Gradually a pattern seemed to be emerging, in which Tilat was slowly manoeuvring Holmes towards the edge of the rooftop. At one point Holmes was actually teetering on the roof’s very edge and he was balancing on the balls of his feet! I was on the point of releasing a volley from my revolver when Holmes miraculously launched himself into a overhead leap that saw him crash to the floor in a position of safety. With a feeling of intense relief I eased my finger away from the trigger. It seemed as if Holmes’s final instructions were still controlling my actions, although I was obeying them with some reluctance.
Tilat would have been on to him in an instant; however Holmes managed to spring to his feet in time, then, in an act of extreme desperation, he hurled his entire body towards that of his opponents. A simple twist of his waist was all that Tilat needed to execute in order to avoid the impact of Holmes’s frantic attack. Then, inexplicably, Tilat stopped in his tracks.
He stood upright once more and went through the same ritual that he had displayed at the beginning of the battle. His bearing and posture were imperious as he stood there composing himself for what would be his final onslaught. Holmes stood before him, defiant and fearless to the last and yet clearly overwhelmed by the extraordinary skills and powers of an undoubted master of his art. As a sign of his respect for Holmes’s bravery, Tilat slowly bowed his head towards him.
Then Tilat let up another of his chilling battle cries and began to execute another series of his deadly circular movements and palm thrusts. Each one of these seemed to find their mark and by now Holmes was capable of offering little or no resistance!
Their progress towards the roof’s edge was swifter and unhindered this time. Holmes looked over his shoulder repeatedly as he sensed the chill oblivion that surely now awaited him. His battered body swayed this way and that and Tilat’s attack was remorseless. I remembered Holmes’s words and decided that these were ‘dire circumstances’ indeed.
Then, and to my intense surprise, when I was at the very point of releasing my bullets, Holmes’s strident voice echoed out once more.
‘In heaven’s name, do not shoot!’
Even now, when the preservation of my friend’s life was my sole object and all other hope was lost, the effect that his voice had upon my actions was absolute. I lowered my revolver once more, at the very instant that a younger and steadier hand than mine had fired off a volley of his own. The bullet from Daniel Collier’s revolver had caught Tilat cleanly in the centre of his throat.
With a blood-curdling cry the man in the crimson robe clutched both hands to his fatal wound. He was forced to spin around, by the momentum of the shot and, without another sound, he disappeared over the edge of the roof and into the dark abyss!
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FINAL LETTER
The manner in which Collier had allowed his weapon to drop from his hand and then the anger with which he had kicked it away from himself, once it had landed on the slippery stones at his feet, seemed to suggest to me that this had been the first occasion on which he had been required to use his revolver in anger. The idea of taking another life was clearly abhorrent to him; he turned pale and quickly ran to a nearby drain down which he vomited uncontrollably.
However, my immediate concern was not with the well-being of the young archaeologist, who had still many lessons to learn, about both life and death. For my bruised and battered friend was lying prostrate on a rooftop above me; he was clearly in need of my attention. I lost no time in ascending the ladder and I was by his side in an instant.
To my relief and great surprise I discovered that Holmes was still conscious by the time that I had reached him. He smiled weakly as soon as he recognized me. It did not take me long to ascertain that many of his injuries were most severe and I could only offer a prayer of thanks that Holmes had not met the same fate as that of Carl Mandel.
I cursed myself for having embarked on such a mission without having brought my bag with me. I immediately called down to Rutherford and asked him to dispatch ‘Gunner’ King to Baker Street, so that he might collect it for me without a moment’s delay.
‘In heaven’s name, Holmes, why did you allow yourself to come to this? To forbid me to shoot was sheer folly,’ I protested once I had returned to his side. He grimaced most grotesquely when I informed him that it had been Collier who had fired the fatal shot at Tilat. It was all I could do to prevent him from trying to raise himself from the floor.
