The Giant Rat of Sumatra Read online

  ‘Oh Lord, Doctor,’ whispered Farthway as he drew near me. ‘I’ve seen many a horrid thing, and scores of corpses too, but this is truly frightful.’

  I had struck another match, and still we stared.

  ‘Well, there’s little doubt as to whom the hand belongs,’ I said. ‘Poor Betsy’s apprehensions have proven justified, I fear. How did the wretch come to be up there? I cannot help wondering how the dog...’

  ‘I remember seeing a gentle slope of rock on the other side. If we go round this way, we’ll run into it.’

  Again in darkness, it took my eyes some time to grow accustomed to the dim light. At length, we came upon a wide crevice in the rock, through which ran a ramp-like path of gently-sloping rock. This we trudged up without difficulty, yet neither of us was eager to reach the far precipice, aware of the grisly scene which awaited us. As we neared the edge, I could see the blurred movement of the terrier as he skipped round the dark object that lay outstretched on the pale surface of the rock. I was amazed, drawing nearer, at the huge size of the object – it appeared several times larger than a man. The projection was perhaps nine feet wide, and the prone object took up a full half of the width.

  ‘It is huge, Farthway. Was this fellow a giant?’

  But before he attempted to answer my question, he was already at the body, kneeling over it. I was somewhat surprised to hear him utter a long sigh of grief. Could this cocky lad be a softer sort underneath? Was the bluff and bluster merely a show? Or, perhaps in a more sinister vein, was this sigh some contrived part of his personality, put on for my benefit? To be sure, this fellow was an enigma – far different from the frank and simple gamekeeper one usually finds in the English countryside. Capable as he was, I was a long way from putting my total trust in him.

  ‘Strike a match, Doctor,’ said he, his voice full of gravity, ‘and you shall see his true size.’

  I did so and, leaning over, saw a sight that fairly took my breath away. Farthway too, iron-nerved as he was, gave a gasp, followed by a low moan. The dog lay down in silence beside the remains of his master, his head resting wearily on his paws. The reader will understand the double shock that smote me when I explain that my overestimation of the man’s size was due to seeing what I thought was a huge dark object. What I was actually seeing, in the half-light, was a body amidst a dark sea of blood: blood as I have never seen it, and pray God never shall see again for the sake of my sanity. It spread out from the corpse in pools and rivulets. It had stained the paws and legs of the dog. It was everywhere, in ghastly profusion. The man lay face downward at the very far edge of the rock. His hands were flung outwards from the body, the one, as the reader knows, protruding even over the edge. From the behaviour of the dog and the large moustache, it was obvious that the man was Charles Compson. He appeared to have fallen violently forward as if having tripped while running at top speed.

  But the shock and revulsion that smote like a hammer blow and fairly set me reeling off the rocky projection, was the manner of the man’s death.

  ‘Good God in Heaven,’ I gasped, ‘the giant rat!’ For upon looking at his neck and back for only an instant, all the horror of the death chamber of the Matilda Briggs came racing back through my soul like an express train. Looking round me at the silent forest in a frenzy of apprehension, I realized I had come upon the confluence of two great tragedies.

  The episode of the Matilda Briggs and the trial of the Allistairs were in some nefarious way connected. The centre of all the seemingly disparate events – the vortex, as it were – was not Limehouse, nor even London, but the deep and forbidding forests of the Valley of the Severn.

  Even as I spoke the dreaded words to Farthway’s astonished and confused face, I could picture in my mind’s eye the fugitive pursued by the monster. Totally spent, did he seek this outcropping of rock as a final haven from the beast? Stumbling through the forest – the creature at his heels making God knows what horrid sound – did he stumble across the small hillock, and, in desperation, scale it in the hope that the thing would be unable to reach him? I was recalled from these ghastly speculations by Farthway, who was shaking my shoulder.

  ‘There! You’ve burnt your fingers with that match, sir – what about a rat? What rat could do this?’

  But I waved him off.

  ‘Tell me, Farthway, from what you see before you, how did this poor wretch meet his end?’

