The Oriental Casebook of Sherlock Holmes: Nine Adventures from the Lost Years

by Ted Riccardi

A nervous laugh moved through them, and they pulled the resisting Holmes with them to a small building. There, seated at a desk, was a gentleman with long white hair, a long pointed mustache, and all the physical characteristics of a French inspector of police.

  “Who are you, and why are you here?” he asked gruffly in English.

  “Who I am is none of your concern,” said Holmes sternly, “but if you must know, read this.”

  Holmes handed him a letter from the Viceroy guaranteeing Roger Lloyd-Smith safe passage through the Subcontinent and said, “I wish to see Captain Fantôme.’

  “The letter appeared to have its desired effect, for a look of perplexity appeared on his face and he said: “Very well. Since you insist, you shall. There is no difficulty. The Captain is not far from here, and is always happy to meet strangers.”

  They left the bureau, and, accompanied by a single guard, they walked through what had become by now a very quiet city. In the moonlight Holmes saw appear before him a large edifice. It was a palace, very much of the Rajpoot form, but its gardens and decorations were distinctly European. The police inspector handed Holmes over to a sentinel, giving him a quiet order in the local patois. Holmes followed the sentinel into the palace, where he was told to wait in a small antechamber.

  “I waited several hours, and despite the precarious predicament in which I found myself, I must have dozed off. Just before dawn, however, someone brought me tea and breakfast, and I was informed that the Captain would soon receive me.”

  Holmes was led presently down a corridor at the end of which he entered a large room. Seated in a chair at one end was a diminutive figure that he could barely see in the still dim light of the morning. As he approached, he saw that he was facing a rather short, stout, middle-aged woman, dressed in the attire of an Indian princess. As she beckoned him to a seat near her, she said: “I am Captain Fantôme. I understand that you wished to see me.”

  “Most extraordinary, my dear Holmes!” I ejaculated with utmost surprise.

  “Yes, Watson, I must confess that I was caught off guard and was not prepared for what I saw.”

  The Captain herself saw the look of surprise and said, “You seem, my friend, shall we say, a bit taken aback. What is it?”

  “The name Captain Fantôme led me to expect someone far different.”

  “The name means nothing,” she said. “It is the name of one of my ancestors, and is used to mislead the outside world. My real name is Elizabeth de Bourbon, and I am the Queen of the Frantzi and absolute ruler of Mandor. And you,” she continued as she glanced at a file in front of her, “are not an innocent English traveller by the name of Lloyd-Smith, but an agent of the British Government identified by my agents as Sherlock Holmes.”

  “I am indeed Sherlock Holmes, Madam, but I am not an agent of Government. I am a private consulting detective. Why I am here is a rather long story, which I am sure you would not find particularly interesting—”

  “To the contrary, Mr. Holmes, my agents have learned much of your exploits,” she said, pointing to the folder. “You are a most clever fellow, and your reputation precedes you.”

  “Thank you, Madam, but I must say that you are far more clever. The existence of Mandor and the Frantzi is a most well-kept secret. Even the best of our Orientalists, who have virtually mapped the entire Subcontinent, have failed to report on you or your people.”

  “‘A well-kept secret, but not an absolute one,” she said. “We are what we have to be in order to survive. We are known well by a very few and only vaguely by a larger number in India, particularly the Maharajahs. Our ancestors suffered greatly, and we had to learn how to live in a hostile environment. And so we chose to be by ourselves and to survive by our wits.”

  “Your name tells me that you are probably a direct descendant of Jean de Bourbon,” said Holmes.

  She smiled and said, “Then you already know something, far more than most. Yes, I am directly descended from him, as is most of the population of Mandor. Jean le Grand, or Maha-Jean, as we call him, was the founder of Mandor, the brave soldier of Akbar the Great. Maha-Jean was given this place as a gift by the Emperor, and he settled here with his wives and family. But soon the local rajahs became fearful of their presence, for they were not Hindoos, but Christians. Maha-Jean was protected by the Emperor, but when the Emperor died, the king of Jaisalmer, leading an alliance of Rajpoot princes, attacked, and Maha-Jean was killed with many of his family. His oldest son, Piyer the First, fled with the remnants of the family to some caves in the desert, where, hardened by the harsh life in the dunes, they learned to survive on almost nothing. Then a most wonderful event occurred. It is celebrated as the le din de la Neuvième Ratan, or the day of the Nine Jewels, the fifteenth of July, 1686, in your calendar. It was there in those caves, where they had almost starved, that they discovered that their land would make them rich and powerful.”

