The Oriental Casebook Of Sherlock Holmes Part 6

"I can a.s.sure you, Madam, that you may speak to me in all confidence and that I have no interest other than seeing your husband restored to you. In showing you that note I have deliberately taken the risk of allowing you to know my true ident.i.ty, which, I trust, will remain with you and you alone."

She smiled wanly. "For the first time in many weeks I feel as though there is some hope that I may find Vincent."

"Please tell me everything from the very beginning," said Holmes.

"I have been in India with my husband for six years. We have lived in Calcutta and most recently in Delhi. My husband is Vincent Smith, director general of the Archaeological Survey of India. Our years here, until recently, have been very peaceful and filled with satisfaction, for I share my husband's interests in historical matters. Unlike many of our countrymen who come here, we have not been separated by my husband's work. He has shared his enthusiasms and discoveries fully with me, and I have tried in my small way to aid him to the limits of my abilities."

"Your husband's writings are well known to me," said Holmes. "Pray, continue."

"As you may know, my husband has dedicated his life to the reconstruction of Indian history and to the preservation of India's monuments. He is working on a volume on the early history of the Subcontinent that I venture to say will become the standard work on the subject for many years to come. Vincent had worked through much of the earliest history but felt that there were very real gaps in the history of the Buddhist religion. He became intent therefore in expanding the investigations of the Survey into the Nepalese Tarai, where, hidden in its jungle confines, he believed lie the archaeological ruins that will provide the answers to many historical problems. More than at any time in his career, I found him to be almost obsessed with the history of early Buddhism. He thought about and talked about nothing else.

"It was when he was in this rather delicate frame of mind that there appeared one day at the Survey an Englishman, recently arrived in India, who claimed to be a trained archaeologist looking for work as one of the Survey's field investigators. He displayed excellent credentials, and even though he was not previously known to anyone at the Survey, he was immediately hired. He said that he had recently worked in Hanoi with the French, and after a stay in Hong Kong he had decided to ply his trade in India. He had excellent references as well, for the French scholars appeared to have written for him effusively. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of antiquities. He claimed a great deal of knowledge concerning the geography of northern Bihar and the Nepalese Tarai, of which he claimed to have made special studies. This latter fact brought him immediately to the attention of my husband, who after a brief interview hired him on the spot.

"His name was Anthony Fordham. To me from the beginning this man was an evil presence, a handsome, smooth, oily gentleman, who I felt in my bones could not be trusted. But he immediately gained my husband's confidence, and the two became almost inseparable. Their talk was constant, and Vincent took to inviting him home to dinner on a regular basis. I was most uncomfortable with this new friends.h.i.+p, for on the few short occasions on which I was left alone with him, Fordham looked at me so voraciously that I felt compelled to leave the room.

"Vincent refused to hear my doubts, berated me for my fears of Fordham, and thought my suspicions and worries unfounded. For the first time, I became isolated from my husband and felt myself replaced somewhat in his attention. The more I saw of Fordham the more I felt that he could not be trusted.

"It was with a sense of relief, therefore, that I learned that Vincent had decided to send Fordham to the Tarai for a preliminary survey of Buddhist monuments. Permission for the expedition had come from the Nepalese rulers after a long interval, and Fordham left with a single a.s.sistant, this now about three months ago. He refused a large party of workers from the Survey, saying that he would be best served by workers hired and trained on the spot.

"A month later, Vincent reported elatedly to me that Fordham had made major discoveries, including ruins that pre-dated the historical Buddha, a rather sensational discovery in itself. Fordham's drawings and diagrammes were quite detailed, and considering the report a major addition to our knowledge of Indian antiquity, Vincent scheduled it for immediate publication without review.

