I thus found myself in the difficult position of preserving Tibetan independence by avoiding embroilment in the rivalries of the Great Powers. I made a decision early on to educate my son in such a way that he would be aware of these problems when he came of age. In this way, I would leave Tibet with a leader who could act wisely during the great storms of the next century, storms that would sooner or later engulf even Tibet.

The first great crisis of my regency came in 1891. The Grand Lama was still young, and I was already eighty-one. The Russian agent, Dorjiloff, whom I had mistakenly allowed to enter Tibet, had ingratiated himself with a large number of monks, and Yamamoto, an agent of Imperial j.a.pan, had emerged as a powerful influence among an ambitious group of aristocratic Tibetans. They wished to form an alliance with the j.a.panese to remove China as a political power and to restore Tibetan hegemony over large areas that had been incorporated into eastern China. Considering the political and military power of Tibet at that time, the latter was a silly fantasy, but it so entranced the ruling n.o.bles in Lhasa that I had difficulty at times in reining them in. I had placed trusted a.s.sociates in positions of authority within the army, including my adopted son Pasang, whom I had sent to Kham to pacify and regularise the border with the Chinese. But rude, pompous, and unaware of the consequences of their actions, some of the leaders of the Tibetan army on their own attacked a group of British merchants who had crossed the border. They had been encouraged in this I later learned by Dorjiloff and Yamamoto. The army's action violated the treaty of Yarlung, and it not only raised a British protest but brought about a crisis of authority within the Tibetan government. The army officers had acted without my knowledge or permission. I had them immediately arrested and executed for insubordination. To counter Yamamoto's influence I had Dorjiloff brought in honour to the Potala, where he was installed as a supreme teacher of philosophy. I did this at great risk, for it meant inordinate Russian influence, but it also meant that my agents could watch him more closely. I decided to ignore the British protest until I had successfully dealt with these two agents. I surmised that, despite the seriousness with which the raid on its merchants would be viewed in the English Parliament, the British government would not invade or attack us until the situation had reached a much more serious stage.

In this my supposition proved to be correct. The British were angry, but they temporised and decided to send a mission in the person of William Manning. With his arrival, the situation became very dangerous. When Dorjiloff and Yamamoto learned that the British had sent a diplomatic mission to Lhasa, they were greatly disappointed, for they had hoped for a military attack. They decided to kill Manning, disfigure his body, and announce that Tibet was now in open defiance of the British Government. This would result almost certainly in a British attack on Tibet. Learning of their plot, I had Manning brought to a secret location, where he was put under heavy guard. The house that he was placed in was owned by Pasang, my foster son, and his wife, the princess Pema. Except for these two no one knew Manning's whereabouts.

Yamamoto and Dorjiloff were foiled for a time, but soon their agents learned where Manning was. Still, his guard was so strong that he was in little danger until events took a disastrous turn. Not long after the news that Pasang, the husband of the princess Pema, had been killed in battle in Kham, Manning confessed to the princess Pema his love for her and proposed marriage. Somehow this avowal became known publicly, and there was a general outcry. Dorjiloff and Yamamoto both came to me to denounce the presence of a British agent in Lhasa and to make sure that I knew that large crowds had gathered around the Jor-Khang to protest the union of a Tibetan woman with an Englishman. I issued a decree of silence, ordering that neither Manning nor anything concerning him could be uttered. I had no choice but to put Manning in a cell in the Potala, where I made sure that he was well cared for. He was kept there for several months, and the memory of his presence began to fade. In the meantime several letters came from the British Government inquiring about him. I ordered that no reply be made to any British demands. Suddenly, however, there appeared in Lhasa another diplomat, this time a Norwegian explorer and naturalist by the name of Hallvard Sigerson, another with a secret mission. I refused to see him formally, but learned that he had come with the specific purpose of finding Manning. It was also clear that this mission would be the last before the British sent a military expedition. I now had two British diplomats to protect from Dorjiloff and Yamamoto.

I decided to act in a way which was filled with danger and risk but if successful, one that could protect Tibet and my own authority as regent. Under no circ.u.mstances would I permit the death of William Manning. Indeed, I realised that he must leave Tibet at the earliest opportunity. To get him out of Tibet alive, however, I had to convince Dorjiloff and Yamamoto that he was dead. I issued a secret communique, but one that purposely reached their ears the moment it was issued, that Manning had been tried and sentenced to die by a Tibetan tribunal and that in accordance with Tibetan law he had been sent to the Garden of Punishment. There he would remain until dead. They were informed that they would be allowed to identify his body if they so chose.

