Sherlock Holmes Never Dies- Collection Four

by Copland, Craig Stephen

  Holmes was yet again asking my thoughts and opinions on crimes and mysteries that he was working on. On this occasion, however, I did have a thought. I had spent several years in Her Majesty’s Expeditionary Forces and had learned a thing or two about military strategy. So, with some confidence, I offered my opinion.

  “I have observed,” I said, “that the greater area of Tokyo and Yokohama appears to be the beating heart of the country, the sole center of all commerce, finance, trade, and political control.”

  “Yes, Watson, that has been obvious. The hinterland is still somewhat primitive by comparison. Go on.”

  “Well then, if I had been the Czar or the poor chap who was Admiral of his Baltic Fleet, I would never have sailed through the East China Sea and into the Sea of Japan. Port Arthur had already fallen, and he sailed into a trap. The boats were spotted, and the Japanese Navy was ready and waiting for him. If I had been in charge, I would have sailed east into the Pacific and then swung back and charged into Tokyo Bay and blockaded it. The hundreds of trading ships that enter and leave this body of water could have been bottled up. Japanese commerce would be brought to an ignominious halt. Yes, I would have used the same strategy as Admiral Perry did fifty years ago. It worked then, it might have worked again. That is what I think, Holmes.”

  “Ah, interesting, doctor. But what has that to do with our Mr. O’Neill.”

  “If he were in cahoots with the Russians, then he could have sent back all the intelligence necessary regarding what harbors to use, what straits to be avoided, and what ships of the Japanese Navy were nearby.”

  Holmes said nothing for several minutes and continued to look out to sea.

  “I must say, Watson, that is a rather good deduction. Yes, rather good, indeed. Had he provided good intelligence to the Russians, and had they followed your strategy, the war might have taken a very different turn. That, however, we shall never know, but it does help us to narrow our search for the chap to those avenues that might have been of interest to a spy. Thank you, Watson. That has been very useful.”

  Such praise from Holmes was rare, and I confess that my chest puffed up just a little. I began to fix my gaze on the approaching coastline, looking for strategic harbors into which Russian battleships should have sailed and in which the attaché might still be hiding.

  “I made some inquiries,” said Holmes as we neared the port, “concerning our lost attaché. He was seen on the island, but it was agreed that he departed on the same boat that we are now on. The island is a small place with a tightly knit populace. It is impossible that our attaché could have returned there and hidden himself. For that reason, and given your insights concerning the necessity of intelligence information, I fully suspect that he is still hiding in one of these towns along the edge of the bay. As it is always easier to hide in a larger center than a smaller one, I am conjecturing that we might manage to run into Mr. O’Neill in Atami. Would you agree?”

  I immediately agreed although I must admit I had no idea where the blighter might have gone. He could be half way to Timbuktu by now, for all I knew.

  Our lectures in the towns of the peninsula went well. The crowds were smaller and poorer than we found in the capital of Tokyo, but that was to be expected. After the lecture in Atami, Holmes took me aside.

  “Even though I do not trust our Tommy farther than I could throw him, he has been quite helpful in asking discreet questions about the missing British diplomat. He has been seen around this town on numerous occasions, and Tommy believes that he may be residing at one of the most exclusive retreats in the upper town, beyond the railway tracks. I have asked him to arrange a visit for us to the place. I assume, doctor, that you are prepared to participate in an onsen?”

  I had read briefly about Japan’s public baths. Atami had an abundance of them since the warm mineral water that the people prized so greatly was bubbling up from the depths in many places within the townsite.

  “I am game, Holmes if you are.”

  Excellent, Watson. It will be a superb cultural adventure for us.”

  “Oh, Sherlock-san, that is wonderful news,” said Tommy beaming and bowing. “You will enjoy the onsen very much. The onsen in Atami are sandaionsen, one of Japan’s three great hot springs. The Japanese people have enjoyed them for over seven hundred years. I will make all arrangements. You will enjoy them very much. They are famous for refreshing both the body and soul.”

  I was not all convinced that my soul needed refreshing, but a good long soak in a warm bath could do my body no harm. So, the following day we took a cab from the lower town up to the Baien Park where we were let off.

  “It is unfortunate,” said Tommy, “that you could not be here back in February when the plum blossoms were blooming. They are not so abundant as the cherry blossoms, but they are fragrant. The experience is very good for the refreshing both the senses and the soul.”

  As it seemed inevitable that, in spite of my lack of appropriate motivation, my soul was to be attended to, I smiled at Tommy and made my way up the paths through the park. At the far end, perched on the top of the hill was a sprawling building. We entered and were immediately greeted by several beautiful young women, all dressed in kimonos and all with facial make-up that lightened their complexions. They took our shoes from us and led us through a sliding door and into an inner portion of the complex.

  “I have arranged a private washing area, sirs,” said Tommy. “The price is more but you are special gaijin visitors, and it would not do to have you treated like ordinary bathers. You will enjoy. Please remove your clothes and give them to the attendant.”

  “Please, Tommy,” I asked, “where are the baths? All I can see inside these cubicles is a stool.”