His voice was hoarse and weak; therefore, he grabbed at my collar and pulled me close to his mouth so that I could hear him.
‘Do you not see? I had at last managed to penetrate the veil!’ Even in this semi-conscious state Holmes could not avoid being anything less than enigmatic. His meaning was not clear to me. Perhaps he was suffering from a mild touch of delirium? Nevertheless, the effort that he had expended in making this point to me was evidently more than his ravaged constitution could bear and he fainted quietly away.
I folded my overcoat and placed it gently beneath his head. Once I was satisfied that he was as comfortable as he could be, I stood up and lit a cigarette.
This strange and fateful dawn had, by now, daubed everything around me with a sepia hue. The fog was still dense, yet the Matilda Briggs had assumed a most surreal aspect that only added to its mystery. The barges in the distance seemed to float in and out of the folds of rolling mists and their horns were the only sound that pierced the gloom.
Then the call of excited voices rose up from the decks of the Bellerophon as the crew came up to discover the cause of all of the commotion. They could not know that their mysterious passenger’s demise was the cause of this ensuing mayhem. Then a familiar voice rang out above all of the others.
Inspector Lestrade had assumed control over the police launches and he was now directing the operation to recover Tilat’s body. He was clearly in his element and could already, no doubt, see the headlines in the next day’s papers! I smiled to myself as the pitch of his voice rose in proportion to his increasing agitation.
By now Collier had recovered sufficiently for him to be able to join me on the roof top together with Sergeant Rutherford. It was not without some difficulty that we three managed to manoeuvre Holmes back down to street level without causing him further harm. Holmes remained unconscious throughout and by the time we had reached Tilat’s hideaway King had returned with my medical bag.
We had found some sacking in a corner of the warehouse and proceeded to lay Holmes carefully upon it. I set to work immediately with some iodine and swabs and soon realized that Holmes’s wounds were not as severe as I had at first feared them to be. The sharp effect of the iodine upon his open wounds soon brought Holmes back to full consciousness and, with surprising co-operation on his part, I managed to find the areas that were causing him the most discomfort and pain. Of course, the healing of his ribs would have to take its full and natural course.
The pain from his ribs, on each occasion that he coughed, soon put paid to any inclination that Holmes might have had to smoke. However I had fortunately brought along a flask full of brandy and I fed this to Holmes in copious amounts. The alcohol soon had the desired effect and in a short while Holmes felt able to turn his attention towards the bundle that comprised Tilat’s abandoned luggage.
Tilat surely lived most frugally, for his baggage contained nothing of note. A simple change of clothes and a spare pair of straw sandals made up his wardrobe and these had been arranged so as to protect two small oilskin packets. As he delicately fingered each object Holmes gave the impression that he already had a good idea of what he was likely to find inside them.
At that point a rather excited Inspector Lestrade strode triumphantly into the room.
‘We have him!’ he declared. ‘We shall have to lay him down in here for a while, I am afraid, until the wagon has arrived for him. He is an absolute giant of a man, you know, and it is taking three of my best men to struggle over here with him!’
Then he noticed Holmes, who was bendin
g over in the corner.
‘How is our friend progressing, Doctor?’ Lestrade whispered anxiously.
‘I thank you for your concern, Inspector, but I can assure you that I am more than capable of answering on my own behalf! I have suffered a few minor cuts and bruises and nothing more.’
‘A few cuts and bruises indeed! You took an almighty beating, Holmes, and young Collier’s timely intervention prevented it from becoming something far worse than that. You really must take care, you know.’ I said this while knowing full well the futility of making such a suggestion.
‘Yes indeed, we really must congratulate you, young man.’ Lestrade addressed Collier. ‘You displayed a cool head and a steady arm, as I am certain that Mr Holmes will readily and gratefully acknowledge.’