I had Manning immediately transported to the Garden and put in the torturous bamboo cage, one of the great horrors of the Tibetan imagination. I had no intention of having him die, however, and after several days, when I was told by my agents that he was beginning to suffer unbearably, I had him removed in the night and Sackville-Grimes, a notorious criminal of London who had found his way to Lhasa, put in his place. Grimes had been mortally wounded in a fight, was near death, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Manning. In my desire to make sure that Dorjiloff and Yamamoto were convinced of the ident.i.ty of the dead man, I remembered an old piece of clothing belonging to my father, William Moorcroft, that bore the initials WM on its b.u.t.tons. I had Sackville-Grimes clothed in this coat. Manning was spirited away to a secret location kept by my good friend, the Newar merchant, Gorashar.

But my plans went awry. I was notified during the night that Sackville-Grimes had died. Rastrakoff, the agent of Dorjiloff, had been sent to verify Manning's death, but had been overpowered and taken prisoner by Sigerson. Sigerson had returned to the house of the princess Pema, where he already held Yamamoto. Although I had good hope of deceiving Yamamoto and Dorjiloff with the dead Sackville-Grimes, I doubted if Sigerson had been fooled, and I had no idea if he would make his discovery public. I decided to act quickly. Dorjiloff, Yamamoto, and Sigerson must leave Tibet at once. I issued immediate orders for their arrests. Dorjiloff was found in his cell in the Potala and was subdued only with a great struggle. Yamamoto, however, had already been turned over to the Chinese amban for his criminal record in Shanghai, and Sigerson had disappeared from his quarters.

I ordered a search of the city for Sigerson, but he was nowhere to be found. I decided to direct the search myself, even if it took all night. This Scandinavian emissary had acted with remarkable resourcefulness, and I realised then that this was no ordinary agent, and no ordinary naturalist, as he claimed to be.

It was just before nightfall that I received a message from Gorashar, the Newar merchant who had been a friend for many years: "'Sigerson'" will come to you. I have given him the gold knife." I was astounded at the note, for it meant that Gorashar had found Sigerson to be worthy of the greatest trust.

I then ordered the search to be abandoned, the guard to the Potala to be relaxed, and that a tall stranger should be allowed to pa.s.s. I sat on the floor at my writing table, waiting for our meeting. I dozed and it must have been almost the middle of the night when he walked in. We stared at each other for what seemed to be an interminable period. I studied Sigerson's face, his gaunt figure, his acquiline nose, and his penetrating eyes. He looked almost familiar to me, as if I had seen his photograph or read a description of him somewhere. His eyes stared into me, and I shall never forget the words that he uttered to me: "Well, Moorcroft . . ." It was the first time that I had heard my English name uttered in over sixty years. Sigerson then identified himself as the English detective Sherlock Holmes, and I remember little of the conversation that ensued, except that out of it came a lasting friendship and a useful alliance.

The conversation was violently interrupted, however. Dorjiloff had escaped his guard, and burst into my room, pointing a gun at us.

"Neither of you move," he hissed. "I heard your little conversation before I entered. What a great piece of fortune! To remove from this life not only the fake regent Moorcroft but also the counterfeit diplomat Holmes!"

He took aim and was about to fire, when Holmes, moving with the speed and grace of a great cat, fairly flew through air, knocking Dorjiloff to the ground, the pistol flying across the room towards me. Holmes had the gold knife at Dorjiloff's throat, but Dorjiloff's formidable strength was too great, and Holmes found himself overpowered. Dorjiloff seized the knife and was about to plunge it into Holmes's heart. I fired directly into Dorjiloff's chest, killing him instantly. He slumped to the floor, Holmes grabbing the knife from his hand.

"A very close call, my dear Moorcroft, and one not so very long after the struggle at the Reichenbach Falls. It is enough to make one think of changing one's profession," he said catching his breath, "except that by persevering one has the opportunity to rid the world of a few of its devils."

"He is the second man I have killed in my life, and I am not pleased at my action," I said. "But such is my fate."