  “Ah, yes, Doctor John-san. This is where you are washed. Your body must be clean before entering the bath. Your helper will be here soon to wash you. Please remove your clothes and have a seat on the stool.”

  I shrugged and did as I was told. A few moments later the door to my cubicle opened, and I turned to see who was joining me. I gasped and blushed. The helper was another beautiful young woman in a kimono. She was bearing a large bucket of water in her one hand and some implements, soap, and brushes in her other. She bowed graciously and smiled, saying some words in Japanese that were incomprehensible. She put the bucket on the floor and, using a large dipper, extracted a quart or so of water, smiled again and poured it over my head.

  The water was startlingly hot and aromatic, with strong vapors of minerals invading my nostrils. The young woman then proceeded to scrub, rather more vigorously than I considered necessary, every square inch of my epidermis. When she was done, she smiled and bowed again and departed. A moment later the door was opened by Tommy, who stood entirely naked except for a towel that he held in a strategic location.

  “Come now, Dr. John-san. We can go to the bath.”

  When is Rome, do as the Romans do, is a well-known adage, and I assumed that it applied equally in Japan. So I held my towel in a discreet manner and followed him. I could see Holmes following us, his hands and towel similarly positioned. We followed Tommy out of the washing area and through another sliding door into a large moisture-laden hall in which I could see a pool of water waiting for us. Again, I stopped short and felt my eyes nearly pop out of my head. In the room must have been at least a hundred people of both sexes, mostly in the same age span of life as Holmes and me, and all as unclad as the day they were born. Good heavens, I thought to myself, this would never do in England, not even in Bath do they bathe in such a manner.

  It was disconcerting enough to follow Tommy to the edge of the pool while grasping firmly to my towel, but the word had gone out, it seemed, that two famous gaijin were visiting the onsen, and no end of men and women accosted me, smiled, bowed, and gave a friendly greeting. I would have preferred that they not bowed slowly and deeply while standing directly in front of my towel.

  Once in the near-scalding water I slowly relaxed, placed my folded towel on the to
p of my head, closed my eyes and enjoyed the aromas and the overwhelming sensory pleasure to which I had succumbed. Holmes did the same. When I opened my eyes, I was startled to see another European face sitting directly across from me and looking at me.

  “Hello there, old chap,” spoke the fellow. “Nice to have you come and visit. I was told that you boys were looking for me. So very kind of you to be concerned for my well-being. I can assure you, however, that I am alive and well and living in Atami.”

  Holmes calmly replied, “Attaché O’Neill, I presume.”

  “At your service, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I must say that as one of your fans I have always dreamed of chatting with you someday, but I must admit, really sir, that I never imagined with a towel instead of your famous hat on your head.” He chuckled pleasantly.

  “I do so wish I could stay and converse with the two of you, but I’m afraid that I am frightfully busy. My new enterprise here is enriching my bank account at ten times the rate I was paid by His Majesty’s Treasury. And, if I may say so, such a business is a pleasure. So many grateful customers, especially visitors from eastern Europe, where they do love their baths and thoroughly enjoy the enlightened way of doing things in this part of Nippon. So, terribly sorry there, old chaps, but I must excuse myself. Business calls. Give my regards to the Legation.”

  He immediately stood up and departed the bath, leaving us to stare at the pale, flabby and pock-marked display of Irish buttocks.

  I jumped up immediately to follow him, dislodging my towel as I did so. I instinctively fetched it out of the water and began to wring it out as I sloshed my way to the edge of the pool. Tommy jumped toward me and grabbed my arm.

  “No, Dr. John-san. You must not wring out your towel in the bath. This is very impolite and not acceptable etiquette. Please, sir, sit down, and I will get you a dry one.”

  “But we must follow that man. We have to speak to him.” I watched as the attaché walked along the far side of the pool and opened a door on the wall opposite to the one from which we had entered.

  “Dr. John-san, you cannot go into that room. It is, how do you say in English, for members only. You must be invited and approved by the owners of the onsen. It would not be safe just to walk in. They have bodyguards.”

  “Then we must call the police.” I blustered.

  “Oh, Doctor-san, that would be very difficult for the police. It is very bad manners to interfere in the private affairs of an exclusive onsen. It is not good for the police to do such a thing.”

  “Good heavens, Tommy. What in the world goes on back there that is worthy of such respect?”

  “Ah, respect you say, Doctor John-san. That is very kind of you. I cannot say for sure, sir, but it is possible that your friend is providing very, shall we say, pleasurable services for visiting gaijin. They pay very dearly for the private space and the provision of onsen geisha and, of course, excellent sake and shochu. They are good business, as you say, for the onsen, and for the town.”

  I resumed my seat in the water and looked over at Holmes.

  “Elementary, Watson. Out attaché just staged a very clever event. Quite brilliant of him, I must say. We now know that he is alive and well and are obligated to duly report same, but he has protected himself very astutely. He can carry on confidential, private conversations with his European clients, allow them to indulge in the exotic pleasures of the Orient, and be protected by the police and his bodyguards. I would wager that he has an army of Japanese informants among the employees of this establishment who report to him on the comings and goings and overheard conversations of every foreigner who risks and hazards all he hath by entering this place. My grudging respect to him. Frankly, there might be a lesson to be learned here for the future operations of Baker Street.”

