Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra

by Paul D. Gilbert

  ‘You have done well, Inspector. Every eventuality has now been anticipated and I am certain that this affair can be brought to a satisfactory conclusion on this very morning!’ Holmes enthusiastically declared.

  We arrived at Collier’s hotel in what, I am certain, was record time. We were gratified to see that the dishevelled young archaeologist met us at the cab most promptly, with the ever vigilant Sergeant Rutherford in a close attendance. With our party now complete, we set off for Canary Wharf!

  The deserted streets were bathed in the cold grey light of a dozen gas lamps, which gradually became rarer and dimmer as we drew ever closer to the river. The echoes from the horse’s hoofs seemed to resound throughout every corner of the city and we soon realized that the element of surprise would surely be lost unless we slowed the speed of our approach. King was not unmindful of this and as we slowed to a walk I could sense the growing tension amongst the occupants of the cab.

  Lestrade stared blindly ahead of him, unmindful of his surroundings as his mind played out every possible eventuality that he could imagine. Judging by the forlorn look on his face, none of them was good. For his part, Collier just seemed to be glad that he was at last able to escape the claustrophobic confines of his room. He was fired by the prospect of some excitement and he was constantly twisting the barrel of his revolver, as if there was a chance that he had missed a bullet on the last occasion he had checked them.

  Wiggins was incessantly straining his neck through the window, so that he was able to give us as much warning as he could, before we came too close to Tilat’s hideout. Rutherford was every inch the resolute professional. He moved not a jot and his large, impassive face did not betray a single thought or emotion.

  Holmes sat quite still, with his eyes tightly shut. A strange enigmatic smile, which occasionally touched his lips, seemed to indicate that the thought of the imminent confrontation had calmed his fraught nerves. All the while he was softly humming a few chords from the Bruch concerto that he had treated me to earlier.

  The distant muffled groan of a ship’s fog horn warned us that we were now close to the water. Holmes’s eyes suddenly sprang open, as if they had suddenly been released. He immediately offered cigarettes to each one of us, even to the boy, and I, for one, accepted mine with an unbecoming fervour. After all, a man can only get so much comfort from a cold hunk of metal in his pocket!

  A thick dawn fog, which was flirting with the surface of the Thames, began to encroach beyond the waterline and one of its effects was to accentuate the penetrating echo from our horse’s hoofs. Mercifully, Wiggins grabbed Holmes’s coat sleeve at this moment and Holmes tapped softly on the roof of the cab. King promptly brought us to a halt.

  Holmes ushered Wiggins from the cab and as he closed the door behind them he asked the rest of us to await his return.

  ‘I shall return for you once I have established that the way ahead is clear. King, it is imperative that you keep your noble beast as still and as silent as he is at the moment.’ Holmes ran his hand along the horse’s long and matted mane and, with the gangly urchin leading the way, the two of them were soon swallowed up by the all-embracing fog, which was thickening by the minute.

  King had ensured that we were some way from a gas lamp when he had eventually pulled over, so that my watch was rendered useless in the near-darkness. I could, therefore, only guess as to the length of time that Holmes was away from the cab, but it certainly appeared to be considerably longer than the thirty minutes that he had subsequently assured me that it had been.

  The tense and stilted silence within the cab was eventually broken by the sound of soft, muffled footsteps, which were coming towards us from the direction of the river. We assumed that the sound came from the feet of Holmes and Wiggins; however, we were still much relieved at the sight of Holmes’s smiling and eager face as he presented it through the open cab window.

  ‘Stealth and absolute silence are of the absolute essence if we are to thwart our opponent with the minimum of effort,’ Holmes warned us as he beckoned us from the cab with a crook of his finger.

  It was decided that ‘Gunner’ King was to remain at the ready with his cab, so that we were prepared for the eventuality of needing an urgent departure. The former artillery man pulled up his muffler and tugged down his cap as he set himself for what might have proved to be a lengthy vigil. Before we set off Holmes dispatched young Wiggins to return home, or to whichever door way would serve as one that night. We stood watching him flit from corner to corner, skilfully avoiding the glare of the gas lights, until we were certain that he was safely away from the area. Then we turned our attention to the river front and the matter at hand.