"Six weeks ago Vincent returned home in a state of utter dejection. He said that Fordham's report had just arrived from the printer's and was about to be distributed when he noticed some odd inconsistencies in its presentation. In consultation with his chief a.s.sistant, Mukherjee, it was decided that Fordham had either made some major errors, or had perpetrated a colossal hoax. He had decided to delay publication of the report until an on-site investigation could be made. Fordham had failed to respond to any of his messages and could not be reached. Only Mukherjee was aware of the problem, and in order to avoid his own embarra.s.sment as well as that for the Government as a whole, Vincent had decided that he had best make a field investigation himself.

"Mukherjee went ahead. He wired a few days later from Patna that the sites visited by Fordham had been systematically looted by him and a gang of henchmen, that the sites had been destroyed for archaeological purposes, and that Fordham had disappeared and probably had left India with whatever booty he was able to remove from the ruins. This confirmed my husband's worst fears. He still felt compelled to go to the site himself, even though his sense of betrayal was acute.

"Two weeks ago, he departed, leaving Mukherjee in charge of the Survey, and, on the pretext that he wanted a few weeks to write up his own archaeological notes, left for the Nepalese Tarai. He promised to wire me as soon as he arrived. But after his departure, I received no word. After ten days of silence, I decided then to follow him. Mukherjee accompanied me this far, and has implored me to go no further, for he deemed the natural dangers of the Tarai alone sufficient to deter anyone. He said that he would notify the Government of what had happened and would send a party of police and sepoys after my husband, but I have steadfastly refused to allow this. My husband wanted to avoid the Fordham affair's becoming public knowledge at all costs. And so I find myself in the unenviable position of going to the Tarai jungles alone in search of my husband. It was Mukherjee whom you may have seen yesterday with me in the garden. He is still trying to stop me, but I wish to leave for Patna this afternoon. From there I shall go to the Tarai."

Towards the end of her description, Holmes could see the fear that gripped her soul emerge on her face.

"I do not think that a venture into the Tarai is a wise one, Madam. The natural dangers of the Himalayan marsh alone should indeed give you pause," said Holmes. "And I should be derelict if I were to allow you to continue to believe that your husband may be in the hands of a mere archaeological charlatan. He may be in the hands of an archcriminal who is most dangerous. The man who calls himself Anthony Fordham is in reality Anton Furer, a thief and plunderer who continues to devastate the archaeological and museum worlds for his own purposes. The false name Fordham is one that he has used on several occasions in the past. I am fully aware of his activities in Hanoi and Hong Kong. The letters from French scholars are forgeries, of course. The French Surete has put out a world wide alert for his capture. It is unfortunate that word appears not to have arrived in India.'"

She appeared even more frightened than before. "Will he harm my husband?"

"Not until he finds what he is after. That he is not already far away in another country plotting other misdeeds tells me only one thing: that he has yet to find his prize. Perhaps he needs your husband to find it, perhaps to identify it. In any case, it is imperative that I talk to Mukherjee, and that I go to find your husband."

"Only if I go with you." She uttered the last few words with such firmness that Holmes decided not to try to dissuade her.

"I do not think it wise for you to come, but I shall not try to stop you if you insist. In any case, I should like to meet with Mukherjee as soon as possible," Holmes said.

Mukherjee had not yet left Benares, and appeared at Holmes's hotel within the hour. He struck Holmes favorably as soon as he began to speak, he told me, and Holmes knew at least in this case that Smith had chosen well. He knew intimately the areas of the Tarai which he and Holmes must visit, and had some clear ideas of where Smith might be. He brought with him detailed maps. Holmes took the risk once again of identifying himself. Mukherjee seemed unimpressed, which Holmes found a distinct relief from the normal reaction. He proceeded without interruption.

"As you know, Mr. Holmes, that area of the Tarai is very difficult, and we have only begun our archaeological explorations there. The Nepalese Ranas for many years were quite rigid on this point: no entry under any circ.u.mstances. For some reason, however, they relented recently, and allowed this expedition."