Holmes smiled briefly and mumbled something incoherently under his breath. With some effort and a display of discomfort, Holmes slowly stood up again. He was now holding the two oilskin packets, but he appeared to be strangely reluctant to open either of them. To my dismay Holmes lit himself a cigarette, then struggled to suppress the inevitable and painful cough that it induced.
‘Your wounds will never heal themselves if you treat them in such a cavalier fashion,’ I protested.
Holmes placed his right forefinger over his pursed lips and moved towards the doorway to await the arrival of Tilat’s body, while still clinging on to the two curious packets.
The three burly constables were indeed struggling beneath the weight of the sodden corpse, and I wasted no time in offering my assistance as they laid him down upon the bed of sacking that Holmes had so recently vacated. We were all taken aback by Tilat’s dramatic appearance; even in death he seemed to command respect and reverence.
His striking robe was soaked through and reeked with the stench that it had collected from the river Thames. His head covering did chillingly invoke the vision of death that Carl Mandel had alluded to before he died. It was still clearly etched with a representation of the Sumatran rat monkey that Tilat had so vividly emulated with his silat movements.
Holmes appeared to be strangely pensive and hesitant before, at last, he requested that I remove Tilat’s unusual head-wear. Sergeant Rutherford led his constables outside and we four fell into a deferential silence as I moved the oil lamp across the room to the side of the corpse. The muted orange light cast a gigantic shadow of the dead rebel leader upon the adjacent wall, and the removal of his mask felt strangely intrusive to me.
I was able to peel it away without any great difficulty; however, the face that was revealed was far removed from the one that I had pictured in my mind’s eye. I glanced around at my companions to see if this revelation was having the same effect upon them. Evidently Lestrade had built up no such picture, for he appeared to be unmoved and indifferent.
Holmes’s face clouded over and he suddenly turned his head away from the sight, as if greatly pained by a stark realization, although not entirely surprised by it.
Daniel Collier’s reaction was as dramatic as it had been unexpected. The colour in his face became as ashen as that of the dead man himself and, with a haunting moan of lament, he fainted clean away and he dropped on to the harsh ungiving floor!
My dear son Daniel, if you are reading this now and my final letter has not fallen into the hands of strangers, for whose eyes it was never intended, it surely signifies that I have failed in my attempts to reach you and entrust the beladau into your noble charge.
It would be unfair of me to bid you my final farewell without having first acquainted you with the events that have brought me to this sorry pass.
As I sat there, on the waters of Lake Toba, agonizing over my next course of action, it suddenly occurred to me that fate was leading me inexorably towards the rapids of the Alas river and the port town of Meulaboh. Having reached this conclusion I set off without a moment’s further hesitation.
My journey home began under the most tranquil of circumstances. The waterfall, which emptied out of the lake at its most north-westerly outlet, was far less precipitous than the inlet that I had negotiated at Sipiso-Piso, and I therefore encountered no real difficulty in achieving my descent. Furthermore, the Alas showed no signs of living up to its fearsome reputation and I began to row effortlessly along its serene waters.
However, once I had negotiated a series of narrow and treelined gorges the Alas began to tilt dramatically towards the downlands. Rocky outcrops began to appear in the centre of the stream and I had to use my new oars, which the Ghadar had had constructed especially for this purpose, to fend myself away from them. As the pace of the river gradually increased this became more and more difficult.
My reinforced boat began to take a severe buffeting and during the course of a series of collisions one of my oars splintered into matchwood! I was now fighting a constant battle for survival and this intensified as the river transformed into a series of turbulent rapids. It needed constant effort to keep my boat afloat and on an even keel, and I prayed for at least a moment or two of relief. This was not to be granted.
As I drew closer to sea level the drops between each short level stretch of water became ever steeper and my remaining oar was rapidly becoming useless. Once again I found that my fate was to be consigned to the lap of the gods and I strapped myself to the bottom of my boat, there to await whatever outcome they had arranged for me.
