‘It is interesting to note, Watson, that had they followed their original plan and merely left Jenard’s body on the rooftop, they would probably have succeeded.
‘But standing there on the rooftop peering down at Jenard’s body, something happened in Baskerville’s twisted brain. As is characteristic of a fine mind gone awry, Baskerville fancied himself a genius. He perceived a way to accomplish two ends at the same time: the recovery of the ransom money and revenge against me.’
‘Of course!’ I said. ‘He then deliberately mutilated the body and, at the right moment, threw it down on to the kerb to entice your curiosity –’
‘Quite. He was throwing down the bait, and a gauntlet of challenge as well. Of course, you and I know the ultimate irony: I had already been summoned secretly into the affair by Lord Allistair himself. Had Baskerville discovered this, he would have been driven over the brink much sooner, I’m sure. Setting the trap for me was Baskerville’s nemesis, for he allowed me to establish the links that led to his identification. Had I not known it was Baskerville at the centre of the web, I’m certain I would have advised Lord Allistair to pay the money and be done with it. They, at least, Baskerville and Jones, would no doubt be en route to South America at this very moment.
‘He carried his evil one step too far, and so was undone.’
‘After fleeing down the rear ladder they returned to the Briggs. It was always their intention to do away with McGuinness. But now the plan changed somewhat and became bolder. Now the “rat”, which was to have been killed and dumped unceremoniously into the Reach, was to do the deed.
‘Just before the weird party quit the ship in the midnight darkness, Baskerville was seized with yet another idea: a warning message, supposedly penned by Jenard, that would connect the kidnapping and the mysterious giant rat of Sumatra. Thus, he crept forward in the darkness and, with the candle butt we discovered, wrote the bit of simple verse that was to guarantee my entrance into the case.’
‘And from that moment on, it had Baskerville’s mark on it in every detail. Now for the final question: the message done in pinpricks.’
‘Pshaw! Don’t tell me you haven’t yet deciphered it –’
‘I regret I do not possess your powers, Holmes,’ I said sarcastically. ‘I am merely mortal.’
‘There, there, old fellow,’ he chuckled. ‘I remembered to bring the message with me. Here it is in my fly book.’
He opened the fleece-lined pouch and, from amidst scores of tiny feathered hooks, drew forth the message as copied by Lord Allistair and myself. He seated himself on the grass and spread the paper before him:
‘A simple code, although by saying that, I’m not in any way detracting from Lady Alice’s cleverness – not to mention courage – in sending it to you. Your basic supposition that the dots point out letters of words is correct. Your error was in failing to recognize that, due to the brevity of the article, Lady Alice was forced to run through it several times to spell the message. Thus, a word may carry through into a different dot structure.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you.’
‘In other words, the differing dot placements do not indicate separate words, but the number of times Lady Alice “ran through” the article to find letters...’
I scratched my head in bewilderment.
‘Here, let me show you,’ said he with a touch of impatience.
‘Your first word, counting the single dot on top as the “starter”, was ATRA, is that not so?’
I nodded.
‘You then assumed the second word to be spelled by the single dot underneath, which yields WARE. The other words were PISSETBE and JOHN. Since only John is a word, the others are then parts of words. In short, they are parts of a message strung together. If we string these in a line, we get this: ATRAWAREPISSETBEJOHN.’
‘I can make nothing of it. Dash it, man, it’s not as simple as you say!’
‘I forgot to mention that you made two errors in attempting to decode this. The second was assuming that the next word was formed by the single dot underneath, rather than the double one on top. Following this template, we interchange the WARE and PISSETBE, to get the following: ATRAPISSETBEWAREJOHN.’
I stared vacantly at it for a few seconds before the message jumped forth: A TRAP IS SET BEWARE JOHN.
‘What an ass I am!’ I cried.
Holmes made no comment.
‘I certainly owe Alice my deepest appreciation. She is clever indeed to have thought up this cryptogram at a moment’s notice. I take it you knew the message all along.’
