‘Not exactly,’ Holmes chuckled. ‘I am speaking of Nip and Tuck, who have between them the most successful record in the entire organization.’
‘Who?’
‘Nip and Tuck are bloodhounds, Watson – the finest I’ve yet seen. I have no doubt they could give even Toby a run for his money.’
I of course recalled Toby with fondness, the gentle mongrel (now deceased) belonging to Mr Sherman, the Lambeth taxidermist. It was Toby’s sharp nose that aided us in the capture of Jonathan Small, the peg-legged jewel thief.
‘You see, shortly after we disembarked from the Briggs, Lestrade sent for the dogs; they cast Ripley’s scent from his bedclothes. Nip and Tuck made a beeline from the quayside to this intersection, whereupon they stopped dumbfounded. Now Watson, what became of our Reverend Ripley? Did he vanish into thin air – dematerialize like a ghost? What is the answer?’
‘The answer is simple: he boarded a cab.’
‘Ah! That is certainly possible. But why here, instead of at the quayside which the cabs frequent?’
‘He no doubt had some business nearby –’
‘Yes, Watson! Now it seems we are getting to it. What sort of business?’
‘Let me see,’ I murmured, running my eyes over the various shop fronts and businesses, ‘if it was not the visiting of a friend –’
‘Your point is well-taken: it is conceivable that Ripley could have been on a personal visit. If this is the case, our conjectures are difficult. However, let us for argument’s sake assume it was a business errand. Do any of the shops catch your fancy?’
‘The grocer’s to buy food – no, no... the Wheatsheaf public house – no, that would indicate a private meeting – here’s one, Holmes, the haberdashery. Perhaps he would want a change of clothing to aid his escape...’
Holmes was growing impatient.
‘Really, Watson, every business place can suggest a possibility. The trick is to select that establishment which presents the most likely possibility – or series of possibilities – and which will explain the greatest proportion of events. You have stated that Ripley boarded a cab. That is not a bad guess. However, we can see that there is no cabstand nearby. Furthermore, the intersection is not a lively one; it would be a singular occurrence if a cab happened along just when Ripley would have need of one.’
In a flash, it came to me.
‘The livery!’
‘Excellent!’ beamed my companion. ‘Yes, I think that’s where we should begin anyway.’
Ballantine’s Livery and Smith Shop was a few steps north in Balfour Lane. Underneath the large sign was printed: ‘Horses, Carriages, and Wagons to let – Daily or Weekly Rates.’ We entered the establishment through a small doorway which led into a narrow hallway, the walls of which were lined with harnesses and horses collars. We could hear the whoosh of blacksmith’s bellows, and occasionally the ringing of the hammer. Presently the hallway opened on to a large building set back from the street. Here were housed the stables, wagon yard, and the smithy forge. A wiry man with knotted arms toiled at the forge, while further back, in the shadows, horses of every description stamped and switched their tails contentedly. Upon hearing the nature of Holmes’ enquiry, the smith laid his hammer aside and led us back towards the street to where a tiny, cluttered desk stood. From a drawer in the desk he extracted a leather purse, pulled loose the drawstring, and poured gold coins into his calloused palm.
‘I don’t reckon what place they be from,’ said the smithy, ‘seeing the funny figures and scribbles on them – but I know enough about metals to recognize gold when I sees it.’
‘From India, or perhaps Ceylon,’ mused Holmes as he peered into the blacksmith’s palm. ‘Is it customary for you to demand such a large deposit for your equipment?’
‘He weren’t renting – he were buying, sir. Bought my stoutest wagon, and a horse to match.’
‘Did he leave his name?’
‘Oh, no, sir, I didn’t think to ask it. He paid for the rig in gold and was off.’
‘What time was that?’
‘The day before yesterday. It was just before tea – about four. No, I don’t have the name, gentlemen. As for his appearance, he looked a gentleman, with a thinnish nose and a fancy bearing. All in all, I would call him an ordinary gentleman.’
‘Was there anyone with him?’
‘No, sir, he was alone.’
‘Was there anything unique about the wagon?’