Holmes told me he smiled at those words, for it was obvious to him that some minor figure in the Rana palace had been enticed by Furer with promises of great rewards, and had wheedled what he wanted out of the Maharajah.

"A system of rewards is at work here, Mr. Mukherjee, and I don't doubt that Furer will have promised to share his booty with various individuals. Who is the Rana in charge?"

"The area is under the jurisdiction of General Khadga Shamsher, who has absented himself most of the time on s.h.i.+kar. He was present when the first discovery was made: that of the Asoka pillar at Rummindei. That discovery, as you know, identified that small village as the birthplace of the Buddha. But the General quickly lost interest and allowed Fordham to continue without supervision."

"I happen to know Khadga Shamsher," Holmes replied, "and my guess is that despite his absence, he is well aware of developments through the usual invisible network of spies. Furer's problems will mount as he gets closer to his quarry, for he will have the Ranas moving closer to him, and we will of course move from here. But tell me first what you found when you arrived on your inspection tour."

Mukherjee pointed to the map. "The area of exploration is this, Mr. Holmes, circled in red. It is the area between the village of Rummindei, the birthplace of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, and Tilaurakot, the village that probably contains the remains of his father's city. It is between these two sites that the initial investigations were to be made. Once he had made a preliminary survey in this area, Fordham made brief forays in every direction. In several places, he found substantial ruins, which, unfortunately for the future of archaeological exploration, he destroyed in what appears to have been a major hunt for unknown treasures. All the sites have been destroyed in whole or in part. Knowing the nature of Buddhist ruins, however, I may say that he has misjudged, for it is rare that anything of worth is contained in them."

"And yet," Holmes said, "he continues to look for something, something perhaps of enormous value, which would compel him to stay despite the dangerous circ.u.mstances. Something keeps him there, this rogue orientalist."

"I have an idea, Mr. Holmes, but it is only a suggestion."

"And what is that?"

"The Piprahwa casket."

"And what is that, pray tell?"

"There is an ancient tradition, still current among Buddhists, Mr. Holmes, that after the Council of Kashmir sometime in the first century B.C., the emperor Kanishka journeyed to the birthplace of the Buddha and left a gift in memory of his visit, a casket in which jewels of the greatest value were placed, jewels which formed part of the royal Kushan collection. At the same time, relics of the Buddha himself, were placed with them in a small cloth sack. The casket was first held in veneration at a stupa near Rummindei, but later it was moved to the city of Kapilavastu, which is where the Buddha grew into manhood and journeyed forth in search of enlightenment."

"You may be right, my dear Mukherjee. The jewels themselves would be of the greatest value, but, more than that, to have relics of the Buddha himself would add an inestimable fortune to Furer's plunderings, particularly if they were to be sold to a rich Buddhist in some foreign country. So Furer lurks, hides, plunders until he finds what he wants. Having Smith as a hostage gives him the time that he needs to do that. And perhaps the information that he needs as well. Tell me, my dear Mukherjee, where is Kapilavastu?"

"No one knows exactly, Mr. Holmes, but my best guess is that it would be near the village of Tilaurakot, a village that lies just beyond the Nepalese border."

"Would Smith share this opinion?"

"We discussed the identification many times, Mr. Holmes, and I am sure that Vincent Smith is of the same view. We have long kept our opinion to ourselves, however, for we are well aware of the problems that such knowledge could create should it fall into the wrong hands. Knowing Vincent Smith as I do, I doubt if he would release any opinion to Fordham even under the most trying of circ.u.mstances."

"Let us a.s.sume that Smith is in Furer's hands and that he would not give Furer any information even if he were forced to submit to severe physical punishment. But suppose Smith thought that his wife were in danger, then would he provide Furer with the information?"

"I believe that he would, Mr. Holmes."

"Then I believe that she should leave immediately for Kapilavastu, or Tilaurakot, since I am sure that it exists by its ancient name on no map and is known to no one save the antiquarians. And I should go with her. It is there and perhaps only there that we shall confront Furer."

