Holmes arched an eyebrow accusingly toward me. ‘Evidently you did not pay sufficient attention to my notes upon the sounds and tracks made by the wheels of public vehicles and their use in the detection of crime.’ I was certain Holmes had feigned his air of disappointment; however I still could not hide my embarrassment at his justified accusation.
‘Do not trouble yourself, old fellow, for if the regular police force continue to ignore my various monographs, there is certainly no good reason why you should not do so also! Nevertheless, I should inform you that there is a particular four-wheeled cab that has received the nickname of the “growler”. It is so called because its wheels are guarded by unusual metal rims that let out an awful grating noise whenever they pull up at the kerb. Unless I am very much mistaken, we heard such a sound a moment or two ago.’
Holmes seemed to be rather pleased with his deductions, so much so in fact, that when I escorted Collier downstairs to the waiting vehicle, I was almost disappointed to see that his prediction had been accurate. King doffed his cap cheerfully in my direction and assured me that he knew Collier’s hotel very well. Notwithstanding this, Collier still seemed to be most uneasy at taking his leave of us while remaining so ignorant of Holmes’s ideas and plans.
In this Collier was not alone and I mounted our stairs fully determined to extract as much information from Holmes as was possible.
To my surprise Holmes was more interested in my ideas and opinions than he was in expanding upon his own.
‘So, friend Watson, I would be very interested to learn what conclusions you have arrived at, based upon all that we have experienced over the past, most extraordinary, twenty-four hours,’ Holmes offered.
At that moment my eyes fell upon the clock and I realized, with some amazement, that there were barely two hours left before dawn.
‘My dear fellow, would it not be more beneficial if I formulated my ideas when my mind is a good deal fresher and clearer? Have a care for the time.’
Holmes followed my gaze to the clock, but merely shrugged his shoulders.
‘Have I not told you on many occasions that time is to be used as our tool and that we should never be its slave? My mind is as fresh and as active as it was twelve hours ago!’ he exclaimed, smiling at my discomfiture.
‘Will you not rest for just a few hours?’
As if in answer Holmes filled and lit another pipe and languidly waved me towards the door. I did not protest at this and dragged myself up the stairs, throwing myself upon my bed once I had reached my room.
Barely two hours later, despite the protests from my body, the activity in my brain was not to be quelled. My thoughts had been alternating from beladaus to ‘giant rats’ and back again, in rapid succession. I decided to steal down the stairs and to join my friend once more in his quest for the truth.
What I saw did not surprise me in the least. The light was still creeping from under the door and when I pushed it gently open I discovered that my friend was in a state of deep meditation. His pipe had long been abandoned to the ashtray. His pose, upon the same chair in which I had last seen him, was unusually upright, so that his unsupported head was perpendicular to the base of his spine. His legs were crossed underneath each other and his hands were folded close to his stomach I deduced, as I consequently discovered correctly from the size of the fire and the coolness of Holmes’s pipe bowl, that he had been in this position from the time that I had deserted him for my bed.
From past experience I thought it best to refrain from breaking in upon my friend’s spiritual quest and I made my way to my room once more. I decided that I should discover the results of his vigil once he was fully rested and recovered.
When I eventually returned to the sitting-room, I discovered, with some surprise, that a revived Holmes appeared to be considerably fresher and more alert than I was! However, he refused to discuss his experience until he had consumed at least two cups of coffee and as many cigarettes. Even then he would not divulge the results of his meditative process, merely the means by which he had achieved it.
As he spoke I suddenly realized that our conversation had come full circle and had reverted to his latest monograph, upon the subject of meditation. His efforts at outlining this to me, just moments before the arrival of the letter from Morrison, Morrison & Dodd, were now to come to fruition. Holmes explained that by concentrating upon and controlling his breathing he had been able to achieve a deep meditative state.