  ‘He was running from something – that much is clear. He ran up this slope hoping that whatever was chasing him would not follow. But he was followed, and brought down and worried to death right on this spot. A boar could do this perhaps, but only if wounded – or mad –’

  Working our way back down the narrow incline, we found ourselves once again at the edge of the trees. I peered back at the slanting monolith with a shudder. Were it not for the little dog, how many months or years would pass before anyone would have discovered the grisly object on its summit? Hidden from the road in the midst of deep woods, surrounded for miles by wild Shropshire hills and forests, it was indeed a lonely spot to die.

  ‘Here’s the spot to look if it’s tracks you are searching for,’ said Farthway.

  Only a few moment’s search was needed before we were both kneeling down next to a clear set of enormous tracks. We examined them at length using several matches in the process. Farthway, for all his experience and expertise, was plainly confused.

  ‘I’ve seen these tracks only once before,’ he said finally. ‘It was on the hard-packed soil of the forest path near Henry’s Hollow. I saw only one print clearly. It had three toes, but I assumed it to be a deformity of sorts, and that the other footprints would appear in the normal cloven patterns of a forest pig, had I been able to see them. Clearly though, it is evident that all the feet of this animal are different from a boar. In fact, they are different from any animal I have ever seen on three continents.’

  ‘I see that some feet bear three toes, but others appear to bear five. Is this possible?’

  Farthway assumed a puzzled expression.

  ‘It is possible because we have seen it, sir. But other than that, it is the most extraordinary thing I’ve seen in years.’

  ‘There are two beasts, then?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘It would appear so. But I’ve never seen the likes of any of this before. The tracks, too, are huge – much bigger than any boar could be. What sort of animal is this?’

  ‘Ah! The more I see evidence of it, the more bizarre and fearsome it becomes! Come, Farthway, we’ve a long walk back, and must then ride to town again to summon the authorities. Thank God Holmes arrives tomorrow –’

  ‘He is coming tomorrow?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Yes, he wired –’ I stopped at mid-sentence and stared at the man. ‘How do you know of Holmes?’

  ‘What do you mean? He is a friend of yours?’ he answered nervously.

  ‘You responded as if you’d heard of him. Yet, I have been most careful not to mention him in any company save the Allistairs. Now how came you to hear of him? Answer up straightaway now, or it’ll go hard with you!’

  He remained silent for some time, obviously undergoing some kind of inner struggle between telling me all and holding back.

  ‘I have nothing more to tell you, Doctor,’ he said at last. ‘I’m afraid that if things go hard with me at Strathcombe, then so be it.’

  Considering the ability of the abductors to plant spies in the Allistair household, and apparently come and go about the place as they pleased, this stance by Farthway set me very ill at ease indeed.

  ‘I urge you to reconsider. Your silence will be interpreted as an admission of being in league –’

  ‘Such an interpretation would be unwarranted and foolish. I am in league with no one. Furthermore, I am most anxious for the well being of all the Allistairs – hence my concern for both of you earlier this evening when I’d found you had visited the Hollow. Now please, you must not question further, Doctor. As you have said, ther
e is much to do and little time.’

  So saying, he turned and struck out in the direction of the road. I was about to follow, but remembered the one who had brought us to the eerie place. I retraced my steps to the top of the stony precipice. There was poor Clancy, just as we’d left him. I urged him to come away from the dire spot, but no amount of calling would suffice. When I attempted to pick him up, he growled and snapped at me. So I left him there at his dead master’s side, his head on his paws in grief. I descended the rock, and started the long, cold walk back to Strathcombe with a man whom, for several reasons, I did not wholly trust.

  Never before, in all my years with Sherlock Holmes, had events rushed so ominously and inexorably towards some dark and puzzling finale. And never before was I so alone.

  Ten

  THE VORTEX

  I cannot convey in words the relief that coursed through my soul when, shortly after three on the following day, I heard the rattle of the landau in the drive and spied the angular face of Sherlock Holmes, who was perched upon the rear seat.