"I will not stay behind, Mr. Holmes. My duty is to Mr. Smith."

"I was about to say that you could be of inestimable help in our adventure, Mr. Mukherjee, as you have been so far. Yes. indeed, you must come, you must accompany Mrs. Smith. And I shall travel by a different route."

Holmes continued his narrative. "I outlined my plan to Mukherjee and then to Mrs. Smith, who seemed overjoyed at the thought of leaving Benares and the prospect of locating her husband. I was less sanguine, however, knowing that Furer was a hardened criminal, capable of any treachery and cruelty. Indeed, there was always the grim possibility that Furer would find whatever he was searching for before we arrived. In that case, I was sure that he would not hesitate to murder Smith and leave his corpse to feed the jackals of the Tarai. But we had no alternative at this point. I instructed Mukherjee that he should travel with Mrs. Smith by the most direct route to Rummindei and that we would rendezvous there in two days. I would travel separately and in disguise, but I would never be very far away.

"It was by now late in the day. Mukherjee decided that he and Mrs. Smith should leave at once, in time to take the next train to Gorakhpur, thus enabling them to take the last boat crossing across the northern rivers that evening. In so doing, he thought that they could easily reach the village of Besarh by the next day, and thereby possibly reaching Rummindei in two days. I bade them good-bye in the garden of the hotel, notified the hotelier that I wished to keep my room for several weeks, but that I would be travelling and expected to return only after an indeterminate period.

"I waited a few minutes, then slipped into the night wearing the loose s.h.i.+rt and trousers worn by Indian men. It was disguise enough, and it would at least facilitate my movements when it grew dark. I hailed a tonga that took me to the train station at Mughal Sarai. There, I boarded the same train that Mrs. Smith and Dr. Mukherjee were taking. By the time the train reached Gorakhpur, night had fallen completely. As I alighted, I looked back and saw my two friends watching the coolies as they unloaded their baggage. I headed due north on foot, till I saw the river. Ahead of me, except for an occasional fire, there was only darkness. In the growing blackness, I crossed the Gandak in a small craft. When we reached the other side, I asked the boatman to direct me to some horses and a guide, for I told him that I must travel by night. He could take me to the horses, but no one would travel by night, he said, for the fear of dacoits (bandits) was too great. When we got to the horses, I found that the owner was reluctant to give them without a scout. I found myself, Watson, constantly wasting time in negotiations when every minute counted.

"Luckily, finding one turned out to be easier than I expected. A traveller, on his way to his home near Bariyarpur, had stopped for the night at the local inn next to where the horses were stabled. He overheard my bargaining. He knew the trail well but was fearful of travelling alone. He agreed to go with me, though my haste made him wonder what my mission was. I promised the owner that the horses would be returned within a few days, and that we would leave them with his agent in Rummindei.

"Just as we were to leave, the traveller, one Bala Ram by name, suggested that I change my clothes for darker colors. He also held out to me a jar in which there was a dark, viscous oil. He smiled, with a gleam in his eye, and told me to cover my head, neck, and arms with it, since it would not only darken my skin but would make it impossible for anyone to hold on to me should we run into dacoits. This ointment had saved his life many a time, he said. I did as he told me, for we were entering the most dangerous part of the Subcontinent and his suggestions were most prudent ones.

"I liked Bala Ram immediately. He was a large-boned man, with a big head covered with thick black hair, greying at the temples. He had a round, protruding stomach and spindly legs, but he moved quickly and with grace. His eyes gleamed in the dark and I could see his large white teeth when he laughed, which was often. He appeared to no longer fear the journey.

"It was after ten when we set off. The road, a narrow, dusty, shadowy, dirt path lay in front of us and was all that we could see. On both sides was the dark brush and then the jungle, its tall trees almost invisible in the dark. The stars were bright, but there was no moon as yet, and a jungle mist soon began to form. The horses were apparently used to such conditions, for they trotted, sure of their ground. Soon the rhythmic sound of their hoofs was all that could be heard.

