Excerpts from Baker Street Gazette #1:

"LORD BACKWATER'S MESSAGE FROM THE BEYOND"

by W. E. Dudley, B.S.I.

    To find the Untold Tale of Lord Backwater, we must dip into the Canon at "The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor":  "Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion . . . " and then another little reference in "Silver Blaze":  "Wessex Plate . . . 3 . . . Lord Backwater's Desborough (yellow cap and sleeves) . . . "  There we have it, our drop of water, to now develop our Niagara.

    Good old Dr. Watson has at least told us a bit about our friend Backwater:  He calls his horse "Desborough" and his colour is yellow.  Why did he choose the name "Desborough" and why does he favour yellow?

    This tale requires a cold, dark, foggy London night when only tourists and mad-dogs are abroad.  The Great Detective was in the midst of a complicated chemical experiment and Dr. Watson was, of course, dozing over a "yellow-backed" novel.  We would not have it any other way.  Now, we have only to wait for the Visitor who will hurl us into the vortex of adventure.

    Lord Backwater sailed into the room like a ship at full steam.  He was a massive man--great domed forehead, a bright red face, thick eyebrows over dark flashing eyes.  He was dressed to the height of fashion, strictly Savile Row, with highly-polished Regent Street boots.  His hand held a stout stick with a silver head.  On his lapel was the riband of the O.B.E.

    Lord Backwater extended his card: "Lord Backwater/Country Gentleman/Desborough."  The Great Detective showed his Lordship to a comfortable chair and provided a rich Havana.

    "Ah, Lord Backwater, your name is not unfamiliar.   I believe you have been called 'the Uncrowned King of Australia.'"

    Lord Backwater chuckled.  "Well, Mr. Holmes, I have been called a great many things.   But, perhaps, 'Uncrowned King of Australia' is not far from the mark.  I do rule, or at least own, a fair part of the land Down Under."

    Dr. Watson spoke up.   "Let us get to the problem.  Mr. Holmes has no time to discuss the ownership of Australia."

    Lord Backwater swung around sharply and his eyes flashed anger.  "Sir, I was speaking with Mr. Holmes.  I do not like interruptions from bystanders.  Especially from insufferable Pommies. (1)  Out Ballarat way, we are men and not milksops like the miserable English--"

    Dr. Watson sputtered in consternation.  "Sir, you have insulted a great people.  As an officier, late Indian Army, I resent your remarks and they are in the poorest possible taste."

    "Gentlemen, please avoid rhetoric.  Surely, Lord Backwater did not come to us for a discussion as to the relative merit of Australian and English people."

    Lord Backwater smiled.  "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes.  I am a too outspoken man.  In fact, many people consider me a scoundrel of the first-water.  They are probably right.  But, I do have a problem and one worthy of your attention at that."

    "Now we begin to make progress.  Please give me the details of your problem and leave out nothing.  I must have data."

    "Well, Mr. Holmes, I left London and went to Australia as a young man to seek my fortune.  I went out penniless and came back a rich and titled man.  My achievements in the Outback cost me my health, and I have only a few years left at best.  I decided to come to England and die here.  But, I brought a lot of Australia with me.  My country estate 'Desborough' has been fitted out like a cattle station in Victoria. Thus, while I now live among the Pommies, I have little contact with them.  My servants are all 'Strine folk.'" (2)

    Sherlock Holmes blew a ring of blue smoke across the room.  "Of course, Lord Backwater, background information is often essential to an investigation, but pertinent facts about the problem at hand is usually more valuable.  Let us start with the beginning of the problem and develop that data."

    Lord Backwater glared.  "I say, Mr. Holmes, you have a way of grating on a man's nerves.  I am trying to tell my story in my own words--"

    "Lord Backwater, none of that.  The time of Mr. Holmes is very valuable.  I suggest that you take your little problem to the Official Police and please close the door as you leave--"

    Lord Backwater exploded.  "Must I be treated like this? For your information, Dr. Watson, I have been to the Official Police, and they did absolutely nothing!  It was for that reason that I came to Mr. Holmes.  If these Bobby types went out to 'Strine', the bushrangers would massacre them all--"

    Sherlock Holmes laughed and puffed on his pipe.  "This is certainly an interesting, if confusing conversation, but enough of idle chatter.  Once more, please.  Lord Backwater, back to your problem.  And, Watson, do give his Lordship a chance."