It turned out that once again I had been blessed. My boat came to an abrupt halt as it collided into and became embedded in a soft sand bank, no more than a hundred yards away from the tiny port of Meulaboh. The size of the port belied the importance of the town itself. Meulaboh boasted a thriving fishing industry and the town itself comprised a colourful agglomeration of single-storey wooden buildings and its economic expansion was only limited by the shallowness of its harbour.
As you have already probably surmised, I managed to find a mail packet-ship that was homeward bound, and from the proceeds of the sale of my favourite compass I managed to secure a passage for myself aboard her all the way to war-torn Banda Aceh. Before embarking I decided to destroy and sink my tiny boat, in the hope that its remains might throw the Dutch off my trail, should they be pursuing me.
It might sound strange for you to hear, but as I holed her tiny hull I was riddled with regret and pangs of great sadness. After all, for so long now she had been my rudimentary home and at times my salvation.
Once the mail ship was well under way I decided to explain my dilemma to the ship’s captain, a gruff red-faced Scotsman who sported a luxuriant white beard and went by the name of ‘Father’ Campbell. In truth, however, he could not have been further removed from a true man of the cloth. He seemed to curse with every other word that he hollered and drank thirstily from a bottle of Scotch whisky at every opportunity!
Of course I did not divulge to him the true nature of my mission, although the explanation of my plight was sufficient to gain his sympathy and co-operation. He was equally generous with his bottle and over a glass of two, on our first night out, he told me of a deep inlet within a half-mile of Aceh harbour, where he could set me down and thereby avoid any unwanted attention when we arrived at the main harbour.
This proposal suited me very well and allowed me the chance to enter Aceh under cover of darkness. I entrusted my third letter to you into the hands of Captain Campbell and, confident that his final port of call was to be the port of London, I disembarked at the prearranged location.
There had been rumours of how the fighting between the Dutch and the Sultanate’s guerrilla forces had been dying down in recent days and as I approached the thinly populated outer suburbs of Aceh I was relieved to find that I had had no reason to doubt them. In the distance, towards the more built-up areas close to the harbour, I did notice the dull red glow of smouldering buildings. These were few and far between, however and the sounds of gunfire were sporadic.
I felt my way along the silent and darkened streets in the hope that I might come across a place of shelter for the night. I was
most fortunate in that I managed to gain the trust of a street wise young urchin who went by the name of Shamir. Without a moment’s hesitation he led me to a burnt-out building which he had ingeniously converted into a rudimentary home for himself from the surrounding rubble.
I had to sacrifice my last remaining item of any value, the gold pendant that had been presented to me by the Royal Society upon my return from East Africa. However such an object would probably enable Shamir to survive a full year upon the streets of his war-scarred home and for this he was willing and able to assist me in any way that I needed.
The following morning, shortly after he had brought me a nourishing breakfast of fruits, Shamir set off at once for the port to see if there was any news of London-bound shipping. When he returned that evening he shook his head sadly because he sincerely felt that he had let me down. Unfortunately this became a pattern, repeated throughout the ensuing days and I was beginning to believe that my letter would arrive so far in advance of me that you would begin to harbour grave doubts for my welfare.
Then one day Shamir arrived with the most tragic news imaginable, although, of course, he had no way of knowing its true significance to me. The Dutch were celebrating the defeat of the brave and noble Tilat and his men at the Battle of the Lake. Tilat’s body was being shipped back to India as a gesture of goodwill towards the British. I did not wish the boy to witness the effect that this news was having upon me and so I decided to take myself for a walk. A walk that lasted until well after dawn!
By the time I had returned to Shamir’s shelter I was filled with the same resolve to return Tilat’s beladau safely to London, even though my motives for so doing were now vastly different. One day, perhaps, a new leader would emerge who would have need of this symbol of his people’s freedom. In the meantime I would entrust it into your care, my dear boy, for there is no one else in whom I would bestow this sacred trust without a moment’s doubt.
Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 19
