  Once again I was left to marvel at the inexhaustible energy with which Holmes was imbued whenever a new quest was drawing him onwards. Whatever the nature of the ship’s mysterious clues they must surely have been of great import to galvanize Holmes in such a fashion. By the time that I had reached the cab, Holmes was already into his pipe and he left it to me to pass the address up to our driver. We had agreed to liaise with Lestrade at every opportunity, and a moment later Holmes and I were on our way to the offices of the Red Cannon shipping line, situated in Pepys Street, close to the Monument.

  The density of the traffic rendered the relatively short journey to Pepys Street much longer than it might otherwise have been and at times the narrow streets and lanes were almost impassable. Yet, throughout the entirety of that tiresome journey, Holmes would not be drawn from his self-imposed silence. Therefore I was somewhat relieved when the interminable drive drew at last to a close in one of those tiny side streets that lead down from the Monument to the river’s edge. In truth, Pepys Street was little more than a cobbled alley, so it was all the more surprising to find the imposing red-brick headquarters of the Red Cannon shipping line in such a location. I then realized, of course, that the entire neighbourhood was peppered with similar businesses.