  Naturally Holmes led the way, followed by Lestrade, Collier, myself, with Sergeant Rutherford holding back by a few yards at the rear. As far as the rest of us were concerned Holmes was surely leading us into the dark unknown. Every one of the narrow and cobbled alleyways that we were creeping along seemed to become ever darker and narrower as they sloped away before us towards the docks.

  The thickening fog rendered the cobble stones damp and treacherous and they seemed to become looser and further apart the more we progressed. Consequently it became increasingly difficult for us to maintain a sure footing and I, for one, lost mine on several occasions. The sound of barges setting off their warning horns gradually became more frequent and, though muffled by the fog, noticeably louder.

  The need for a cautious silence was now more obvious than ever before and when Sergeant Rutherford could no longer contain his raw booming cough, Holmes turned and glared a warning in his direction. The big man mumbled an embarrassed apology and wrapped his scarf around his mouth.

  In this manner we continued for a few more yards until Holmes indicated that he wanted us to crouch down low as a further precaution against being seen. We followed his lead and our progress became yet slower and more uncomfortable. At last Holmes raised his hand above his head, which indicated that he wanted our tiny column to come to a halt.

  We immediately closed up behind him, apart from Rutherford who continued to hold back. Holmes pointed towards a ramshackle, disused warehouse, which was situated directly upon the water’s edge. It was a red brick, two-storey building, whose metal roof was much corroded by mist and its large wooden door was only connected to its frame by a single hinge.

  To the right of the building I could just make out the distinctive and ghostly outline of the Matilda Briggs. I watched for a moment while the chill breeze blowing up from the estuary was causing the fog to dance around the tips of the ship’s bare masts in strange spectral patterns.

  Berthed to the left of the steam clipper could be seen the smaller shape of a schooner. We subsequently discovered that she was the Bellerophon, the very ship upon which Tilat had arranged to escape. We could make out activity on the deck, which confirmed Wiggins’s assertion that she was planning a dawn departure; we could only hope that Tilat had not yet taken up his berth. A moment later we realized that our fears were unfounded.

  ‘It would seem that Wiggins has surely hit the mark,’ Holmes whispered. ‘See, even now a light burning inside the hut is clearly visible.’

  Sure enough, we could just make out the dull orange glow of an oil flame seeping out around the edges of the precarious door. We all exchanged glances of relief, for we now realized that the object of our stealthy visit was undoubtedly still at home!

  ‘Watson and I will now approach the warehouse door,’ Holmes said, also indicating that my revolver should be at the ready by glancing towards the pocket of my overcoat.

  ‘That task should surely fall to Rutherford and myself, seeing as we are the only members of the official force presently on the scene.’ However, Lestrade’s barely audible objections were irrelevant as Holmes was already halfway to the warehouse entrance and I was close on his heels. I fingered my revolver repeatedly as I crept up behind him and laid a firm grip upon its handle the moment Holmes had placed his hand upon the surface of the do
or.

  From the very instant that the door began to move we realized that any hope that we might have had of catching the room’s occupant unawares was surely lost. Despite Holmes’s extreme caution there was no disguising the shuddering shriek that the rusty hinge immediately emitted. Holmes changed his tack at once and with a full swing of his boot he sent the door hurling to the ground with an almighty crash!

  The remainder of our party caught up with us without delay and, with weapons drawn, we all entered the warehouse ready and prepared for the inevitable confrontation. I would not say that we were actually disappointed when this did not occur, because we each let out a deep sigh of released tension, once we had realized that the room was completely empty. Nevertheless it was disheartening to recognize that all of our efforts at apprehending Tilat appeared to have been thwarted at the very moment of our anticipated success.

  It was left to Holmes to raise our flagging spirits once more.

  ‘Do not distress yourselves unduly, gentlemen, for all is not yet lost,’ he announced with an anticipatory smile.