    Dr. Watson pouted, muttered a bit, "Chap can't say a word," and then started ruffling through the pages of his novel.

    "Mr. Holmes, I have said that I am outspoken, and I might add that I drink heavily.  When I combine the two, sparks sometimes fly.  The water in Australia often has a foul taste, and out there I learned to drink beer morning, noon, and night.  I have continued that practice since coming back to London.  I cannot abide the watery stuff the English call beer and so, of course, frequent a good Australian pub, the 'Marble Bar' ~- there I get my real 'Strine' lager."

    Sherlock Holmes spoke quietly.  "Ah, I deduce your problem is connected with the 'Marble Bar.'  Now please give us the data that we need very carefully and leave out nothing."

    Lord Backwater glared at the Great Detective for just a moment.  "You are indeed a wizard!  Yes, it goes to the 'Marble Head' and to a man who uses the name 'Mandrake Redruth.'  That, of course, is not his real name.  Took it from a penny novel, I wager.  He is by trade a soothsayer or charlatan or fortuneteller.  I really don't know what to call him.

    "He is 'Strine, right from Sydney, a true Sydney-sider -- you know one of their Cockneys -- anyway --"

    Dr. Watson broke in heatedly.  "I know that my comments are not welcome, but, Holmes, this is balderdash, pure balderdash.  His Lordship is not providing data, he is beginning to tell a fairy-tale--"

    Mr. Holmes laughed.  "Ah, Watson, you are learning to cut to the heart: of a matter.  That is fine, but we must not be too hard on Lord Backwater.  Pray continue your narrative, sir, and I promise no more interruptions."

    Lord Backwater scowled.   "There had better not be.  But, to go on, this wretched Redruth cheated roe out of a great deal of money--"

    "How was that done?  You must be precise."

    "Well, Mr. Holmes, I am a blunt man, but, nevertheless, a sentimental one.  My wife died five years ago, the sweetest, finest woman ever beneath a bonnet.  Her death broke this old hard heart, shattered it to bits.  Not a day has passed since that I have not mourned for my beloved Melanie.  Gentlemen, she was the light of my life."

    Sherlock Holmes puffed on his pipe, and eyed his visitor through half-closed eyes.  "I gather that your problem has to do with your lost wife and this man who uses the name Redruth."

    "Right you are, sir, dead right.  In short, Redruth claimed that he could contact the dead, that he could get a message to me from Melanie.

    "Now I am a hardheaded wallah, not easy to fool.  I've seen the snake-charmers out East and the rope-trick and all of that.  I am a man who demands solid evidence before I accept anything.

    "My wife had a pet saying, ‘that girl is as pretty as a button-eyed chicken.'  I have heard no one else use it.  I promised Redruth a thousand pounds sterling if he could bring me the rest of the statement beginning with 'that girl.'

    "At that point:  he stared at me coldly and said, ‘Be here tomorrow night, and I will have the message for you.'  Then he turned on his heel and quick-marched out of the pub."

    "And the next night?" asked the Great Detective in a gentle voice.

    Lord Backwater shook his head vigourously.  "He gave me this paper; 'that girl is as pretty as a button-eyed chicken.'  I was absolutely dumbfounded. My mind almost lost its bearings.  I gave him a thousand pounds sterling and then sat for a long time just staring at the paper.  Was it possible that he could contact the dead?"

    "Since then, there have been other meetings with Redruth, and other payments, I gather?"

    "Yes, Mr. Holmes, I have met him several times more.  Each time he brought messages from Melanie. None so dramatic as the first, but still the messages were in her style.   They were so like her.   Little comments about beautiful sunsets, about dew on roses, about little animals frolicking in play, about the fresh smell after a summer rainstorm.  All of those little things that were so her."

    "Ah, Lord Backwater, then what convinced you that you had been cheated by Mr. Redruth?"

    "I learned that he has been spying on me for some time before our 'chance' meeting at the 'Marble Bar.' He had learned details of my past life, probably from reading newspaper accounts about the 'Uncrowned King of Australia' and thus had gotten the true picture of me as a hard-driving businessman with a very soft spot in his heart for his wife."

    Mr. Holmes thought for just a moment.  "Yes, much can be learned from careful reading of the newspapers, especially the Agony columns.  But, the 'that girl' saying -- where could Redruth have learned that?"