‘Not really. It was similar to the one remaining at the back. A heavy dray wagon with enclosed top and sides, and bolted doorway in the rear.’
We had been returning to the rear building, and now stood near the remaining wagon, which Holmes examined with much interest.
‘The wheels, are the rims of similar thickness, with the same type of iron treads?’
‘To my mem’ry, sir, they’re twins in every respect. I bought the both of ’em from a retired stonemason in Hammersmith. He used them for hauling his tools and rock slabs – they’re built like a fortress, as you can see...’
‘Lestrade and his crew would do well to have a look at this, Watson. What of the horse – anything special?’
‘Twelve-year-old gelding, dappled. He’s quite heavy – a perfect match for the wagon I’d say – I’ll wager he’s some Shire blood in him for the height and weight he carries.’
‘Thank you, that is most helpful. Now Watson, let us borrow our noble defenders of justice, Nip and Tuck, if we may, and put them through their paces again.
‘While we cannot be absolutely sure it was Ripley who bought the horse and wagon,’ pursued Holmes as we made our way towards the quay for the second time in two days, ‘we can be reasonably certain. That isn’t bad for the present, and Lestrade and his men could spend their time far more foolishly than in looking for the large dapple horse pulling the mate to the mason’s wagon.’
‘Do you intend to have the hounds follow the wagon?’
‘If they could, they would be unlike any hounds in history. To cast a scent from a stable is impossible – but it seems more than likely that Ripley left the Briggs more than once – let us see if we can’t find another trail.’
It was a twelve-minute walk back to the Quay. The rain had stopped for some time, and the fog lifted enough to enable one to look out across the reach. There the tall ships rode. Some of them were being pushed and pulled about by squat steam tugs belching clouds of oily smoke. Some were moored at the quayside, and derricks and ‘donkey’ steam engines were busily engaged in the transferring of cargo. The Matilda Briggs looked ordinary enough from that distance, except for her deserted appearance. Small groups of onlookers had gathered on the docks, and occasionally one would point and gesticulate in the direction of the silent ship. Word of the murder had spread.
After walking towards the customs house we spied Gregson with two gigantic dogs on long leads. It was my guess they weighed a hundredweight apiece.
‘Hello, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson. It seems the weather is a bit brighter, eh? Still, finding another trail shall be difficult, I warn you, even for these two beauties, after all the rain we’ve had.’
‘Let’s try our best, Gregson. I’ve a message for you first, however, concerning the first trail you discovered. Have you your notebook?’
Holmes related our recent visit to Ballantine’s Livery, and furnished him with enough detailed description to set the detective fairly hopping with anticipation.
‘If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’d much rather be pursuing this other line of the investigation. Indeed, it is my duty. You may use Nip and Tuck here till your heart’s content. Personally I believe it’s useless. I’ll send a man round to your flat this evening if convenient. They’re no problem, I assure you. But mind, don’t feed them the slightest morsel; they work best hungry and aren’t worth a farthing with the taste of food in their mouths. Good day.’
He dashed off, brimming with excitement.
‘Ah, Watson, we are free to use our canine friends h
ere at our leisure. I had hoped our news would send him off. A nice fellow Gregson, and competent, but the police are more often than not a hindrance to me. They are far better serving as messenger boys and lookouts. I wish them every success in tracking down the wagon. Now then, you take Nip – or is it Tuck? – oh, well, we’ll handle one apiece. Have no fear, man, for despite their size, they’re as placid as sheep, as you can see.’
I took one of the sad-faced creatures and petted its domed head. It responded immediately by nuzzling and licking my hand, and whining softly.
‘Quite right, Holmes, he’s as gentle as a lamb. How then, do they attack criminals?’
‘Ha! You are as ignorant as most of the public on that score, I’m afraid. Let us walk these two crime-fighters about a bit and see if we can’t find another scent. In the meantime, I’ll tell you something about them.’
We cast the scent again, from the scrap of bedclothes that Gregson had provided us. The dogs whined eagerly and began trailing, nose to the ground, almost pulling me off my feet.