‘Yes. But of course to tell you of Baskerville’s trap would have altered your behaviour; he could sense trouble in an instant. No, indeed. For my plan to work, which it did just barely I’m ashamed to say, it was necessary for you to be in the dark on all counts. I have never regretted anything more in my life, Watson, than putting you through that trial in the Hollow. You are visibly greyer in the temples, if you haven’t noticed. I can scarcely look my old friend in the face without a twinge of guilt.’
I stared at the ground for a moment before replying, for my throat had caught that curious tightening ache that comes in times of deep emotion.
‘There... there was absolutely no other way...’ I managed at last. ‘We all did our best.’
We finished the walk in silence, since any additional words would only have subtracted from the moment. When we entered the stone gate, however, and the long linen-covered tables were visible at the end of the great lawn, Holmes resumed.
‘On the bright side, of course, there’s Lord Allistair’s generosity towards us.’
‘Generosity? My dear Holmes, rich as the man is, his gifts border on the foolhardy!’
As he threw his head back in laughter though, I could not help but recall the dark side of the adventure’s conclusion. It was a sad and tragic spectacle, and will haunt my memories till the end of my days. I can still call up the picture in vivid detail: Rodger Baskerville strapped to a leather pallet, soaked through with sweat as he thrashed his head and shrieked. In his ravings he’d bitten through his tongue, and his cheeks were flecked with red froth. As they slid the pallet into the van he began to call Holmes’ name. They drew the steel door shut and locked it, and the wagon began its tortuous journey down the road. But even as it drew further and further away, I could still hear issuing from the tiny barred window in the steel door the ringing voice of the lunatic: ‘Holmes – no walls shall hold me!’
‘There, there, Watson, try to think more pleasant thoughts! His suffering has probably diminished with time.’
‘You’ve read my thoughts!’
‘No. I’ve read your face. You were staring down that bend in the road where we last saw the asylum carriage. Your face bore a look of hatred, then, as might be expected of a physician and man of your character: pity.’
‘Perhaps it should have borne the look of fear as well. You recall his boast of escaping. If any man could devise a means of escaping the stoutest walls, it is he.’
‘True. But happiness in life consists largely of refusing to worry about matters over which one has no control.’
We had by this time reached the low stone fence that surrounded the immediate lawns of the estate. As we turned and entered at the gate, we could see, at the far edge of the green expanse, several long banquet tables covered in gleaming linen. A score or so of servants hurried to and fro, bearing silver trays and steaming dishes. A line of carriages stood in the drive, with more arriving by the minute. We seated ourselves on a stone bench, and presently saw coming towards us a handsome and heartwarming sight.
‘Ah Watson, it takes no great brain power to fathom the reason for Farthway’s presence at Strathcombe, does it now?’
‘Certainly not,’ I replied. ‘Well, I’m terribly happy for the both of them.’
Arm in arm, Alice Allistair and Ian Farthway made their way slowly towards us. The lady’s step was still a bit unsteady, but Farthway’s, strong arms and noble bearin
g were a tremendous reassurance. The tender glances they exchanged were further evidence of a bond that had existed for some time and showed no sign of diminishing.
Alice Allistair was fast on the mend – as each day passed she had grown more and more to resemble the lovely creature I had seen in the family portraits. With help from all of us, she seated herself on the bench.
With genuine gratitude and admiration, I wrung her hand in thanks for her clever coded message. She brushed off the string of compliments with becoming modesty and folded her hands in her lap.
‘Now, Ian, you mustn’t scold me,’ she said in mock anger, ‘I’ve been waiting to tell these gentlemen all they wish to know – no please, all of you, I implore you, you must let me speak. To keep this tale locked in my bosom is to let it gnaw at my soul. I must, and shall, tell you all.’