    The visitor shook his head.  "That I do not know! I never, never used that phrase in talking to anyone.  It has never been written down."

    Sherlock Holmes frowned and looked the visitor right in the eye.  "Are you certain of that, Sir?  Dead Certain?  This is very important."

    Lord Backwater's eyes flashed fire.  "Of course I am certain!  No one aside from myself and my wife knew of that saying.  No one."

    The Great Detective smiled.  "Now, Lord Backwater, look at the facts. Kedruth knew the saying. Obviously, he did not obtain it by communicating with your deceased wife.  Ergo, he got it elsewhere.  There is no other explanation.  Think back carefully, you must have used the saying in the presence of someone or else it was somewhere written down."

    Lord Backwater leaped to his feet.  "I will have no more of this damned impertinence!  Send your bill to my home.  Do not come there in person, or I shall give you the hiding of your life!  Good evening, gentlemen."

    As his Lordship stormed out, Sherlock Holmes laughed uproariously.  As for Dr. Watson, he was close to apoplexy.

    "Holmes, this is outrageous!  Lord Backwater is not worthy to be Knight of the Realm.  Why the man is nothing less than an insufferable boor!  I trust your fee will reflect his absurd conduct--"

    "Oh, come now, Watson.  A client has no obligation to hold his temper or, for that matter, to be a gentleman.  In any case, his little story interests me.  I think an interview with the unusual Mr. Radruth is in order."

    The two friends found Mr. Redruth at the "Marble Bar" and it was obvious from his somewhat slurred speech that he had been there for some time.  He was a small man with a pinched face and quick-darting eyes.  He was poorly dressed and his boots were badly scuffed.  He spoke with a distinct and grating Australian accent.

    "Ah, so you are the famous Sherlock Holmes and this is Dr. Watson, who writes down your exploits. How charming!  But what has your detective work got to do with me?  I do not communicate with the Pommies who roam about London, but rather those who have gone on Walkabout in the Great Beyond.

    "Oh, so Lord Backwater came whining to you, did he?  He is a most difficult man and an ungrateful one, too.  I got through to her Ladyship Over There, and now he claims I cheated him.  How typical of the Pommie; they order the music and then refuse to pay the piper."

     "Mr. Redruth, tell me about ‘that girl is as pretty as a button-eyed chicken.'"

    Mr. Redruth laughed heartily.  "Oh, the password?  Yes, her Ladyship provided me that.  Fairly sold the old boy, it did.  We were real Cobbers until he got stingy.  Too bad, I could have told him much more about how his beloved is doing Over There."

    Mr. Holmes ordered another round of drinks.  "Now we are in a school. (3)  Let us relax and talk business.  How did you get the pet saying?  Obviously it did not come from the Next World."

    "How do you know?  You are not a Spiritualist.  You may be a Great Detective, but you have no knowledge of the Hereafter."

    "But I am familiar with schemes designed to part the gullible from their money.  Obviously you found the saying somewhere or tricked Lord Backwater into revealing it to you.  The rest of what you told him could have been easily gained by careful reading of old newspapers.  You are not a conduit to the Next World but rather, quite simply, one who sells false information for money."

    "Oh, am I now.  Well, let me offer you some proof.  We have never met before, but I know you well because I have had occasion to communicate with several of your deceased relatives.  From them, I know of your friend, Victor Trevor."

    It was Mr. Holmes' turn to laugh, "You know of him from 'The Gloria Scott.'   Please do be a bit more subtle.  Tell me something that has not been written down for the public to read."

    "Well, the Tarleton murders have not been written down.  That is one of the Untold Tales.  But, you solved the murders.  It was the Sadhu, of course."

    Mr. Holmes smiled and shook his head.   "I see you do your background work quite thoroughly.  Let us develop a working hypothesis.  From reading you learned of Lord Backwater's great affection for his wife. You also found that you shared his dislike for the poor Pommies.  Where would an enthusiast for Australia go in London?  That is simple:  to an Australian pub.  Then a casual meeting by two people from Down Under.  You know his Lordship's history, you know how to flatter him, then you led him to the question of contact with her Ladyship.

