The Travels of Sherlock Holmes, page 4
And so did I.
I, too, had lost my footing on the damp ledge, and although I had evaded my attacker’s grasp easily enough, over I went. I was more fortunate than Moriarty’s poor dupe, inasmuch as I did not fall outwards into the torrent, but rather slipped over and downwards, and was thus able to clutch at the edge of the path as I went. My fingers found some slight purchase, and I clutched at it for dear life, in the most literal sense. My arms felt as if they had been pulled from their sockets, but I held on, and hung there by my fingertips, my feet kicking out over the Falls.
My position was far from being an enviable one, to put it mildly indeed. The waters rushed and crashed at my side, while the final scream of the poor wretch I had sent to his death still echoed in my ears, a reminder of the fate which almost certainly awaited me.
Worse still, I had the horrid sensation that my hands were slipping from the moist rock. To this day, I cannot say whether it was imagination, or whether it was literally true, I only know that I fully expected to end my life at any second in the raging Falls.
I kicked desperately at the rock face, and my boots encountered something in the nature of a tiny ledge, or crevice, so that I was able to gain some purchase with one foot, and that gave me new heart.
Cautiously, I moved the other foot along and up, until I was able to find another hold. After that, it was a matter of levering myself up, an inch at a time, always fearful that my hands would slip back, or that the professor would see my efforts, and send a bullet towards me.
Time seemed to stand still. It felt as if it were hours, but it cannot have been more than five minutes, ten at most, before I scrambled up the last few inches and collapsed, sobbing from sheer exhaustion, on the path. Yet there was no sign of Moriarty or the other villain who had accompanied him.
I realized at once that they had seen the two of us go over, and thinking, quite logically under the circumstances, that we were both lost in the torrent, they had made good their escape.
It was at this point that I thought out what I should do next, exactly as I said when I saw you in 1894, Watson, though my thoughts were not quite along the lines that I was obliged to suggest then.
As soon as he had said it, I had immediately connected the professor’s mention of mountains, compared with which the Swiss Alps were anthills, with Mycroft’s earlier concern as to the northern borders of India -
‘One moment,’ I interrupted.
Sherlock Holmes looked at me with some vexation.
‘I am sorry to break the flow of so riveting a narrative,’ said I, ‘but I really must ask if you had made that connection as rapidly as you claim.’
‘I had,’ said he. ‘Surely it was not so very difficult? Mycroft had told me that there was trouble brewing in the Himalaya, and here was Moriarty looking forward to a sojourn in the mountains. Where is the mystery there?’
‘Well,’ said I laughing, ‘I have known men who would not have made the connection quite so readily.’
Holmes leaned forward, and gazed earnestly at me. ‘You still fail to get the full measure of Moriarty, Doctor,’ said he. ‘His ideas were on a grand scale, greater even than those of the late and unlamented Baron Maupertuis. I had made England too hot to hold him, and the official police would do the same for most of the countries of Europe. Moriarty therefore looked further afield, it was as simple as that.’
‘But – but – what you are suggesting is fantastic! Do you really mean that Moriarty fancied himself as – what – Emperor of India?’
Holmes nodded gravely. ‘Is it so improbable? He would only be doing what the present viceroy does, after all. I believe he would have made a good ruler, within his limits, for his organizational ability was second to none. In the event of insurrection, he would have had the Russian army at his disposal, and in return for all this he would merely have to guarantee the Russians access to the warm water ports. What is so very strange about that? Remember that if the Russians had occupied India a century ago, as they thought of doing, they would not have done anything very different from that, beyond putting in one of their own men as governor.’
‘Even so, Holmes.’
‘And then Moriarty, as a Englishman, would be better able to gain the confidence of the native princelings, used to English overlords as they were, than a Russian. It was masterly.’
‘But to betray his country in that fashion!’
Holmes gazed over my shoulder. ‘I am sure that Moriarty simply did not see matters in that light. He was devoid of all moral scruples. His loyalties were, and always had been, solely to himself, and anything or anyone who got in the way of his ambitions had to be removed.’
‘I see. And having worked all this out at Reichenbach, you decided that it was more important to pursue Moriarty than to return to London and ensure the conviction of the others?’
Holmes nodded. ‘There was no comparison. I had hopes that the police and the prosecution might secure convictions without me, as indeed they did for the most part. But it would have been better to let the entire gang go free than to permit their leader to continue with his evil career. All that came to me as I lay there, recovering my breath.’
‘So why did you not wait there until I returned? We might have tracked him down together, Holmes.’
He slapped my back. ‘Good old Watson! But I had
to think of your wife, you know. She had never openly objected to our little jaunts together, but I had seen the look in her eyes whenever you left your comfortable home. When you were obliged to be away for a couple of weeks together at the time of that little affair at Baskerville Hall, she was positively short-spoken with me when next I saw her. Moreover, it would be very useful to me if the professor thought that I was in fact dead.’
‘I see. And the watcher on the cliff above, then, the man you thought was Colonel Moran? What about him?’