  She extended her hand, on which she wore a ring with a large, lustrous red stone.

  “This is the largest ruby in the world,” she said, “a perfect jewel, found by Emile le Petit Rajah, the youngest son of Piyer the First. It has been worn by every ruler of Mandor since it was discovered. It was one of nine jewels found on the same day in a matter of minutes. Soon there were many more. It was not long before these survivors smuggled a variety of stones to the bazaar, where, with the new monies they obtained, they began to build their kingdom and to protect it with a well-paid loyal army of mercenaries from Persia and the Levant, and even as far away as Africa. We became the chief suppliers of precious stones to all the potentates of the Orient. The Peacock Throne, stolen from India by Nadir Shah and upon which the rulers of Persia now sit, is encrusted with jewels from the ground upon which you walk. We are now rich and powerful. And unknown, we move about the world pursuing our interests.”

  “And what are those interests?” asked Holmes.

  “Our own power and enrichment first. We the Frantzi are small in number. There are less than a thousand of us, but we travel from Mandor to Europe and America and the Orient with ease. We have our chalets in Switzerland and in the South of France, and our network of agents who supply our every want. Beyond that, we are guided by Le Hukum Primus, or First Command, expounded by Piyer the Third, who understood that the advent of British power in the Subcontinent could be disastrous for us and warned that we must fight it. And so we have supported the cause of rebellion throughout the world. We financed the French efforts during the American Revolution. We were major supporters of Napoleon, and we have tirelessly supported the French and German efforts in Africa. This we continue to do.”

  “Benoît and Schaumberg must be part of this game, then,” said Holmes.

  “Most observant of you. You are quite correct. Your travelling companions, Schaumberg and Benoît, are simply clients of ours, working against British interests in Africa. Schaumberg is really a Swiss raised in Africa, more Boer than the Boer himself, determined to rid Africa of the British. His family was wiped out a few years ago in the raids of Sir Leander James, and so he bears the English the hatred required to make a good revolutionary.”

  “And Benoît?” Holmes asked.

  “A legionnaire, working in Algeria to subdue the Sahara and to consolidate French gains in North Africa, a descendant of a close friend of Maha-Jean, Benoît le Boigne the First, or as he is known here, Benoît le Premye Dost. He is different from Schaumberg. He bears the British no hatred, and is merely a professional soldier doing a job.”

  “And their mission this time?”

  “The export, shall we say, from India of diamonds and jewels. This is their fourth trip to Mandor. This time they will take with them several million pounds’ worth of raw diamonds destined for the markets of Constantinople, where they will be sold and the monies used to finance armies of rebellion. These diamonds are our gift.”

  “In return for what?” Holmes asked somewhat sardonically.

  The woman smiled. “Yes, you are right. We do expect a return, and that is
simple.”

  She rang a bell, a servant entered and she said in the local patois, “Ramon, est-ce que Schaumberg aur Benoît sont pahuncte?”

  “Uiji, Mem Rani, ve sont pahuncte aj maten. Vous unko dekh cahate?”

  “‘Ji-oui. Unko isi fer ana.”

  In a moment, the servant ushered in Benoît and Schaumberg. They showed no surprise in seeing Holmes. Rather, gleeful smiles appeared on both their faces.

  “So, dear Roger, “said Schaumberg,” it is as I thought. You are a British spy.”

  “Hardly, my dear Giacomo. I am, shall we say, self-employed. I do not work for the British Government, nor any other, I might add. However, even as a private individual, I must say that I do not look with favour upon your activities in the Subcontinent. They will have to end.”