    "How did you know the pet saying?  That seems a bit harder, but does not constitute an impossible problem.   His Lordship provided the first part ‘that girl' and this led you back to your newspaper reading. You found nothing.  Then, you sent a few cables to a fellow 'Spiritualist' in the Land of 'Strine.  It is safe to presume that if the saying was the 'pet' of Lady Backwater that she used it in the presence of people other than his Lordship.  A reply cable furnished you with the 'password' to Lord Backwater's money."

    "Mr. Holmes, I see that you are something of a Spiritualist yourself.  But, what good are all your deductions?  You can prove nothing.  For none of my little talks with Lord Backwater are written down; they are Untold Tales.  And if he gave me any money, it was simply a gift to a fellow Aussie.  Any money was in cash, no cheques were involved.  So you see, I am completely in the clear."

    "Not quite, Mr. Redruth.  Cheating people is a crime in this country.  If you do not wish to find yourself at Bow Street and shortly thereafter in Pentonville, I suggest that you return the 'gifts' and book passage on the next steamer to Australia.  We do not need your schemes here."

    Mr. Redruth hesitated for a moment.  "Sound advice, Mr. Holmes.  I see that you are a wise man. However, I hear there are many sheep in need of shearing in the States.  I think a pilgrimage to New York is in order."

    The Great Detective laughed.  "No, no, Mr. Redruth, you are bound for Sydney -- otherwise a cable to the New York Police Bureau will be necessary."

    "Mr. Holmes, you are too formidable an opponent for the likes of me, I do not battle against overwhelming odds.  In any case, as a true Sydney-sider, I am homesick for the old town and there is a P&O liner leaving for Down Under on Friday next.  I shall be aboard her."

    The recovery of Lord Backwater's money much improved the old reprobate's temper, and he was downright mellow as he dined with the two friends at famous Simpson's-on-the-Strand.

1)  Australian slang for English.

2)  Slang for Australian.

3)  'Strine for "We are a drinking group."

"THE GIANT PROBLEM FROM SUMATRA"

by W. E. Dudley, B.S.I.

    Good old Canon!  Sometimes it tells us practically nothing about untold tales, but with enough digging we may be able to come up with some data.  How true is that of "the giant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not prepared"?  Maybe the world is now mature enough for that tale.  All that we have to work with is that brief reference in "The Adventure of the Sussex Vampire."

    We do know that Mr. Holmes was involved with the giant rat before the coming of his Boswell, since Dr. Watson did not recognize the name "Matilda Briggs" as that of a ship and not a lady.  We also are told that somehow the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd of 46 Old Jewry had a connection with the case. Since Old Jewry is in the City close by the Bank of England, we may surmise that Morrison, Morrison and Dodd had some association with high finance.  So far so good . . .

    The"E.J.C." who wrote the letter for the firm is not further identified, but perhaps he is the key that will unlock the mystery of the giant rat.  Since we know his methods that shall be our starting point.  So let us suppose that "E.J.C." came round to Montague Street to consult with Sherlock Holmes because we know the Master had digs there before the famous meeting with Dr. Watson as arranged by Stamford that led to that immortal line, "You have been in Afghanistan, I perceive."

    It must have been a cold and gloomy night in old London town when E.J.C. put in his appearance and accepted the gracious hospitality of Sherlock Holmes.

    The Visitor was a tall, austere man with slow and dignified movements.  His dress was, of course, Savile Row and his boots strictly Regent Street.  His face was pale and clean-shaven, his hair sparse and light brown, his eyes blue and watery, his hands fine and tapered, his whole being representative of that of the cultured City man.  His stick was a well-worn Penang lawyer with a heavy silver-bound handle.

    "Mr. Holmes, I am Mr. Edmund John Caulfield.  I have been directed to consult with you by my employers, the firm of Morrison, Morrison and Dodd of Old Jewry.  Perhaps the name is familiar to you?"

    "Ah, Mr. Caulfield, it is my business to know my London.  It is my bread and butter.  Please advise me as to the nature of your problem.  I know that you do have a problem--otherwise you would not be calling upon me."

    "True, true, Mr. Holmes, I have heard that you are a shrewd man and now I see that to be a fact.  Our firm has the legal responsibility for the vessel 'Matilda Briggs' which operates in the Far Indies.  Now a most serious difficulty has arisen, and, frankly, Mr. Holmes, we are at our wit's end.  And, Mr. Holmes, we must require the utmost discretion in the handling of this matter and will pay well."