  I pondered Holmes’s words and concluded that he must surely be jesting about Baker Street.

  Chapter Eleven The Blue Ribbon

  BY THE TIME WE RETURNED to Tokyo in early June, the time for the second athletic contest had arrived. We were briefed on our role by the Second Minister and in turn passed along what we had learned during our journey along the coast of the bay.

  On the fifteenth of June, we boarded a crowded train and traveled a few miles to the Takeaosangushi station. This was the start point of the next race, the ten-mile run that began with the ascent of the two thousand foot Mount Takeo, and then continued with the run up and down through the forest all the way to the top of Mount Jinba. The paths were narrow, and the officials started the two hundred men in heats. I took notice, as did Holmes, of the Russian teacher amongst them. Once the men had all departed, the women were lined up. Yet again, I could not help but wonder at the diminutive size of most of them. Except for a handful of younger women, none was more than a hairsbreadth over five feet. It was amazing, I thought, that such small women could bounce up the rocks and steps that they would have to navigate over the next three hours.

  Once all the runners were dispatched, Tommy led us to a row of carriages.

  “Now we go to the place where the race ends. We must be there to greet the winners.”

  The carriage rambled quickly along a narrow road through the valleys and then let us off at a point a short distance from the Hachiman Shrine.

  “From here we walk,” said Tommy, smiling as always.

  I distinctly remember hearing him say walk, and not climb. The fellow was entirely misleading. For the next hour, we grunted and gasped as we ascended a steep path through the pine forest. Had I been able to catch my breath, it might have been a pleasant outing. By the time we arrived at the summit of Mount Jinba, nearly three thousand feet above the level of Tokyo, I was drenched with sweat and decided that I had set a tax upon my legs sufficient for the next year.

  “Ah, we are most fortunate,” exulted Tommy. “Many days the view from the top of the mountain is not clear, and all that can be seen is the inside of a cloud. But today is a perfect day for enjoying the beauty.”

  Having caught my breath and cooled off, I looked at the magnificent natural spectacle in front of me. For a full three hundred and sixty degrees, I could observe the hills of Japan. Quite pleasant, I had to agree.

  Holmes had said little either on the way up or once we reached the summit. As an inveterate user of tobacco, he had filled his lungs with all those nasty things that made hiking up mountains a less than delightful pastime. Inwardly, I smirked and thought that this would teach him a good lesson, although the likelihood of his reforming his habits was negligible. After several minutes of recovering, he finally began to chat. His mind was not on the beautiful prospect.

  “I am eager to see how our Russian runner does. I would not be at all surprised to see him finish well back of the winner but sufficiently forward to make the cut. Just as he did the last time.”

  If the Russian, as is common to their breed, consumed as much vodka and tobacco as every other Russian I had ever met, I would not be at all surprised if he never made it to the finish line.

  Soon a crowd of nearly one hundred people had gathered at the summit. Several tents had been pitched, and refreshments were offered at a price that could be considered larceny. Our envoy, who would soon be an ambassador, and his statuesque wife appeared wearing stylish sporting clothes appropriate for climbing small mountains.

  Tommy sat beside us and kept checking his watch.

  “The leading men should be here very soon. Then they will check the times at which their heat was started and announce the winners.”

  “And what,” asked Holmes, “is the reward for the winners?”

  “The winners will receive their kimonos and medals but only the first forty men and the first twenty women will be allowed to enter the final contest. All of the others will be content with the pride that goes with having completed a very difficult task.”

  “Why,” I asked, incredulously, “would the stragglers even bother to finish then, if they get nothing from it.”

  Tommy gave me a strange look, somewhat aghast. �
�Doctor-san, to be in a race like this and then not to finish would bring dishonor to your family and to your name. A young man could not dare to have such a failure attached to his name for the rest of his life. They will all finish the race, Doctor-san, even if they have to crawl to the finish line.”

  The first chaps to appear on the trail below the summit were certainly not crawling. They were moving upwards in leaps and bounds, scampering over rocks and taking steps two or three at a time. I could not help but think that if recruited for Oxford and turned into proper Englishman, they would be brilliant additions to our team at the Olympics.

  As the front-runners approached the finish line, the crowd gave polite applause and the press snapped off their pictures. Various people came forward bearing kimonos for them so that, unlike the chaps in the onsen, their limbs would be modestly covered. The race having started in heats, however, there was no way of knowing yet who the winner was. The real cheering would be reserved for that fellow once he was announced.

  Over the next hour the male runners continued to appear, some the picture of robust good health and others giving evidence of a lack of sufficient training. As we approached the hour and a quarter mark since the first runner had crossed, Tommy excitedly announced, “The women are just below us. The first one to cross will be the winner.”

  The one in the lead I immediately recognized. She was the same tiny thing that had won the race around the Palace. She bounded toward the finish line and for a brief few seconds, before she was covered in a robe, I looked at her petite body. She was no longer young, but there was not an ounce of fat on it, and the muscles and sinews were sharply defined. I was fairly certain that she had been running every day of her life for the past decade. She received a well-deserved heartily round of applause.