  Schaumberg’s smile disappeared and a look of extraordinary hatred appeared on his face. Turning to Benoît, he said, “You see, you see, I warned you in Tonk, but you would not listen.”

  Unperturbed by his associate, Benoît did not answer him, but addressed the Captain: “When will our loads be ready for departure?”

  “They are ready now. But word has come from our agent in Lahore that disturbances have occurred in Hyderabad, and the British have deployed several thousand troops along the major routes to Karachi. Your departure will be delayed for at least five days.”

  Schaumberg became very agitated at these words. “But we must leave at the latest tomorrow. Otherwise our ship will leave Karachi without us.”

  “Calm yourself, M. Schaumberg. You are too excitable,” said Captain Fantôme. “Your ship will not leave until you are on board. We have arranged that as well. And now, gentlemen, where are the documents assuring us of our remuneration?”

  “I would prefer that our English friend leave at once,” said Benoît quietly.

  “Do not be concerned. Our friend will not leave Mandor. He is to be one of our permanent guests. What he learns here matters not at all.”

  “Very well, then,” continued Benoît, “here are official secret documents signed by the ministries of France and the Boer Government granting the company, Frères les Comtes de Bruxelles, exclusive mining rights in perpetuity in all of the French possessions in Algeria and the Boer states of Natal and the Transvaal. Frères les Comtes we understand to be the exclusive agent and representative of the Frantzi of Mandor.”

  Benoît handed the documents to Captain Fantôme, who read them through.

  “These are correct and well prepared,” she said, and, motioning for a pen to the servant, she signed them, returning copies to Benoît.

  “And now, my friends Benoît and Schaumberg, please rest for the next few days but be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. You will travel by foot in the dead of night before you are met by a group of our men who will lead you by a secret route to Karachi. As we have done since you arrived in India, we have planned every step of your way, alternately delaying and rushing you for your own security and for that of the treasures that will accompany you to Constantinople. You understand that our survival and yours as well depends on the total veil of secrecy that we have been able to maintain through many years.”

  Then, turning to Holmes, she said, “And you, my friend, will be our permanent guest in Mandor. You will have the freedom to roam the city at will, but do not try to leave. Its border is well patrolled, and one can only leave with my permission. I shall, however, do everything I can for your comfort. Because your stay will be, shall we say, of indeterminate length, we will take extraordinary measures very quickly to insure that, as you will see. In the meantime, if you have any requests, please let me know, and I shall honour them if they are within my capability.”

  “I have but one request,” said Holmes.

  “And what is that?”

  “I should like to visit the mines.”

  “Easily done,” she said. Turning to her servant she said, “Ramon, abhi he possible dekhvoir les mines?”

  “Uiji, mon Captain.”

  “We shall go now. The entrance is only a short distance down from this room. Mes monsieurs Schaumberg et Benoît are also welcome. They have not seen the source of their wealth as yet.”

  Led by Captain Fantôme, they walked a short distance from the room of their meeting to a stair that led down to a lower level of the palace. There, directed by Captain Fantôme, a guard opened a door and announced their entry.

  ‘We entered what was, to my amazement, Watson, a small, beautifully appointed theatre, circular in shape, with a large curtain that encircled us,” said Holmes.

  “This theatre,” said the Captain, “was built over one hundred years ago by one of our ancestors, so that the family could view in comfort the work in the mines, which hitherto had required that we actually enter them, a rather unpleasant task at times. Now from this vantage point, we can see all of it.”

  They were led to their seats in the first balcony, and as Captain Fantôme gave a signal to her servants, the curtain drew back on all sides. There below and in front of them, in the light of dozens of large oil lamps, was a gigantic pit, filled with a groaning humanity, digging, and sorting what it found. As far as the eye could see, in every direction, men and boys from all parts of our far-flung empire, all almost naked, slaved through the earth in a sweltering hot darkness. The digging was completely disciplined, thousands of pick-axes hitting the ground at the same time. Another group of workers, on all fours on the ground, pulled the rubble towards them, loading it by hand into carts that were wheeled away by a third group. Overall stood tall, dark overseers, who carried whips and lathis, the deadly Indian hooked stick.