‘The breed’s ancestor, the St Hubert’s Hound, originated in the Abbeys of France, a descendant of the hunting dogs used since the time of Charlemagne. The name we English have bestowed, bloodhound, refers not to the animal’s lust for blood, nor its penchant for following blood spoor, but rather – whoa! whoa I say!’
Holmes and I spent the next several minutes attempting to persuade the dogs to pursue a course other than the one they intended.
‘This is the trail Gregson found. If we find nothing else, we’ll come back – where was I – oh yes, well, the name bloodhound is used in the sense that the phrase blood horse, or blooded horse is used, that is, to indicate strict bloodlines and long lineage – for the strain has always been much prized...’
‘Most interesting,’ I answered, fighting the leash.
‘We have here a beast with the keenest nose in the entire animal kingdom, and the only animal, the only animal save man, Watson, whose testimony is considered admissible evidence in a court of law!’
‘You don’t say!’
‘Quite so, and – hullo, what’s up?’
The dogs stopped their forward motion and were confusedly turning round in tight circles, whining shrilly and flagging their tails.
‘Ah! What have we here, fellows? Eh? What’s up? Have you found something, eh?’
After observing this behaviour for a few minutes I asked Holmes if it meant they had found a scent.
‘Found and lost it, Watson,’ said he. ‘Do you observe anything remarkable about this portion of the quay? How does it differ from other parts of the area?’
‘Not in many respects,’ I answered, looking about. ‘It does seem though, that there is a gradual sloping to the water’s edge here, instead of a sheer drop of several feet.’
‘Yes! Yes, Watson, go on – anything else?’
‘No. I confess I cannot discover another distinguishing characteristic.’
‘Oh really? I can see something from here that is most remarkable. Do you see that smudge of greenish-brown substance yonder? There is something we should both be interested in.’
I spotted the smudge some ten paces away, and went over to look closely.
‘Axle grease!’ I exclaimed. ‘But what of it? Surely there are quite a few dray carts running up and down this quay –’
‘Yes, running up and down this quay no doubt. But across it?’
‘I’m afraid that’s quite impossible,’ I laughed. ‘You can see for yourself there’s the water on one side, and the iron fence on the other.’
As anyone familiar with the London Docks well knows, they are surrounded by high iron fences. The only gates are placed adjacent to the customs house. Thus, any comings and goings of either goods or persons may be strictly regulated by the officials.
‘What you say is true. But notice the smudge itself. It was caused certainly by excess grease dripping off the front axle of some vehicle, then the rear wheel of the same vehicle running over the patch of grease and causing it to smudge.’
‘That appears to be the case,’ I assented.
‘But we can both see that the smudge was elongated in such a way as to show definitely that the vehicle was bound in a direction perpendicular to the general flow of traffic.’
‘By George, Holmes, you are correct! That means the cart has been dumped into the river – we should have it dragged for at once!’
‘Not so fast, Watson. We should examine all the possibilities.’
‘Yet you yourself have often stated that when the other possibilities are exhausted whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I see no way in which a wheeled vehicle could clear the fence over there, unless it sprouted wings.’
‘Let us make certain,’ he cautioned, and left me with the hounds whilst he approached the fence twenty yards away. He inspected it carefully for a moment. Then, with a mischievous glance in my direction, he fetched it a powerful kick. To my utter amazement, an entire section of the wrought iron, perhaps eight feet square, fell away and crashed to the pavement with a tremendous clanging. For one of those extremely rare moments during my long association with him, Sherlock Holmes lost himself in laughter. Chagrined, I looked away and pretended to busy myself with the dogs. They, however, gave me that look of cold aloofness which told me I was a fool.
‘The railings were filed through – that is obvious,’ remarked Holmes when I joined him at the fence. ‘This could be done in silence. Then the section was temporarily lifted away to allow a vehicle to enter, take on or leave its cargo, then leave by the same gap in the fence. The section was, as we have seen, then replaced. To passers-by it was unnoticeable. A fairly remarkable feat.’