"After about an hour's ride, my guide bade me stop. We had come to a river, almost dry by now except for a small stream of water at its centre. He suggested that we follow the riverbed for a time westward, then turn north again on another road. This one would lead us to Rummindei more quickly. There was a direct road from there to Kapilavastu.

"Riding along the side of the riverbed was slower because there were many rocks which the horses had to dodge, but our progress was good nevertheless. The path to Rummindei appeared as a small break in the forest, which Bala Ram recognised instantly, and we turned upon it, proceeding now in a northerly direction. The road widened a few yards past the riverbed and the horses trotted along happily enough in the night air. We were now in a meadow in which there was nothing but elephant gra.s.s, or so it seemed in what now was a silver moonlight. Three hours later, after a short rest stop, we reached the outskirts of Rummindei. Here we alighted from our mounts to rest before proceeding ahead.

"Bala Ram had packed some provisions and, after preparing a small fire, he warmed our simple food and we ate heartily. It was by now one or two in the morning. Bala Ram counseled that we rest for a few hours and start out again just before dawn. Tired from the long trip, I agreed.

"As we prepared for bed, Bala Ram told me much about himself. I learned that he was no ordinary citizen of the region, but indeed was a local raja of sorts. He came from an ancient family of mountain kings, but his father had been exiled from the hills by his enemies and sent to the Tarai in the hope that he and his family would die of the terrible diseases and climate. But they survived and, indeed, prospered. Bala Ram succeeded his father as the major zamindar in the area. He travelled often to visit his various lands, and he always travelled simply, and alone, as a common man, to learn what transpired in the region. In this way, he had obtained the affection and loyalty of all who lived on his land. He spoke several languages and could communicate easily with the lowliest castes as well as the highest Brahmin.

"And who are you, and what is your mission?" he asked. I told him who I was and my reasons for travelling in the region.

Bala Ram's face grew grave in the flickering light of the fire.

"You have a difficult mission," he said. "I have seen this man, this Anthony Fordham, as you call him. 'Mardan' he is called by the people, or the 'gift of death.' He has pillaged everywhere, destroyed temples, reduced villages to ashes, taken the people's G.o.ds and sent them away. He has at his disposal several gangs of dacoits who do his every bidding, and he rewards them handsomely for their plunder."

"His crimes are everywhere the same," I said, "for he has perpetrated his evil deeds wherever he has gone. He has cut a large swath, and in doing so has killed many."

Bala Ram listened intently as I described some of Furer's more horrible acts. When I had finished, he said nothing for a moment, and his expression grew grave.

"You cannot win alone. You must have help," he said. He rose suddenly.

"You must wait here. I shall be back in an hour."

I watched my guide as he disappeared into the darkness. I head his footsteps for a short time and then he was gone.

I was alone in the jungle for the first time, or so I thought. The moon now was a thin white crescent, brilliant in the almost cloudless sky. I listened intently to the forest, the rustle of the wind, the owls and other night birds, the scurrying of small creatures, and watched with a certain amount of attention, I must say, the occasional pair of yellow eyes that stared intently and then moved on.

Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. I turned. It was Bala Ram, who had returned but from a different direction. He had a look of urgency on his face. There were three other men with him, naked except for loincloths. They moved noiselessly, and I judged them immediately by their features and dark color to be of the Tharu tribe, an ancient race that formed the autochthonous population of the Tarai.

"We must move at once. We cannot travel on this trail, for your enemies lie in wait for us, just to the north. These men will accompany us to a safe location. I shall explain what we must do as soon as we arrive at our destination. There is no time to lose."