I summoned the guard. Dorjiloff's body was removed. Later that day, Dorjiloff's remains were prepared according to Tibetan custom for offering to the vultures at the Place of Silence, and the Russian government was notified of his death and funeral. That very day, William Manning, the envoy to Lhasa, was escorted to the Indian border, whence he continued his journey to Delhi and then to England. He carried with him secret doc.u.ments signed by me outlining in detail the events of the last several years and a declaration of hope for a period of tranquil relations with the British Empire. He was followed shortly thereafter by the princess Pema, who joined him in Bombay, from where they departed together for England.

Sherlock Holmes remained in Tibet for almost another two years, during which time he, in the guise of the Scandinavian naturalist that he had a.s.sumed at the outset, carried out a variety of studies. He and I met often but secretly, and we became close friends. At the end of this period, he left with Gorashar for Katmandu, the first stop on his long voyage back to England. He carries with him this note on my life, which, depending upon his wish, may see the light of day in some distant moment in the indeterminate future.

Holmes had sat at his desk immersed in work while I read the account contained in the Moorcroft doc.u.ment. He sensed my having finished the reading, and turning, said, with an affectionate smile, "Oh, by the way, Watson, the knife is now yours."

THE GIANT RAT OF SUMATRA.

IN READING OVER THE MANY ACCOUNTS THAT I HAVE placed before the public concerning the exploits of my friend Sherlock Holmes, I have noted that their pages contain many references to cases as yet unpublished. For reasons of discretion, almost all of these tales will forever remain untold. Only one of them, "The Adventure of the Second Stain," did I decide long ago, with Holmes's express permission, to publish at the appropriate moment.

Another of these cases, I now find, fits the present annals so very well that its publication in them is almost necessary if Holmes's experiences in the Orient are to be complete. It took place during Holmes's extensive voyages in the Dutch Indies. The reader may remember that I have alluded to it once before in the introductory words to the strange case of the Suss.e.x Vampire. The story concerns the ship Matilda Briggs and the giant rat of Sumatra, a tale for which Holmes then believed that the world was not yet prepared. No case undertaken by him before or since shows so clearly the dreadful effects of the contact of primitive peoples with European civilisation.

In recounting this adventure, I have chosen to let Holmes speak for himself. The account is written in his own words, the ma.n.u.script of which he gave me after his return to England. Addressed to me, it was set down in his careful hand during some moments of calm in Singapore before he boarded a ship destined for the Levant. The prose is in Holmes' usual laconic and terse style. After an initial reading, I placed it in the tin box that holds so many of his papers at c.o.x and Company in Charing Cross. Although Holmes has expressed to me a lingering doubt as to whether it should appear now, he reluctantly agreed that its inclusion in the present collection was most appropriate, indeed necessary, if his Oriental adventures were to be complete. The ma.n.u.script is undated and I present it here without change.

My dear Watson, I have decided to record for you, and perhaps someday for the public for whom you have chronicled a number of my cases, an account of events that took place shortly before I arrived here in Singapore. The heat here is intolerable, and I can write only in the early hours of the morning, but I must finish before I leave.

In the spring of 1893, I travelled south in Bengal to Chittagong, where I had booked a pa.s.sage to the Dutch Indies on a ship called the Matilda Briggs. I had chosen it because of the rather circuitous route it was scheduled to take to its ultimate destination, namely Batavia, the capital of the Dutch colonies. From Chittagong, the ship was to enter the Bay of Bengal, calling at the Andaman Islands, then at various ports of call, first along the southern coast of Burma near Pagan, then proceeding on to Malaya and Singapore before reaching the island of Java. The trip was to last at least three weeks and perhaps longer, for such freighters move according to no fixed schedule and often stop in remote and unexpected places. This suited me well, for I was in need of a period of calm after my exploits in the Indian Subcontinent.

The ship bore the American flag and, in addition to its great cargo, carried a dozen pa.s.sengers. I was happy to learn as soon as we embarked that except for two people who figure in the events that follow, the remaining pa.s.sengers were of no interest to me. Six of them consisted of an American missionary, a Mr. Blackton, and his family; another three were an aged Dutch couple and their crippled daughter returning to Batavia after a trip to Holland; the remaining two pa.s.sengers I shall describe presently. Had I looked for intelligent stimulation, I should have been sorely disapppointed, but I sought only the calm of the sea to soothe my nerves and limbs, by now exhausted by India.