There were many similarities between his nature and that of Sir Michael Collier and this made it easier for him to understand the processes behind Collier’s thoughts and actions. However, whenever Holmes had used this process in the past, he had been attempting to penetrate the minds of remarkable criminals. On this occasion he was trying to understand a remarkable gentleman.
At this juncture I felt compelled to protest.
‘Really, Holmes! Whilst I can understand your feeling a certain affinity for a fellow free-thinking seeker after truth like Michael Collier, it is beyond belief that you should condone the actions of a man who has readily confessed to betraying his country!’
Holmes considered me in silence for a moment or two, with a wry smile that permitted a stream of smoke to issue from between his teeth.
‘Ah, so that is your summation of page after heartfelt page of a man doing battle within himself. Surely you must have come to the realization that none of Collier’s decisions was taken lightly. His intentions, prior to his meeting with this self-styled “Giant Rat” were clear enough, I would have thought.
‘His passion for archaeology and adventure had brought him to the very bowels of political and religious revolution. Once he had become aware of the potential significance of the beladau he decided, without a moment’s hesitation to reclaim this object from the clutches of the revolutionary Ghadar movement that threatened the stability of his country’s Empire. Were these the motives and actions of a traitor?’ Holmes asked pointedly.
‘Well, no, of course not,’ I replied without hesitation, although somewhat taken aback by my own admission. ‘However, his subsequent actions certainly seem to throw his loyalties into question.’
‘No, Watson; his subsequent actions are those of a man whose mind is in a state of turmoil. Do not forget that the letters suddenly become far more erratic and discursive and that, in reality, Collier spent many weeks, perhaps even months, in the camp of the Ghadar. During that time, while he practised and trained in the martial art of Indonesian silat, he gradually became influenced by the personality and qualities of Tilat and as a consequence Collier began to question the validity of his original motives and intentions.
‘That brings us, therefore, to the fundamental question of Britain’s right to rule in India. Do not reproach me, Watson, for I am fully aware that you suffered much during the Afghan campaign and that your favourite book is The Life of General Gordon. However we must not forget that Sir Michael Collier is undoubtedly a much travelled man who has seen and experienced a great deal that is extraordinary. Obviously he would, therefore, view these things in an entirely different perspective from our own.
‘Furthermore, he has encountered many individuals who have attained a profound spiritual awareness and he has become greatly influenced by them. Let us not forget his ‘lotus flower and the thorn’ enigma. In that sense do we even have the right to question the morals of the man, as we sit here snugly in our rooms in Baker Street? No, our task is to try to unravel his fate after he left the shores of Lake Toba.’
Holmes had not allowed me the opportunity to respond to any of these statements of his, such had been the speed and the passion with which he had delivered them. Once he had at length paused, in order that he might put a match to another pipe, he had rendered me as breathless as he undoubtedly was. I glanced up at him, as he sat there by the window, his long sharp features silhouetted against the grey, murky dawn outside and I could see that he was greatly moved by the travails of Sir Michael Collier.
‘Did
your extensive meditation shed any light on the possible outcome of Collier’s journeys and his subsequent fate?’ I asked at last.
Holmes viewed me quizzically for a moment or two before he replied. Perhaps he was unsure as to whether my question was of a cynical or sincere nature. Evidently he was convinced of the latter.
‘Sadly, it did not, although it did provide me with a profound insight into the nature of the man. I am convinced, therefore, that he would have followed Tilat’s instructions to the letter and set about negotiating the Alas River. That he was successful in this endeavour we know from the fact that Collier’s final letter was dispatched from Banda Aceh. As to whether Collier survived the journey from Meulaboh to Aceh is not so certain. As you might recall, it was his intention to dispatch his letter on board a packet ship from Meulaboh and it is likely that the ship’s last port of call would have been Aceh.
‘In his condition and with the Dutch evidently in hostile pursuit, it is highly improbable that Collier could have survived the journey from Meulaboh to Aceh; much less make it through the hostilities raging all about him as he tried to reach the quayside. No, I am afraid that Sir Michael Collier has been lost to us … and to his son,’ Holmes concluded, evidently much saddened at the thought.