We packed immediately and set off at a fast pace towards the north. The sal forest now was far denser than anything that we had walked through before. In less than an hour, we came to a clearing at one edge of which stood a mud hut. We entered. There were two more men sitting around the coals of a fire. Bala Ram spoke to them in one of the local dialects, the Bhojpuri of Champaran, then motioned me to sit next to him near the dying fire. Bala Ram questioned them for several minutes before he turned to me and said: "These men had originally been part of Furer's archaeological team, but they left when they realised that he was destroying every monument that he found, including their own shrines. They have complained to the local police, but to no avail. The police are afraid, for Furer now has as his chief ally Gagan Singh, the leading dacoit of this area. His gang of twenty-five now are with Furer in Tilaurakot. With him is Smith, who has been badly treated and, since last night, Mukherjee and Mrs. Smith, who were captured just after they alighted from the train in Gorakhpur."

As Bala Ram spoke, I realised that our situation had worsened considerably. Bala Ram saw the look on my face and said: "The situation is not lost, however. There is indeed someone who can help, and that is a young officer here, a member of the Ahir tribe by the name of Jang Bahadur. He should arrive shortly."

In but a few moments a young policeman appeared, a rather burly fellow with an almost miraculous black moustache. He smiled, showing a large set of white teeth, as he entered. He bowed and then spoke quickly to Bala Ram, who then turned to me: "Jang Bahadur has raised a group of some sixty armed men, who will accompany us to Kapilavastu. We shall surround Fordham and his gang, since they can have little inkling of our presence as yet." Bala Ram quickly explained to me how we should proceed. I then made clear to him that I should like to enter Furer's camp and deal directly with him myself. He agreed. I also explained that there should be no shooting unless absolutely necessary and that more important than the capture of Fordham was the safety of Mr. and Mrs. Smith and Mr. Mukherjee. Bala Ram a.s.sured me that once the men were in place, the plan would go according to my wishes.

Jang Bahadur agreed to meet us near the Furer camp with his men just before dawn. Bala Ram and I and the Tharus who had joined us walked out of the hut into the cool night.

Despite his bulk, Bala Ram travelled in the jungle at great speed. He knew the area well, for he had grown up in a village not twenty minutes distant. I could do nothing but follow. The jungle was dark, and the only things visible were the dirt path and the turbans of the men. Three hours of this and we were close to our quarry. We came to a clearing near the outskirts of the village. Bala Ram entered a small hut and motioned us in. In a few minutes, Jang Bahadur entered. He announced that the Furer camp was now completely surrounded by his men, fully armed. Neither Furer nor Gagan Singh and his dacoits could escape. The rest was now up to us. Bala Ram and I proceeded to enter the camp, moving as close as we could to the central fire.

Except for a guard, the entire group appeared to be asleep. Smith, his wife, and Mukherjee were huddled together on the ground, not far from the fire, their hands and feet tied. The dacoits lay asleep everywhere. There were several tents, in one of which Furer presumably slept, and another in which the head of the dacoits, Gagan Singh, was also unaware of what was taking place.

I decided then on a dramatic but rather reckless move. I walked directly over to the guard and told him in Hindustanee to take me to Furer. So startled was he and so frightened by the sudden appearance of a tall, gaunt Englishman in the middle of the jungle, that rather than give the alarm, he simply led me over to Furer's tent. Furer was asleep, a rifle beside him. I pulled the rifle away and he was instantly awake, but it was too late. I pointed the gun at his head.

"Move ever so slowly, Furer. Quietly, not a word." He did as he was told. I must say, Watson, that rarely in my career has anyone's face showed the disbelief and fear that Furer's displayed when he recognised me as I held the rifle to his left temple. I could see that though he s.h.i.+vered with fear, he watched carefully for the slightest hesitation on my part. I motioned him to untie his prisoners, which he did with great despatch. I indicated to the frightened Smiths and Mukherjee to follow Bala Ram. We walked past our men into safety. Furer had turned white, as if he had seen a ghost.