Holmes made an impatient gesture. ‘I knew it could not be Moran, for of course I knew he had been arrested. I only said it was Moran later, to confuse the issue – and quite successfully, as it appears. The fact that the man on top of the cliff was obliged to roll boulders down upon me indicated that he had no better weapon, which also ruled Moriarty out, for he was armed. It must therefore be the second of the two men who had accompanied Moriarty. I assume that he had originally been left behind to confirm that you and the other searchers came to the correct conclusion – correct from Moriarty’s point of view, that is – that the professor and I had gone into the Falls together.’
‘And he tried to finish the job his ruffianly mate had started?’
Holmes nodded. ‘Just so. He evidently had some misplaced notion of loyalty to Moriarty, though Heaven only knows why. Now, when I realized that the second man knew that I was not dead, I was in something of a quandary. It would, as I say, have been very useful if Moriarty thought he was rid of me; he would not be so much on his guard if he believed me to be dead. On the other hand, if he knew I was still alive, that knowledge would make my pursuit of him that much harder, but it did not in the least alter the fact that such a pursuit was still necessary, indeed essential. I had some slight hopes that the watcher might have been instructed to return to London, and not continue the journey with Moriarty, and in the event that is what happened, so that the professor did not learn of my escape until later.’
‘And the rest of your journey was broadly as you told me?’
‘It was. I did my forced march over the mountains, and got on to Moriarty’s track at the Swiss border, being relieved to discover that he had been alone, which meant that the watcher had returned to London, and therefore that I was comparatively safe. I had, of course, sufficient funds, for you will recall that I had our letter of credit in my pocket –’
‘I do recall it,’ said I. ‘I had cause to regret that I had allowed you to hold our money, for I was obliged to borrow a trifling sum from the British Consul, and take the cheapest route back to London. And I may add that it was not a particularly enjoyable voyage, though it was memorable. In the last stages, going through France, I was compelled to exist on stale baguettes and an offensively rank cheese made from goat’s milk.’
‘You have my deepest sympathy,’ said Holmes, though I regret to record that his face showed distinct signs of badly suppressed laughter. ‘Still, it was unavoidable. And I am certain you have made up for any gastronomic deficiencies since then. When I arrived at Florence I sent a telegram to Mycroft, and he replied by coming to meet me.’
‘Jupiter descending, indeed!’ said I.
Holmes laughed. ‘It was a somewhat unusual occurrence, but then it was a somewhat unusual combination of events which had caused it. As luck would have it, the international situation was relatively calm at the time – although even then Mycroft absolutely assured me later that the Panama Canal scandal might have been largely averted had he been on hand to send a note of no more than four lines to the French Ambassador. Still, these things cannot always be helped. As it was, we were able to discuss the more urgent matter quite thoroughly, and to make our plans accordingly. And, to cut a long story short, in a day or so I was heading for Port Said and Colombo, a route with which you are already familiar from your service in Afghanistan, with my ultimate destination being India. It is at that point that the journals of Major Dyce begin.’
Chapter Four – From the Journal of Lieutenant (later Major) Harold Dyce, of the Indian Army Cartographic Service, Darjeeling
I had spent the winter of 1890 in the plains, doing a survey of one of the native principalities, before returning to Calcutta late in the spring of ’91 for further orders. The previous summer, I had been doing some mapping in the high mountains, almost as far as the border with Tibet – I could not remain there in winter, for travel in the higher mountains is only possible during the short summers – and I had fallen in love with the high peaks, so I had hopes that I might be sent there again.
In Calcutta, I was somewhat surprised to be ordered to report to a Captain Gerald Fenton, a man whom I had never met. I went along to his office, and found him seated at a large desk which was covered all over with maps and papers, to a depth of a couple of inches. Fenton was a short, wiry man with a thin, dark moustache and a heavily tanned skin. Exchange his uniform for a white dhoti, and he could pass for almost any of the indigenous races of southern India.
This was an enormous asset in his work, for I soon learned that he was one of that curious breed called Political Officers, who are entrusted with the secret work of the army and of the government in India, and that he often found it advisable to disguise himself, in order to move about undetected.
He passed me a crumpled paper packet containing the pungent native cigarettes, lighting one for himself as he did so.
‘No, thank you,’ I told him. ‘I have always thought they should be proffered only to very good friends, or to mortal enemies.’
Fenton laughed. ‘Perhaps you are right.’ He sat up in his chair, and became serious. ‘Now, I understand from your commanding officer that you have some knowledge of the area towards the Tibetan border?’
I explained that I had done some cartographic work there the previous year, Fenton listening in silence as I spoke.
When I had done, he said, ‘We have had some disturbing reports of Russian activity in Tibet itself. I have spent some time in that region, and speak some Tibetan, and therefore I have been ordered to look into the reports, to evaluate how great the actual danger might be. Would you have any objection to coming along with me? There may be a chance of doing some mapping, though that must necessarily be secondary to our main task.’
‘I should be delighted,’ said I.
Fenton looked worried. ‘There may well be some danger,’ he said.
‘So much the better!’