I nodded solemnly in full agreement with Holmes’s assessment of Collier’s likely fate.
‘Of course, if Collier had survived, I am of little doubt that he would have made contact with his son by now. After all, he should have arrived here several days ahead of his letters, had he lived,’ I offered.
Holmes viewed me with an air of amused surprise.
‘How so?’
‘That is because the mail packet-ships are some of the last few vessels that still make the journey from the Far East to this country without going through the Suez Canal.’ I replied.
‘Why would this be?’ Holmes asked, evidently amazed at the fount of knowledge that I had suddenly become. I was not altogether surprised at Holmes’s apparent ignorance upon the matter. Such was the man’s almost obsessive accumulating of knowledge on the subject of criminal detection that he had created a vacuum that would not allow him to concern himself with anything that was apparently irrelevant to his chosen profession.
My reply was delivered with as much pride as certainty.
‘Because mail packet-ships still operate without steam and there is always a risk that a becalmed sailing vessel might obstruct the channel for days on end. Consequently they still make the journey by going around The Cape of Good Hope which adds at least a further ten days to the journey time!’
‘Really? Well, Watson, you certainly scintillate at this early hour, I must say. This information of yours undoubtedly clears up a little problem of mine very nicely. As you say Collier – or anybody else, for that matter, would have arrived here several days before the letters possibly could have done. But hush! I hear a most familiar voice in the hallway downstairs. Not a word about letters, beladaus or “Giant Rats”, mind you,’ Holmes quietly warned me.
I nodded my confirmation just as a bedraggled Inspector Lestrade staggered into our room. I noted with some understandable relief that, on this occasion, the odious Alistair Dodd was not to be in attendance. There was an air of resigned disappointment about the hapless inspector that morning that surpassed anything that I had previously observed.
‘Gentlemen,’ Lestrade greeted us brusquely. ‘It is certainly most heartening to witness you both so actively involved upon the matter of the Matilda Briggs,’ Lestrade observed with unwanted sarcasm.
‘Ah, you are, no doubt, referring to that trifling affair at Canary Wharf.’ Holmes smiled mischievously.
‘Trifling affair?’ Lestrade repeated this derogatory description in a voice that can best be described as a raucous shriek. Each sinew of his scrawny neck stood out like stalks as he vented his rage and frustration. ‘Have you seen this morning’s papers? Have you any idea how much pressure Mr Dodd is exerting upon my superiors at the Yard? Yet still you have provided me with nothing to report. Trifling affair, indeed!’
Holmes smiled condescendingly at his erstwhile adversary and directed him towards a chair by the fire.
‘Steady your nerves, Inspector, for I am certain that matters are not quite as black as you have painted them. Even now I can hear Mrs Hudson scurrying up the stairs with a tray of toast and coffee.’
Holmes immediately leapt over to the door which he flung violently open before the poor woman could have a chance to steady herself. Mrs Hudson let out a shrill nervous cry whilst she was being hustled over to the table with her tray. As she turned to leave, Holmes suddenly called her back.
‘Oh, Mrs Hudson, have there been any replies to the various enquiries that you have dispatched on my behalf?’ Holmes asked of her.
Our landlady shook her head solemnly.
‘No, I am afraid not, Mr Holmes, save for the one that you received late yesterday evening.’
‘Ah well, I suppose that one can occasionally be wide of the mark.’ Holmes’s response was as surprising as it had been frivolous and he unceremoniously ushered Mrs Hudson from our room.
‘Well, I must say!’ she could be heard protesting in the distance.
‘So you can see, Inspector, that I have not been entirely inactive in your interests,’ Holmes stated, still in an inappropriate, light-hearted vein.
‘That might be all very well, but where are the results? There are no results!’ Lestrade protested plaintively.
As Holmes heard these words his countenance suddenly assumed a far more severe appearance.