It was at this point that things took an unexpected turn. Furer, overcome with fear and knowing that he had been outwitted, turned and bolted back into the camp, screaming to his men that they should awake and fight. But the warning came too late. Unwilling to let them escape, Jang Bahadur and his men took full advantage of their position. What followed was an inevitable ma.s.sacre. The entire gang of thieves and murderers was wiped out as they rose from their beds. They had no chance whatsoever.

Leaving the Smiths and Mukherjee with an escort, I rushed back into the chaotic scene. By the time I arrived, it was all over. No one had escaped. In the early-morning light, the grisly picture was clear. Twenty-four dacoits, including Gagan Singh, and three European henchmen of Furer lay dead. A fourth, severely wounded but alive, was the only survivor and was to be taken for questioning.

To my great consternation, however, Furer had escaped. His body was nowhere to be found. He had evidently been able to take advantage of the brief moment given him before the firing began to plunge alone into the jungle. Whether he crouched nearby or was still running aimlessly in the wild, we had no idea.

I decided to let fate take its course. We made no attempt ourselves to locate him. A message was sent to both the Indian and Nepalese authorities to be on the lookout for him, but he had made good his escape.

We camped that night in the safety of the police camp near Simraongarh, and the following day arrived at the Indian border, where I bade good-bye to Bala Ram and Jang Bahadur, and left with the Smiths and Mukherjee for Delhi. It was on this train ride that I learned from Vincent Smith the details of his ordeal. Threatened with torture constantly, he had, however, managed to lead Furer astray until by accident they came to the stupa that housed what Furer had been looking for: the casket of Kanishka.

"You may imagine my consternation, Mr. Holmes, when I saw this most valuable treasure of ancient India fall into his hands. He gloated over it constantly until the uncomfortable moment came for me when he realised that he no longer needed me. He cruelly discussed a variety of ways of despatching me, including leaving me in a wounded condition for the wild animals to devour. Only the capture of my wife and Mukherjee distracted him long enough to avoid my execution. He then sent one of his henchmen, Aubert, off with the casket. It is lost to us now, but someday I hope that we find it."

"Of this, I have little doubt," said Holmes, "though it may take time. You may be sure that Bala Ram and Jang Bahadur will do all they can to trace it and to return it, perhaps for safekeeping in London."

My sojourn in Delhi was short, and it was only just before I was to leave for Rajasthan that Smith informed me of the latest concerning Furer. He had been spotted moving towards Katmandu, but had disappeared once again. The Nepalese authorities had been notified, but no reply had been received from them. Furer had again outwitted all who had tried to apprehend him.

"And so, Watson, we come to the end of my account of the events in India that led to the apprehension of Furer here in London many years later."

"A most incredible tale, Holmes. And how did you know that the Buddha contained the casket? And why were there two Buddhas?"

Holmes laughed. "There were more than two. But I leave the answers to these questions to you, my dear Watson. It was all a very simple matter of deduction. Come, it is late, and I have talked enough. If we hurry, we can still enjoy an ale before we return home."

And so we walked quickly to Holmes's favourite pub near the British Museum and forgot about Anton Furer.

THE CASE OF THE FRENCH SAVANT.

I HAVE WRITTEN, PARTICULARLY IN THE CASE CONCERNING the Greek interpreter, of Sherlock Holmes's extreme reticence with regard to his early life and family. He rarely spoke of his relations, and it was only after I had known him for several years that I learned, quite incidentally after tea one summer evening, of the existence of Mycroft, a brother seven years his senior. On that very same occasion, he revealed to me that the majority of his ancestors were country squires who led lives appropriate to that station in life, but that his maternal grandmother was a sister of the celebrated French artist Vernet. In this way he descended from that well-known French family of painters, and it was to this Gallic portion of his lineage that he attributed his a.n.a.lytic powers and his not inconsiderable musical talents.