  ‘How can you make such a statement?’ I turned on Holmes irritably. ‘The man we are after is nowhere to be seen!’

  ‘You know my method, Watson, and when I say to you that Tilat is still within our reach, you should know that I am not making an empty gesture of encouragement. Look around you and observe.’

  Holmes raised the flap at the front of his lantern to add to the light generated by the small oil lamp in the far corner of the room. The extra illumination revealed very little to me. The damp empty chamber was chill from neglect, and the plaster was crumbling away from its warped walls. A few broken tea chests were scattered around the room, their contents emptied or decomposed long ago. Then I noticed a small bundle, held together with string, that was lying on the floor close to the lamp. There was every indication that it might have been a collection of personal belongings. There was nothing more.

  ‘I can see nothing that would raise my expectations.’ I shook my head dejectedly.

  ‘Look at the remains of the oil in the lamp, Watson. Can you not see that it is almost full?’

  ‘Of course! The lamp has only been alight for a few minutes,’ I declared.

  ‘That and the fact that his meagre luggage is still here means that Tilat must be very close by. We would have noticed him if he had attempted to board the schooner,’ Holmes added.’

  ‘Perhaps we should examine his belongings while we have the opportunity?’ Lestrade suggested.

  As usual Holmes was a step ahead of the official detective and he had already positioned his lamp on the floor next to the bundle when Sergeant Rutherford suddenly burst in upon us.

  ‘You had better come quickly and have a look at this,’ he called. ‘I do not know what to make of it, I am sure.’

  Holmes jumped up from the floor and we all followed Rutherford back outside.

  We found him pointing towards the rooftop of an adjacent warehouse that was no more than a stone’s throw away from the Bellerophon. Every so often a glimpse of the three-quarter moon was revealed by a momentary clearing in the constantly shifting fog. We followed the line of Rutherford’s arm and as the moon was revealed, for the briefest of instants, its cold, silvery light highlighted a startling sight.

  There, turning this way and that and resembling for all the world a primeval animal hopelessly trapped within a jungle fire, was the diabolical sight of the man in the crimson robe!

  I could not understand how a man as clever and resourceful as Tilat undoubtedly was, could have allowed himself to fall into so precarious a situation. I could only presume that he been attempting to reach the Bellerophon before her departure, but had then discovered that his route to the schooner had been cut off by one of the steam launches that Lestrade had put into position for that very purpose. We were subsequently informed that this had indeed been so.

  The glare from the moon highlighted the remarkable figure of this robed rebel leader, perfectly. He stood out in relief against the background of the London skyline and I realized that he would be an easy target for my revolver at so short a distance. I slowly removed my weapon from its pocket and was on the point of training it upon Tilat, when a strong hand pushed downwards upon its barrel.

  ‘No, Watson. We have much still to learn from this remarkable man and it would be wrong to deprive ourselves of the opportunity of doing so. Besides, we are not even certain, as yet, of the exact circumstances that led to the tragedy aboard the Matilda Briggs. Tilat may be guilty of nothing more than trying to protect himself. He may have killed only in self-defence. With the knowledge that we now have of Mandel’s true character, it would not be entirely unlikely if that proves to be the case.’

  ‘Mr Holmes, surely you are not suggesting that we are to allow a suspected multiple killer to escape?’ Lestrade asked excitedly.

  ‘No, Inspector, I am suggesting nothing of the sort. Remember that there are many different ways of skinning a cat.’

  ‘Then what exactly are you proposing?’

  I noticed, with some consternation that, before answering Lestrade’s question, Holmes removed his coat and then his jacket and tie. He then strode purposefully towards a frail metal ladder that was attached to the building upon which Tilat had now trapped himself.

  I ran towards him and attempted to hold him back.

  ‘Holmes, I really must protest,’ I called out. ‘Surely this time you risk too much!’

  Lestrade ran over and voiced his own concerns, but Holmes remained resolute and would not bow to our entreaties.