  “This is the only viewing tower of its kind in the world,” said Captain Fantôme. “Originally an English idea, we have adapted it to the mine. We sit exactly one hundred feet above the pit itself. This is our largest and most valuable mine, though hardly the only one. It is volcanic in origin and its channels produce most of our raw diamonds.”

  Schaumberg and Benoît gazed in awe, for on their three previous trips, they had seen none of this. As Captain Fantôme spoke, Holmes could see that Schaumberg had become enamoured of the scene below. He plied Captain Fantôme with question after question, to which she gave immediate answers. The workers were recruited by agents stationed not only throughout the Subcontinent but all of Asia, she said. The more varied the workers, the better, for this made communication and rebellion difficult. Andaman Islanders thus worked next to Tamilians. The raw recruits were taken to a processing camp in a lonely desert area near Bikaner, where the strongest were chosen, the others released to die in the desert. This smaller group was then brought to a training station south of Mandor, where they were trained in particular operations of the mine: digging, gathering, and sorting. They worked for exactly twelve hours, when they were relieved by another group. All their physical needs were met in order to maintain efficiency, and they were given a few hours per month of recreation and at least two hours in the sun on the surface. They had wives, but in common, and no attachment to one person was allowed. Male children immediately became part of the worker pool, and the females, except for the few necessary to the men, were sold in the bazaar in Bombay, where they worked as prostitutes. The best ages for work were between twelve and thirty-six. Those who reached the higher age of their service, if still healthy, became servants to the Frantzi. Otherwise, they were destroyed. No one of them, of course, ever left. In this system, she said, there was no waste.

  “And who are the guards?”

  “Ah! They are very special,” she said. “They are the only remaining descendants of the Abyssinians brought in the thirteenth century by the Sultans. They are the infamous Habshi and have been in our employ for generations.”

  Captain Fantôme appeared suddenly to tire of the scene below. She stood up abruptly, motioned with her hand, and the curtain again closed, hiding the dreadful picture that had just been before them. They followed her to the room from which they had come and she dismissed them. Schaumberg a
nd Benoît were led to their quarters, and Holmes followed a servant to a rather large room that was to be his home for the next few weeks.

  “What an incredible experience, Holmes. Who would believe that such a place could exist under the very nose of Government?”

  “And yet there it was, Watson. As you know, my nature and training forbid exaggeration, and you may take what I have told you to correspond to the literal truth. There, underneath the deserts of Rajasthan, labored untold thousands of slaves brought from the four corners of the empire for the benefit of a very few. And I was made to look upon their tragedy as if I sat in the luxurious comfort of Covent Garden viewing a performance of Aida.”

  “Extraordinary, my dear Holmes, absolutely extraordinary.”

  “Yes, dear Watson, and I must add that at no time did Captain Fantôme show any sympathy to the people in the mines. It was as though they were not human beings, but creatures of a lower order, separated from her by some invisible barrier greater than the one which separates us from the mere brutes of the natural world. Physically, Captain Fantôme was in all ways a French peasant woman, of no great beauty, plain in every feature. But her ordinary appearance hid a will of iron and a massive intelligence, both of which were in the service of an ever-increasing avarice and quest for power.”

  “You must continue, Holmes. I am most anxious to learn how this adventure concluded.”

  Holmes glanced about the room slowly, as if studying every detail of our quarters, and then said brightly: “What happened next was most surprising but led to the inevitable dénouement. There is a new Turkish restaurant on Museum Street, Watson, and if we leave now, I can finish this tale for you over some rare delicacies from the Levant and a bottle of Syrian red wine. Come, let us hurry, for all this talk has given me a bit of an appetite.”

  Before I could protest, Holmes had already bolted from his chair and donned his coat. We walked at Holmes’s fast pace and reached the front of the British Museum in a matter of minutes. Then we turned to the right on Museum Street and entered the small Turkish eatery which Holmes had referred to. He had said nothing as we walked, and it was only after he had taken his first approving sip of the dry red wine that he continued.