I had no knowledge, however, until one afternoon in late March, 1895, that Holmes shared to some degree in the painterly attainments of his French ancestors. A tiring day with several difficult patients had convinced me to leave my practise early, and I arrived at our quarters at around four o'clock. Holmes was not at home, and I found myself alone. A great weariness overcame me as soon as I entered, and I sank immediately into my easy chair. I was about to doze off when I noticed a large portfolio placed atop the papers on my desk. I slowly pulled myself back from the torpor that threatened to envelop me, and stretching over with the little energy I had left, I took the portfolio and placed it in my lap. A note was attached in Holmes's hand: Dear Watson, I thought I would allow you to peruse these sketches before I consign them to the fire. As honest reproductions of their subjects, they are not without merit, but they lack the necessary artistic inspiration. They were done while I was abroad and record a number of places in the Orient. For that reason they may be of interest to you.

I am nearing the end of a particularly tiring case, the denouement of which should occur around six this evening. It is a case that I predict you will one day ent.i.tle "The Case of the One-Armed Wife" should you choose to add it to your chronicles. Lestrade and the Baker Street Irregulars are on hand should I find myself in need of a.s.sistance. If all goes to plan, expect to see me by eight when I hope we shall have supper together. I shall be famished and should like nothing better than to spend a quiet evening with you by the fire.

Holmes I opened the portfolio thinking that I would concur readily in his judgement of the drawings. A quick look, however, revealed that he was no ordinary draughtsman, and that, as in so many things, he had a keen eye and a steady hand. All of the sketches were in pencil, most in black and white, some in colour, on what looked to be a kind of rice paper, thin and most delicate, of different sizes and quality. All bore short t.i.tles in Holmes's hand, with the date of execution and the initials "S. H." in the lower right-hand corner. I saw at once that they formed a visual record of his wanderings in Asia, an irreplaceable supplement to the accounts of his adventures with which he had reluctantly provided me from time to time after his return.

One of the drawings in particular caught my eye. It was one of the larger pastels, done in subtle hues of rose, gold, soft blue, and green. I studied it for a few moments. The subject was the facade of a large paG.o.da temple with golden roofs, and built of what appeared to be rose-colored brick. It was heavily adorned with sculpture that I judged to be in both metal and wood. At the entrance was a series of steps, at the top of which on either side sat a lion, presumably guardians to the entrance. Above the door was a tympanum filled with a profusion of mythological figures, all exquisitely draughted by Holmes. To the left of the entrance stood what appeared to be a large pillar, presumably of stone, with an inscription carved on its surface. So delicately and precisely had Holmes drawn the ancient characters that anyone skilled in the script could have read it straight off the drawing. At the top of the pillar rested a golden disc. From its center a beam of sunlight shone forth and appeared to be reflected to some unknown point to the right hidden from the observer. At the foot of the stairs a large kneeling figure with wings on its back, half man, half bird, could be seen. To its right at the bottom was Holmes's inscription: "Changu, 1892."

What transpired that evening with regard to the drawings is after so many years still rather painful to my memory, for Holmes was true to his word about consigning them to the fire. He returned as he had promised, promptly at eight, fatigued but obviously elated by his latest success.

"A cruel and evil wretch is now behind bars, Watson," he exclaimed, "and if justice is done in the courts, he will remain there, perhaps forever."

He washed quickly, and we sat down to the simple supper Mrs. Hudson had prepared. We then sat by the fire, where Holmes gave me a brief account of his activities of the day. Lighting his pipe, he then asked, "Where are the sketches?"

"Here," I answered, as I pulled them up from alongside my chair. "They are fine drawings, Holmes, unexpectedly good since I had no knowledge of your achievements in this regard. They show a remarkable-"

"My blushes, Watson," he said interrupting me. "Your judgement is no doubt sincere, but I do not share it. You may choose one, however, for your own to keep as part of your historical record."

I pleaded in vain with him to let me keep them all, but he insisted that they be destroyed save for the one that I would choose. I looked through them quickly again, and chose the one marked "Changu."