  I was, however, much surprised that he should choose so public an arrival. Surely this formal approach to Strathcombe in broad daylight flew in the face of the warning to the Allistairs that they should seek no help. It seemed to me that he was tempting fate, but so glad was I at his arrival that I decided not to raise the issue. Holmes had come, and I could breathe a bit easier.

  ‘Well, well, Watson,’ he observed as he climbed the terrace steps, ‘Brundage tells me that things have been cooking here at Strathcombe since your arrival –’

  ‘Boiling over is more the word – dash it, man, it’s good to see you!’ I blurted as I wrung his hand. ‘Brundage has told you about last night’s occurrences?’

  ‘The death of young Compson? Most unfortunate. And how’s the girl?’

  ‘Off to her relatives. It was all I could do to keep her sanity. But Holmes, I must mention the manner of the man’s death –’

  ‘Worried to death?’

  ‘Precisely. An exact duplicate of the McGuinness murder, but how did you guess?’

  ‘Let us just say that for some time I’ve suspected the abduction of Alice Allistair and the giant rat of Sumatra were connected. No doubt this surprises you. You are also probably surprised that I am showing myself in this rather bold fashion, since the abductors have decreed that Lord and Lady Allistair should act alone. I have my reasons for this too, but shan’t explain them now.’

  ‘As you wish...’

  ‘Now you haven’t, I hope, mentioned anything of the rat to the Allistairs –’

  ‘Absolutely not; you needn’t fear on that score.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Lord Allistair is waiting in his study. There is something of the utmost importance we must discuss.’

  After a warm greeting from Lord Allistair, and a cup of tea, Sherlock Holmes listened attentively to our story of the message within a message. He sat at the felt gaming table, turning the piece of newsprint round and round in his hand. He even inspected it under his pocket lens.

  ‘Turn up the lamp, would you, Watson?’

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  ‘I would say first of all that your optimism is well founded. If this is indeed Alice’s hand, then your daughter is presumably alive and well. The matter of the coded message is, however, more difficult. To all appearances, I would agree with you, Lord Allistair, that this was written – or rather pricked – by your daughter. By running your fingers over the pinpricks, you can feel the bumps are on the front side. Thus, the needle or pin was plied from the back. This was done with extraordinary skill, and just the sort of talent a seamstress would develop. I congratulate you on a fine bit of deduction.’

  Lord Allistair beamed with pleasure as he refilled his cup. Surely, Holmes’ arrival had a miraculous effect on the man.

  ‘Furthermore, since the natural mode of executing such a message would have been to stick the paper from the front, we can assume that Alice was being closely watched and was forced to resort to the awkward tactic of punching out the holes from underneath. In this manner, if the paper were resting in her lap, her hand, plying the needle, would be hidden from view beneath the paper.’

  Lord Allistair could contain himself no longer. He rose from his chair and paced frantically about.

  ‘You see? You see what a clever girl she is? Ah, there’s none like her in all the kingdom, I tell you!’

  Holmes smiled, paused, and continued.

  ‘Perhaps this also explains why she confined the message to the single short article. If she moved her hand about, it would attract attention.’

  ‘Now as to the message itself. Can you decipher it?’

  ‘I’m afraid, gentlemen,’ he said after a cursory glance, ‘that I cannot tell you what it says.’

  ‘But Holmes,’ I protested, ‘surely you can decipher it if you spend the time and effort. You have solved far more difficult puzzles and codes than this in the past. The Dancing Men and the Musgrave Ritual certainly were more taxing.’

  ‘Well, this one is quite difficult, I’m afraid,’ he said, and idly tucked the paper away into his breast coat pocket.

  ‘Holmes! This is most unlike you. With your love of the mysterious and complex, this cavalier attitude is surprising indeed. When you say you can’t tell us – do you mean you can’t – or won’t?’

  ‘I mean... well, hello, Lady Allistair, this is indeed a pleasure.’