      "Mr. Caulfield, you may put your mind at ease.  I am always totally discreet in my handling of the affairs of my clients.  But, enough of smalltalk, let us get on with the matter at hand."

    The Visitor was silent for a moment.  Then he spoke slowly and with emotion, "Mr. Holmes, what do you know of Sumatra?  That strange and far away land.  That land which has brought my employers and myself to the brink of disaster.  Oh, that we had never taken responsibility for the 'Matilda Briggs'--that accursed ship--"

    Sherlock Holmes spoke with some abruptness.  "Here, here, Mr. Caulfield, let us avoid dramatics.  I am a Consulting Detective and not a Thespian.  I must have data and not sermons of lamentation.  Pray confine yourself to the facts."

    The Visitor shook his head.  "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes.  I fear this horrible business has near unsettled my mind.

    "In brief, this is the story.  For some time now business has been at a low ebb due to some financial disasters in Australia that have fair shaken the City to its foundations.  Then came a very bright spot.  Our firm acquired the 'Matilda Briggs' by default and ordered her to East India Docks for sale to the highest bidder.  Stood to make a fair profit from her, too.  Of course, her captain rebelled at the idea.  He is an old China Seas man with a heart as black as night.  He tried to buy the ship himself, but could not raise the dollars.  No banking house would touch him, what with his reputation for drink and his vile temper.

    "As you know there are many strange and evil diseases that originate in the Orient and for reasons H.M. government has wisely decreed that ships coming from out there, and especially for Sumatra, must go into Quarantine.  This meant that we would lose a fortnight, perhaps more, while the medical wallahs checked out the 'Matilda Briggs' from top to bottom.  We could not stand that delay, Mr. Holmes, our buyer was most anxious to consummate the sale and the time in Quarantine would have prevented us from making a badly needed profit.  That robbed us of our common sense and no doubt the Book is right when it says that 'the love of money is the root of all evil.'

    "Thus, we agreed when the scoundrel captain of the 'Matilda Briggs' -- Jack Shinwell is his name, a man of most foul antecedents suggested that he knew how to avoid Quarantine and could bring the ship to East India Docks on schedule.  He apparently knew someone in H.M. Service who could be persuaded to look the other way while 'Matilda Briggs' came in."

    Sherlock Holmes raised his finger in caution.  "Now, Mr. Caulfield, I find your narrative most interesting, but must make it clear that I am a Consulting Detective and not a criminal conspirator.  This business of bribing or blackmailing your way through H.M. Quarantine is a very dangerous course of action.  At present I do not see any way that I could help you other than to advise you to at once inform the authorities and be prepared to face the consequences."

    The Visitor slumped in his chair in a state of near collapse.  "Mr. Holmes, man and boy I  have always been a loyal and law-abiding subject of the Crown.  I have held my own in complex financial transactions with the keenest minds on Threadneedle Street.  But they are men and not monsters like Jack Shinwell--he is the Devil Incarnate --"

    Sherlock Holmes tapped his pipe vigorously on the table.  "Mr. Caulfield, for the last time, no more sermons!  Are you now claiming that Mr. Shinwell forced you to break the law?  If you are, it sounds quite feeble.  You must do better than that at Bow Street, if this affair leads you there."

    "No, no, I dug my own pit and fell into it.  I led my poor innocent employers into the scheme and now they shall be wrecked unless you can save us.  You are our last hope!"

    Mr. Holmes smiled sardonically.  "Now, perhaps, we come to the problem after all.  From whom must I save you, Mr. Caulfield?"

    The Visitor sucked in his breath sharply.  "From the giant rat!  From the horrible giant rat of Sumatra!  This thing from the pits of hell that we have introduced into our own London!"

    "Mr. Caulfield, it may be that you should go to a member of the veterinarians' profession.  My work is sometimes with 'rats'--of the two-legged kind, but seldom do I have dealings with representatives of the lower orders of creatures."