And so the young lady, hand in hand with the man who had done so much to secure her release, related the weird and horrible tale of her abduction, which was alike in every detail to the one I was forced to hear while bound to the tree in Henry’s Hollow. Her journey had grown more frightful as time progressed, for the captivity in Bombay, while unpleasant, was devoid of horror. Likewise the confinement aboard the train and trip across the Indian Ocean in the Arab trader.
‘The terror did not begin until we landed in Sumatra, Mr Holmes. There Baskerville and Jones had a long meeting which I overheard. To my amazement and horror, I learned I was to be quartered with a mad beast the natives had trapped in the jungle!’
Here she paused to compose herself and receive a reassuring glance from Farthway.
‘It was not long before I discovered that it was a tapir, a usually shy animal that lives on a diet of river plants. But it seems that this animal was exceptional – perhaps a descendant of some vicious strain, for it had killed several natives who were bathing in the river.’
‘This has occurred with hippopotamuses too,’ interjected Farthway, ‘there have been rogue hippos that have killed scores of people out of sheer malice, though they are also vegetarian and usually shy...’
‘Then I can assure you, Ian, this animal was a rogue. His savage temper was not improved, I might add, by being trapped in a staked pit and lashed in a crate. Add to this the weeks of cruelty and abuse from Wangi...’
Holmes and I exchanged glances. Being forced to endure eight weeks in close proximity to this creature, it was no wonder she had been in a distraught state.
‘But why,’ I asked her to change the subject, ‘did Jones and Baskerville appear in Batavia without you – with the Malay instead?’
‘They explained the necessity of this to me before they departed. Recalling the difficulties of sneaking me from Bombay, they were not eager to repeat the experience in the port of Batavia – for the Dutch are notorious for their stringent cargo procedures –’
‘So I had suspected,’ observed Holmes. ‘There was a great risk that you would be discovered, Lady Alice – particularly since they would be forced to enter and leave the port in order to place you on the Briggs. No, they were clever indeed to arrange for the midnight rendezvous up the coast. In this way, the port authorities could be circumvented altogether and the transfer made –’
‘– the only remaining witnesses were the crew, whom they drugged with liquor...’ I added.
‘It was all carefully arranged,’ explained Alice, her eyes growing damp. ‘I was left in the care of that savage group of men – with only the promise of gold as a pledge of my safety...’
‘What a dreadful man!’ I said.
‘For their part, they took the wretch Wangi along as a guide and hostage both –’
‘Hardly an equal exchange –’ snorted Farthway.
‘The three of them made their way in a small proa southwards. We were to follow in a few days to a prearranged meeting place down the coast. They had little difficulty in locating a ship departing for England. Having bent Captain James McGuinness to their will by threats and bribes, they were in complete command of the Briggs from the instant she left the docks of Batavia...’
‘You needn’t continue your painful narrative, Lady Alice,’ said Holmes rising. ‘The rendezvous and the transferring of cargo we know of through John Sampson. The voyage, with all of its pain and horror, we can only imagine. Now here come your parents out on to the terrace. Do let’s go up.’
We walked up the garden path to greet the Allistairs, who had just strode down the terrace steps. Certainly the spirit rules the body, for with the return of Alice and the lifting of the enormous emotional burden shared for so long, they appeared years younger.
‘I suppose the only thing that still puzzles me,’ mused Lord Allistair as he settled his wife into a garden chair and sat down next to her, ‘is the personal desire for vengeance against me on Baskerville’s part. Did you by chance ever discover his motive?’ he asked his daughter.
‘No, not specifically. He only said you’d wronged him years ago...’
His Lordship knitted his brows in concentration.
‘I cannot recall it,’ he said finally.
‘He wouldn’t tell me, though I asked him,’ said I. ‘I suppose we’ll never know.’
A gentle cough came from Holmes’ direction. All eyes focused on his gaunt form, slung nonchalantly in the wicker chair.
‘It is just possible, Lord Allistair,’ said he in a soft voice, ‘that you have overlooked an event which occurred twelve years ago...’