‘Even more remarkable when one considers it’s impossible,’ I said. ‘To file through this fence must have taken well over an hour. Why weren’t they discovered in this time?’
‘A good point. But think a minute. This occurred the night before last. That night, you and I were not more than a mile from this very spot –’
‘Ah yes, the fire! Certainly it was an excellent cover for them. They could have put on a circus at the quayside and no one would have noticed –’
‘Right you are, Watson.’
‘No doubt the vehicle was the wagon that Ripley purchased from Ballantine’s.’
‘We can determine that easily enough in two ways. One, by comparing wheel tracks and axle length with the other remaining wagon that the smithy showed us. Secondly, we can take a bit of the smudged axle grease and compare it with the grease that is used at Ballantine’s. The two checks should give us a definite answer, which I am confident will be the same one you offered. This spot was selected probably because of the feature you noticed: the wagon could be backed down to the water’s edge. Here, let us try something.’
He took one of the hounds from me and led the animal down to where the first trail had ended. The dog again wheeled in tight circles, whining.
‘Now Watson, bring your dog over here too. Now, lead him down to the water’s edge, so.’
We took the dogs to the very edge of the embankment. The next instant I was nearly knocked flat by the tremendous agitation of my leashed animal. As I whirled madly round like a top, spun by the leash as a boy pulls the top’s string, I saw that Holmes, not as heavy as I, was having even more difficulty remaining upright. Finally, after much tugging and shouting, we managed to subdue the dogs somewhat. Still, they howled and gnashed their fangs; their eyes rolled upwards in their deep sockets, revealing the crescent of white underneath. They appeared both angry and terribly frightened, and pressed close to us, great ridges of fur rising along their backs.
Surprisingly, the dogs seemed eager to leave the spot, even pulling us swiftly behind them. However, the ridge of hackles along their backs remained, and also the deep growling in their chests.
‘Seldom have I seen dogs so agitated,’ remarked Holmes a few minutes later. ‘Well, this seems to prove one thing, Watson: whatever the gian
t rat of Sumatra is, it is most certainly not a “puppet contrivance” as you once suspected. No indeed, my friend, it is a living, breathing beast, and one so fierce that its two-day-old scent is enough to send these two brave hounds into a frenzy!’
But he needn’t have reminded me – I was aware of the beast’s authenticity when I saw the gashes upon the Captain’s throat.
‘There remains only one more avenue of investigation with our canine friends, Watson. Let us see if we can’t pick up another one of Ripley’s trails, even though the police failed to do so.’
We cast the scent time and time again, but without success. Finally, Holmes suggested that we go home to our lodgings and await the man who would return the dogs to Scotland Yard. We walked at a slow pace down the quay, past knots of onlookers staring wonderingly at the dark hull of the Matilda Briggs, past the customs house, and out through the tall iron gates. Holmes, in a pensive mood, declared he’d rather walk a mile or so than board a cab directly. So the four of us ambled on, the two Homo sapiens apparently being led onward by two gigantic specimens of Canis familiaris, the latter proceeding at a leisurely, sniffing pace.
Not far from the customs-house gates, we received a considerable surprise, for the dogs once again showed eagerness, flagging their tails and whining, and tugging at the leads.
‘What have we here, my dear fellow? Could it be that Nip and Tuck have found something?’
It soon became apparent that they had indeed. They proceeded at first slowly, as if uncertain of a scent. However, after making steady progress for several hundred yards, they broke into a slow trot, and Holmes and I had difficulty keeping pace.
‘We’re off for the races it appears,’ said Holmes, gripping the leash with both hands. ‘Let’s see where it ends.’
‘This neighbourhood looks oddly familiar,’ I remarked.
Holmes nodded, and I noted that his face had become grim.
It was over before we even half-suspected it: the dogs crossed an alleyway, whirled about in a small dooryard, and crossed the street in a mad rush. We found ourselves standing under the swinging wooden sign, and staring with amazement at the huge brass pedestal topped with two iron spheres and the hooded compass. To our astonishment, we were back at the Binnacle.
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 8