    "Well, Mr. Holmes, murder is involved here and that brings it out of the hands of the doctors and into those of the policemen.  Jack Shinwell deliberately brought a giant rat in on the 'Matilda Briggs' and has released the horrid beast to run rampant in the streets of London. Look at this from The Times:  'Police are seeking help with their enquiries into the tragic death of Mr. Scott Goodwin of the City.  The gentleman was found lifeless on the Embankment with his throat virtually torn out.  It is suspected that a massive hound was the killer.' "

    "Oh, yes, I did read that melodramatic account.  I suppose that the use of superlatives such as 'massive' makes the story more terrible (and attractive) to the average reader.  For myself, I would prefer a simple statement of the facts.  In any case, why do you suspect the 'giant rat'?"

    "I have seen the victim, Mr. Holmes.  He was savaged by a thing with huge tusks and not by the teeth of a dog.  Shinwell has made myself and my employers a party to murder by his incredibly evil action."

    Of course, we know that Sherlock Holmes questioned the unfortunate Mr. Caulfield in great detail before sending him on his way.  Then he began his investigation.

    First he made a brief visit to his brother, Mycroft, so as to alert the government as to the possible danger of something from Sumatra roaming loose in London.  And, he pointed out that H.M. Quarantine may have been breached.  He took these precautions, in spite of the fact, that he did not yet accept as gospel the tale told by Mr. Caulfield.

    Next he sought out Jack Shinwell and found that worthy deep in drink at a waterfront pub with the ominous name of "Naga" which, of course, is Hindu for "Cobra."  In looking over the clientele of the "Naga" Mr. Holmes thought the name well chosen.  He had not often seen such a scurvy-looking crew as those sitting about the pub.

    Jack Shinwell was a huge man with thick black hair and an untidy beard of the same hue.  His hands were gnarled and burned dark by the sun.  His clothing was nondescript and of the roughest quality.  He wore bush boots that appeared to have never known polish.  A half empty whiskey bottle stood before him and he drank thirstily.

    "So, you are Sherlock Holmes and you are a Consulting Detective.  What is that to me?  Maybe I know Edmund John Caulfield and maybe I do not.  I am an independent man, Mr. Holmes, and men who meddle in my affairs do not always live long enough to regret it.

    "Yes, I am Captain of the 'Matilda Briggs' and proud of it.  Mark my words well, no other man will ever command her while there is life in this old body.  She is like a wife to me, and I am a most jealous man."

    "Captain Shinwell, a man has been killed and I have reason to think you responsible for that death.  What can you tell me of the giant rat of Sumatra?"

    Jack Shinwell threw back his head and roared with laughter.  "You must be a poor detective if you believe in fairy tales.  The story of a 'giant rat' is told out East to frighten the Pommies and send them packing back to Merrie Old England.  I suppose you also believe in sea serpents that swallow whole ships and in snakes that are forty feet long.  If you ever come to Sumatra, I will see to it that you are fair scared out of your skin."

    The Great Detective lit his pipe and puffed for a moment.  "Captain Shinwell, I am a busy man and this conversation is somewhat tedious.  You do not ring true, sir, and I begin to believe the story that Mr. Caulfield told me.  Where is the giant rat?"

    Jack Shinwell downed another glass of whiskey. "Mr. Holmes, you must be hard of hearing.  I told you the giant rat is a fairytale.  I am not in the habit of repeating myself.  I suggest that you leave now while you are still able to walk.  Only a fool would provoke Jack Shinwell to violence.  I have been known to tear men limb from limb."

    "Captain Shinwell, I must advise you that I have some knowledge of pugilism and also of the Japanese style of fighting known as Baritsu of which you may have heard.  Thus if there is any fool at this table, it is yourself, sir."

    Jack Shinwell made a furious lunge at Sherlock Holmes and then felt his head spin from more whiskey.  He never knew exactly what happened, but found himself neatly pinned to the floor in the iron grasp of the Master.  It was all so rapidly done that loungers at nearby tables thought that Captain Shinwell had fallen from too much drink.  It was a much subdued man that Sherlock Holmes eased back into his chair.  The terror of a moment ago had become a most docile and cooperative fellow.

    "Mr. Holmes, as God is my witness, I do not know where the rat is.  I brought it in with the intention of setting it on those high and mighty gentlemen down at Morrison, Morrison and Dodd and a tidy feast they would have made for it, too.  But, it escaped and is now somewhere in London.  Mighty self-reliant it is.  It can eat anything and live anywhere.  Smart, they are, too.  It will take all Scotland Yard and half the Royal Navy to run this one to ground.  If you mean to catch it, you had better take along a steel cage and a few cannon.  You will need more than Baritsu to put the darbies on the giant rat of Sumantra."