The worried look vanished. ‘I had hopes you would say as much. Now, we shall need to disguise ourselves, for Tibet, as you will know, is forbidden to foreigners. In the past I have been both a merchant and a pilgrim in those parts. A merchant can take mules, bearers and the like, and hence plenty of supplies, but cannot stray too far from the main centres of pop-ulation. A pilgrim must travel light, but then a pilgrim is not obliged to stick to the highroads, so I think we shall be Indian Buddhists, visiting the sacred sites. What say you to that?’
‘I have some knowledge of Urdu and Hindi,’ said I, ‘so I ought to be able to pass all but the most rigorous examination.’
‘Excellent. I propose to include two old acquaintances of mine in the party, both of whom should be very useful to us.’ It was said in a cheerful enough tone, but he seemed to hesitate.
I asked, ‘Was there something more?’
Fenton rummaged amongst the litter of papers on his desk, and held up a lengthy telegram. ‘London is, as you will readily imagine, quite concerned at the news of any possible increase in Russian activity in those parts,’ he said. ‘They are actually thinking of sending their own representative.’ He raised an expressive eyebrow. ‘Still, if it is some portly gentleman from the FO, we can always pass him on to the colonel, to be shown round the barracks and given a good dinner before he sets off for home again. So that should not detain us unduly.’
‘When do you intend to start?’ I asked.
‘The Governor and his staff will be moving to Darjeeling very soon,’ said Fenton. ‘We shall go along with them, so that we do not draw undue attention to ourselves. It does mean a slight delay, but it may be worth it for the concealment it will afford us – we cannot be sure that we are not observed, even here. My two colleagues are already in Darjeeling, and will have the necessary preparations all complete by the time we arrive, so that we can leave at once, or at any rate as soon as our government inspector has arrived, assuming that he ever does, and assuming further that he wants to talk to us before we go, because you know how these fellows work. They come along, make polite noises to the generals and colonels, have a quick look round, then clear off back home without talking to the men on the ground.’
I nodded agreement to this, and left, to make my own simple preparations, and to say my own farewells, few in number though they were. Not that I dislike my fellow man, much less my fellow woman, but the nature of my work had always meant that I had few opportunities to make any real lasting friendships.
A week or two later, Fenton and I were on the little railway that runs to the hill town of Darjeeling, whose name is familiar to every grocer and tea drinker in England.
The entire machinery of government decamps from Calcutta to Darjeeling each summer, to escape the stifling heat and humidity of the coast. Because of this regular influx of British society, Darjeeling is a microcosm of England. There are place names like The Dingle or The Shrubbery, and flowers that would not disgrace any park in Cheltenham. The children attend St Paul’s School, or worship in St Andrew’s Church, and there is no shortage of revelry of a night, when officers from the British regiment stationed there dine and dance with the daughters of the various government officials, or with those enterprising ladies who travel from England for the express purpose of finding husbands.
But Fenton assured me as we sat on the little train that there would be little time for these civilized amenities, for we must complete our preparations and be off as soon as may be.
When we arrived at Darjeeling, however, the station master had a telegram for Fenton. He ripped it open, and read it with a darkening brow. ‘Damn!’
‘Well?’
He took my arm and steered me away from the throng on the platform. ‘The FO are sending their own man, as I had feared,’ said he in a low tone. ‘We are to wait until he arrives – he is on his way now, apparently – and take him along with us.’
‘Wonderful. A morocco-bound mandarin will be an excellent companion in the high passes.’
Fenton’s face cleared. ‘It may never come to that. We shall take him to Observatory Hill, show him the panoramic view of the Himalaya, and ask if he feels quite up to doing his twenty miles a day with us.’
‘Are we up to twenty miles a day ourselves, I wonder?’
‘Hardly,’ said Fenton with a wry grin. ‘Two miles a day will be excellent progress in some of the places we may be obliged to visit. But an armchair adventurer, whose only glory and triumph consists of having once taken third place in the Hansard Handicap, is hardly likely to know that. No, what really concerns me is that if we have to hang about here waiting for this fellow to show up, we shall miss part of the season for travelling in the mountains. Still, orders is orders, as we know to our cost. And I fear that our orders are quite specific: we are to give this fellow every possible assistance, whatever strange requests he may make. And now, by way of some compensation for this annoyance, let me cheer you up by introducing you to our companions.’
Fenton had a bungalow on the outskirts of town, somewhat away from the bulk of the population, in order, he said, that he might come and go unobserved that much easier. I would stay there with him, and the two men who were to go with us were there already.
The first man was Ram Dass, a short, nondescript Indian of indeterminate age, one of the famous ‘pundits’. These were Indians who did mapping and exploration work along the northern borders, on behalf of the British government. Incredibly brave and hardy men, between them they were responsible for producing almost every one of the excellent maps of these remote areas. In return, they were poorly paid, their work seldom praised or even recognized save by their immediate superiors, and they ran a very good chance of dying violent and lonely deaths on some remote hillside.
The other man was called Thupten Norbu, as near as I can render it. He was a Tibetan, very tall, over six feet in height, and thin, his features nearer the Chinese than the Indian, and he was invariably dressed in a long orange robe. He spoke Tibetan, along with English and many of the Indian languages, and he would be our guide, and our interpreter when needed, although both Fenton and Dass spoke some Tibetan – though Norbu declared himself far from satisfied with either of their accents.