‘That might be your perception of things as they stand, but evidently you have not taken up the various suggestive points that I indicated to you. For example, have you realized yet the significance of the ship’s manifest? Or the shifting of Thames tides in the autumn?’
Lestrade shifted around uncomfortably in his seat without uttering a reply.
‘What exactly is the significance of the tides?’ I asked quietly on Lestrade’s behalf.
‘Ah, do not suppose for one minute that I did not observe the disparaging looks that you gave me earlier, once you had perceived my ignorance on matters concerning the Suez Canal and mail packet-ships!’ Holmes said accusingly. I could not deny that his accusation was justified, but evidently I was equally unsuccessful at concealing my sense of guilt.
‘I can assure you, friend Watson, that you are not the only person who has acquired relevant nautical knowledge. You might be interested to know that one of my destinations, when I left you, ostensibly to invigorate my cramped leg, was the office of the harbour master. Even though he poured me out a cup of possibly the most poisonous tea that it has ever been my misfortune to have sampled, I enjoyed a most illuminating conversation with the man.’
Holmes paused for a moment as he took a gulp from a heavily sugared cup of black coffee and lit a cigarette.
‘No doubt it was he who enlightened you upon the subject of autumn tides,’ I suggested with some chagrin.
I am certain that the irony in my voice was not lost on Holmes; however he now viewed Lestrade and me with a mischievous smile of triumph and he took a long luxurious draw on his cigarette.
‘We discussed a good deal more than that, I can assure you,’ Holmes eventually replied.
There was something in Holmes’s tone of voice that prompted me to take out my notebook and pencil.
‘It really has been too bad of me to have protracted things for so long. I presume that you would prefer it if I were to explain the mystery of the Matilda Briggs before we make our return visit to the offices of the Red Cannon shipping line in Pepys Street?’ Holmes asked, somewhat unnecessarily.
‘Well, of course! Yet how can you possibly claim to have solved the mystery? You have barely left our rooms in over forty-eight hours! Besides, what reason could you have for making a return visit to Pepys Street?’
Holmes shook his head dejectedly.
‘Watson, Watson, you ask so many questions an
d make so many assumptions. You of all people should not mistake my apparent inactivity for lack of progress. Do not forget that not all of my wires have remained unanswered. For example, my enquiries of the port authorities at Port Said have revealed that young Carlo Maddelena was already a member of the crew of the Matilda Briggs prior to her arrival there!’
‘Good heavens, Holmes, that would imply that Declan McCrory was telling us a blatant lie. But why should he wish to mislead us upon such an apparently routine matter?’ I asked.
‘Why indeed? However, that fact alone set into motion a chain of thought that led me to the inevitable conclusion that perhaps there were other matters upon which McCrory had not been totally honest,’ Holmes replied.
‘But where is any of this leading us?’ an exasperated Inspector Lestrade suddenly exclaimed.
‘It leads us, rather conveniently, to the three pieces of evidence that I uncovered on board the ship, which had so mysteriously eluded Scotland Yard’s finest.’ Lestrade turned sheepishly away as he heard this latest example of Holmes’s sarcasm, a tone that Holmes delighted in whenever he might be discussing the merits of the official force.
‘You have, no doubt, read and digested the contents of the Matilda Briggs manifest?’ Holmes asked, in the manner of one who already knows the answer to his question.
‘Well … yes, of course, although there was nothing there that could possibly shed any light upon the mystery of the ship’s missing crew.’ Lestrade’s embarrassment had been visibly heightened by this latest question from Holmes.
‘Ah, so you still hold to the assumption that the crew are missing?’ Holmes asked.
Lestrade laughed nervously when he heard this.
‘Well, of course, what other conclusion is there to draw when a ship is found, deserted and untethered, beside a dock that she was not scheduled to put in to?’
‘Perhaps that she had already been unloaded and then cut adrift by that same, supposedly missing, crew?’ Holmes suggested.
This time it was Lestrade who broke into a mischievous and triumphant smile.
Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 13