    We know that Sherlock Holmes was a most methodical man, and so his next move to visit the British museum and learn all that he could about the giant rat of Sumantra.  He believed firmly in the adage: know your Enemy.

    From his enquiries at the British Museum, Mr. Holmes was led to the cluttered flat of Sir Eustace Braystone on Little Ryder Street.  His Lordship proved to be a portly gentleman with a flush face and a large red nose.  His dress was strictly Marks & Sparks and quite untidy.  His greeting was warm and his handshake firm.

    After some rummaging about he located a cigar for his guest and brought out a flagon of Oporto.  "Welcome, Mr. Holmes, most welcome to my humble abode.  Of course, I do have money, lots of it, don't really know how much, but I don't fancy the High Society.  I have my work, you see.  My specialty is the giant rat of Sumantra and I have been hard at work on a book about them for some twenty years now.  I know them better than any man alive, and, Mr. Holmes, I am a modest man.  My friends say that I have much to be modest about and no doubt they are right.  And I do drink and to glorious excess, but I hurt no one aside from myself.  My wife left me over the Oporto, and further she disliked all of my conversation being about the giant rat.  Well, to each his own I say.

    "Mr. Holmes, do have another glass and then to business.  Yes, I know the giant rat.  I am his friend, I fancy the only one that he has.  A much maligned creature is the noble giant, although I must admit that he does have a voracious appetite.  He will eat anything, but prefers tender bamboo shoots.  Thus, we have much in common.  I will drink anything, but prefer my good Oporto.  It has given my flaming nose which serves as a beacon on foggy London nights.  Just a jest, Mr. Holmes, I beg your indulgence for I see that you are anxious to get on about the giant rat.

    "You know, I near lived with them in the jungle.  Won the friendship of some I did, gave them names, all of that.  It will be in my book which is dedicated to 'Teddy' the best of them whom I came to know and admire.

    "You must pardon my enthusiasm.  The Taipan folks out Sumantra way had me thrown out of the Club for praising the giant rat and some of the wogs wanted to lynch me after one of their number was a eaten by a pack of them.  Sure the giant rat can turn nasty if he is hungry or cornered, but meet him on his own terms and he is the best of mates."

    Sir Eustace paused to fill his glass and this allowed Sherlock Holmes to break into this monologue with grace.  "Ah, yes, Sir Eustace, no doubt what you say is true.  But we have an immediate problem.  One of your 'noble creatures' is on the loose in London and he has tasted human blood.  How can we find him before he kills again?"

    Sir Eustace shook his head.  "How tragic!  They cannot survive away from their jungle home.  Who was so cruel as to bring a brother of my 'Teddy' to this land of cold and furious traffic?  Sir, the man ought to be horsewhipped, and if I am ever sober, I will be the man to do ‘it.'"

    Sherlock Holmes puffed on his cigar for a moment.  "Sir Eustace you know the giant rat as no other man does.  If you were a giant rat of Sumantra on your own in London, where would you go?"

    Sir Eustace laughed and drained another glass.  "You know, Mr. Holmes, sometimes in my deliriums I have actually wished to be one of them.  They are blade straight and steel true.  Not like the millions of teeming humanity that swirl around us in this cesspool of the Empire.  Ah, this is not for me.  Soon I will embark for my Sumantra to be once more with my Teddy--or actually with his descendants for poor Teddy has shuffled off this mortal coil.

    "Where would I go?  There is only one place, Mr. Holmes, the Botanical Gardens.  There alone one can find the sweet, tender shoots of the bamboo that are like nectar to the giant rat of Sumantra.  Please, Mr. Holmes, do take him alive."

    Mr. Holmes arrived at the Botanical Gardens with a squad of armed and nervous Bobbies.  The tusk marks along the bamboo led to the lair of the giant rat of Sumantra.  The rat faced his enemies with the defiance worthy of a 'noble creature' and charged with same courage exhibited by the Light Brigade.  The end was the same:  he fell riddled with bullets.  The great head with its jutting tusks was little damaged and his stuffed form may be seen to this day in the British Museum.  At last the world is prepared for this story. To have revealed it earlier might have led to the greatest panic in London history.

MORE TO COME!