  ‘Do not be too alarmed. After all, if my baritsu form of Japanese wrestling was able to account for Colonel Moriarty, I am certain that it will prove itself to be more than a match for this master of silat.’ Holmes smiled reassuringly as he began to climb.

  ‘I beseech you not to shoot unless we are faced with the most dire of circumstances.’ Holmes’s voice echoed down to me, but even as I put my gun away, I remained unconvinced by his declaration and my hand remained clenched upon my pistol inside my pocket.

  We all moved back so that we could observe clearly the events upon the roof, although I made sure that I remained within a comfortable shooting distance. At one point it seemed as though Tilat was contemplating making a perilous leap from his roof to one that was a full twenty yards away! However, once he realized that Holmes was climbing towards him, he abandoned that extreme measure and moved across in order to confront Holmes at the head of the ladder. He realized that at that precise moment Holmes would be at his most vulnerable.

  Fortunately Holmes was also aware of that possibility and he hesitated, once he had reached the head of the ladder, before lifting himself on to the roof itself. Holmes explained to me afterwards that silat was a martial art that was similar in many ways to the Chinese art of kung fu. Its origins could be traced back over a thousand years to the Indian Himalayas and it was as much a spiritual discipline as a physical one. This explained Tilat’s next action. Instead of attacking Holmes as soon as he had reached the top of the ladder, Tilat stood quite still and upright while he moved his arms forward and upwards in a series of slow controlled movements. This form of standing meditation was Tilat’s way of drawing in and controlling his chi or, in other words, the universal force that is all around us. Finally he removed his straw sandals with great care.

  This moment of hesitation, no matter how crucial it had been to Tilat’s preparation, allowed Holmes the chance to gain the rooftop unhindered. He turned towards us, momentarily, and the thrill of an impending battle clearly flared like living flames in his eyes. He then turned to face his opponent.

  By this time Tilat had concluded his meditation and he was now practising his own particular form of silat, which he had based upon the movements and the mannerisms of the Sumatran rat monkey. Of course, my only experience of monkeys had been limited to my observations within the zoological gardens of Regent’s Park. However I could not fail to notice how uncannily akin to our s
imian cousins Tilat’s movements undoubtedly were.

  Unlike Holmes’s baritsu wrestling, many of Tilat’s movements were ground-based, and as he slowly made his way towards Holmes he would occasionally drop to the ground and swing his legs around in swift circular movements. Holmes stood defiantly before him and raised his palms ahead of him, in readiness for the initial attack.

  At that moment Tilat let out a startling and deafening battle cry that chilled us all to the core as it echoed around the cold and deserted docks. Clearly this cry did not have the desired effect upon Holmes’s determination, for he continued to face Tilat down. Yet, despite his intense concentration, Holmes was caught completely unawares by Tilat’s first ploy.

  Tilat threatened with the palms of his hands, in a manner similar to that described by Michael Collier, when he mentioned the caged rat monkey in Tilat’s Sumatran camp. Holmes countered that with a thrust of his own, but was unprepared for a sudden swing from Tilat’s left leg.

  Tilat caught Holmes on his right calf with a sickening crunch and although he did not fall Holmes was clearly caught off balance. This allowed Tilat the opportunity to move in with a strike of his palm to Holmes’s shoulder. All that Holmes could do was fend it off with a wrist-hold of his own. Holmes’s style relied almost entirely on close contact and holds, but Tilat’s constant circular motions, which were fluid and almost balletic, made this virtually impossible.

  Once or twice Holmes did manage to manoeuvre himself inside Tilat’s guard and force a grip upon one of his arms, but on each occasion, with a simple floating turn, Tilat managed to extricate himself again and then launch a fresh attack of his own. Instinctively and not without a tinge of guilt, I felt my grip upon my revolver becoming ever tighter.

  Holmes’s normally well-groomed hair was constantly falling down over his eyes and as he pushed it back, time and again, I noticed that there was evidence of numerous facial cuts and bruises that were beginning to swell around his eyes. The constant barrage of swift and subtle blows that Tilat was raining down upon him was clearly beginning to take its toll upon my friend and he seemed to have no suitable response.