  She greeted him cordially, but unfortunately she had relapsed, after her brief reprieve from anxiety, into another fit of depression. This was occasioned by the death of Charles Compson. While she didn’t know the man, Betsy’s grief was contagious. Furthermore, the violent manner of his dying had sent new ripples of dread through her.

  As I saw her enter the study, I couldn’t help thinking that, glad as she was at Holmes’ arrival, she was still worried lest our presence in some way endanger her daughter. Sympathetic as I was to her dilemma, my total faith in Holmes’ prowess and judgement assured me that the present course of action was the only one. Holmes saw her to a fireside seat, drew a chair near to her and, as I had so often observed in the past, displayed a most sympathetic and reassuring bearing towards her.

  ‘There now, Lady Allistair. It’s been most difficult for you, and for such a long time too. I have two distinct feelings: first, I am confident your daughter is safe. Secondly, I have a strong feeling that the trial, hard as it has been, is drawing to a close.’

  His words had the desired effect, and it wasn’t long before she managed to regain her composure. I could see that Holmes had no intention of returning to the subject of the coded message whilst she was in the room. So, confounded though I was with Holmes’ casual attitude towards it, I decided to let the matter drop – at least for the time being.

  ‘And now,’ concluded Holmes after his cordial welcome, ‘I’m afraid there’s some grisly business to attend to. Watson, did I hear you mention that you’d informed the authorities about Mr Compson?’

  ‘Yes. Directly Farthway and I arrived here last night I sent Wiscomb to town with the news. I’ve no doubt the local inspector is at the scene at this very moment.’

  Holmes’ face darkened.

  ‘Then we’d best be off, and in a rush too – you know very well what the “local inspector” is capable of doing to even the most rudimentary evidence. Would you care to come along, Lord Allistair? No? Well, perhaps it’s best if you remain here. Now, Watson, let’s find this Farthway fellow before we depart; he should be of some assistance.’

  We found him in his cottage, hovering over a curious-looking lamp on a table that stood before a bow window. I noticed that the window looked directly towards the house and driveway.

  He and Holmes shook hands cordially, although I fancied I saw a shade of suspicion or cunning cross his face. He agreed at once to go with us, and promptly pulled on his riding boots. The walls of the tiny cottage were covered with various hunting trophies, mostly heads of fox m
asks and stags. On a dresser against the far wall lay an officer’s sabre, the scabbard of which was brilliant silver bound in gold. Near it stood the tall shako of the Black Watch. I could not help being impressed. As we turned to go, I again noticed the lamp.

  ‘Holmes,’ I said, ‘isn’t that a semaphore lamp? I seem to recall seeing one like it earlier – you remember, aboard the steamship Rob Roy, in connection with the adventure of the Curious Boatman –’

  ‘Yes, it’s a semaphore lamp,’ replied the gamekeeper hurriedly. ‘I took it off a derelict in Bantry Bay and keep it as a souvenir. Should we be off?’

  Holmes flicked the brass lever on the lamp’s side and the metal shutters snapped open and shut with a brisk clacking sound.

  ‘Quite a signalling device, eh, Watson?’ remarked Holmes as we left the cottage. ‘Now we’re to take a carriage – ah, there it is waiting at the foot of the drive.’

  I shan’t bother you, dear reader, with all the details of our grim expedition. Suffice it to say that we located the fatal site once again, but only because we spotted the small terrier Clancy at the roadside. I thought at first he’d sensibly given up his lonely wake, but when we reached the outcropping of rock and climbed it, the corpse was gone. I heard Holmes curse sharply under his breath.

  ‘Now, Holmes, surely we can’t expect the constables to leave the body out in so desolate a place as this – decency dictates that it be gathered up for proper burial –’

  With a grunt of disappointment, he whipped out his pocket lens and set to work scouring the rock and its surroundings. He seemed to find nothing of interest save the great bloodstain, which he examined closely. He descended the rock and walked thrice around it until he stopped near the forest’s edge. I could hear him mutter an exclamation.

  ‘The animal, whatever its identity, is enormous. Have you seen these?’

  ‘Yes, last night in the dark. Do you know the identity of the animal? Is it indeed a rat?’