Lord Allistair sipped at his port, the same quizzical expression on his face.
‘That would have been in eighty-two. Ah, I see it now! It was in eighty-two that Cavendish was murdered in Phoenix Park – surely this has something to do with Home Rule and Parnell –’
‘No, sir. It is more personal. In eighteen-eighty-two your son Peter was nine years old...’
Instantly, the puzzlement left Lord Allistair’s face.
‘Mr Holmes, may I see you alone for a moment?’
‘Of course. But perhaps you wish to let the matter drop altogether.’
After a momentary struggle within himself, Lord Allistair faced his wife with a candid and frank expression.
‘Elizabeth, there is something you must know that up until now I have not told you –’
Farthway and I rose to go, and I was dumbstruck by Holmes’ arrogance and callousness by remaining seated.
‘Please gentlemen, stay!’ said Lord Allistair, raising his hand. ‘You, Doctor, especially, have the right to know the events that led to the endangering of your life. Now, dearest, you needn’t look so alarmed – what I am about to reveal I am ashamed of, but it is not something that would come between us.
‘Now, Mr Holmes, there is more than one side to this story, but having seen you work, if only briefly, I am assuming you are in command of all the facts –’
‘That would be a safe assumption, Lord Allistair.’
‘Then let me begin by telling all of you,’ and he swept his arm in a circle as he spoke, ‘that while innocent of the crime itself, I am guilty of protecting the guilty party, and so am guilty as an accomplice.’
We stared with incredulity at him. Was this man, who had so distinguished himself in the public service, about to tarnish his glittering career?
‘In the year mentioned, my son Peter began his second year at the Malton School in Yorkshire, which was run by a man named Vandeleur – are we not thinking along the same lines, Mr Holmes?’
‘Yes, sir, we are. And by the way, I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you’re –’
‘Making it public at last? Hah! It should have been done years ago, in an honest and forthright manner. I owe you yet another debt, sir, in bringing this to my attention. Thank you for your offer to keep the matter quiet; but upon even a moment’s reflection, I can see that if my word’s to mean anything, I must tell all –’
‘As I knew you would –’
‘Well then, a little way into the term, you can imagine my surprise when I was informed by the headmaster –
this Vandeleur fellow – that my son had cheated in his exams.’
There was a short silence as we absorbed this detail. I saw Lady Allistair wince.
‘Since I was unable to leave London at the time – the Irish crisis I mentioned was at its height – I wrote to Peter and asked him if the charge were true. He answered that it was. I was of course mortified to learn the charge was true – but gladdened that Peter had voluntarily confessed. Well, as most of you can surmise, the cheating incident would mean that Peter’s chances of attending Harrow, or any other decent school, were shot. I was distressed that such a foolish incident – and I say incident because Peter is a generally honest fellow – that such an incident should ruin his life.’
He paused to sip his port, and, in a reflective tone, continued.
‘But just as I resigned myself to it, there came a letter from Vandeleur, informing me that, for a certain sum of money, he would keep the matter quiet...’
‘I say! The leopard doesn’t change his spots, eh Holmes?’ I said, for I remembered ‘Vandeleur’ well.
‘Well I, of course, was revolted by this offer, tempting though it was. But what sort of man would make such an offer? Not a man who should run a boys’ school, I concluded. Therefore, I engaged a professional acquaintance of mine in the area to look into the school. Were there any irregularities? How was the place financed? This sort of thing. In less than a fortnight, he’d uncovered enough malpractices – I needn’t elaborate – to send Vandeleur to jail for a long, long time. You see, I wasn’t the first person he’d tried to wring...’
‘And so you, through your agent, approached him with your evidence,’ said Lady Allistair.
‘That is correct. Realizing he was caught in his own web, the man fled, the matter of the cheating was forgotten, and nothing of the incident has surfaced until now. I deeply apologize, dearest, and to all of you as well, for having kept it secret.’
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 22