For this voyage, I had again changed my ident.i.ty. This was merely an added precaution, since it was not unlikely that some of my cleverer enemies, notably the criminal Anton Furer, now aware of my existence, might try to follow me. I travelled as William Redfern, a person with no visible means of support, but one who professsed an amateur interest in the archaeology of Asia in general and of the Dutch Indies in particular. In order not to cause undue comment, I dined every evening with the captain and the other guests, but otherwise took my meals in my quarters, which were on the upper deck. The meals below were of tolerably short duration and, except for the occasional raucous behaviour of some of the American children, they were pleasant enough. The captain was a large Swede, whose overwhelming interest was first the sea, and secondly the food that was served.

It was towards the end of what was an uneventful voyage that I came to know two pa.s.sengers, Baron Maupertuis, of the Netherlands-Sumatra Company, and his wife, who, as I was to learn very quickly, was of English blood. It was not long into our first conversation that I realised that she was Ellen, nee Hodgson, the sister of the same Brian Hodgson, the tale of whose ghost I may one day relate to you. The Maupertuises were a witty, diplomatic couple, and although I ordinarily tire of such company, I found their presence a relief from what had by then become the tedium of a hot and eventless voyage. I had ventured ash.o.r.e on several occasions, however, particularly at Pagan, to satisfy my curiosity about archaeological monuments, and spent my late evenings in writing up my notes about them. You may note here the work "Ruins of Old Burma" by William Redfern, a monograph that was published on my return, which was entirely the result of this journey.

Baron Maupertuis was descended from an old Dutch family of Utrecht and had been in the service of his country for many years. After a term in Amsterdam, he had been a.s.signed as Resident to the court of the Maharajah of Jogyakarta, and it was there that he and his wife were to reside.

On the last day of the voyage, they extracted a promise from me that I would visit and spend a few days with them in central Java. I agreed readily, for the voyage had taken far longer than I had expected. I was frankly bored now by the sea, aching for a fresh place for the eye and a new problem for the brain.

We parted in Batavia, they continuing on to Jogyakarta, and I staying on in this large city to see what I could of it in the short time that I had allotted to the task. It was the usual teeming Oriental metropolis, hot and filled with smoke like much of the East, but without that sense of mystery that I found in Calcutta. Islam had cleansed this once Hindu Buddhist island of much of its earlier beliefs and with it much of its artistic wealth. As throughout Asia, the Moslem armies and converts had defaced or destroyed much of what had lain in their path. After a week of desultory wandering, I decided to leave, the high point of my visit having been the apprehension of a rather silly pickpocket who, thinking to rob my purse, nearly received a broken wrist.

I was rested from the voyage and now felt my old energy returning, despite the oppressive heat. So far, my visit had proved uninteresting. If nothing else, however, I wanted to visit the ancient monuments of Java before I moved on. It was then that I sent word to Baron Maupertuis that I should be arriving in a few days in Jogyakarta and that I hoped that his invitation was still open. I received a reply the same day, saying that I would be most welcome to stay as their guest as long as I should like. I sent a wire with an immediate reply of acceptance.

I journeyed to Jogyakarta by train and was met at the railway station by the Baron's servants. Soon after, I was ensconced in his palatial abode. The Residence is a large Dutch bungalow surrounded by wide gardens in the Amsterdam style. It was within walking distance of the kraton, or palace of the Maharajah, a large compound that dominated the city and stood at its very centre.

It was on one evening of my stay that I obtained my first glimpse of the society of Jogyakarta. The Maupertuises gave a lavish dinner party, to which the Maharajah himself paid a short visit. He was by now a very old man, very thin and frail, but his eyes were still bright, and his regal air commanded attention despite his advanced age and feeble manner. Much of the merchant community was in attendance, particularly those who made large fortunes in these tropical islands. Their round faces and stomachs told me all that I needed to know, and I soon found myself tiring of the glitter.

Maupertuis must have noted my discomfort, for at one point he grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me across the room to a far corner, in which sat a rather professorial gentleman whom I had not noticed before.

"This is the gentleman I met on our last voyage, of whom I have already spoken," said Maupertuis, introducing me. "He is very interested in the archaeological remains on the islands. And this," he said turning to me, "is Professor Van Ruisdael of Leiden."

Van Ruisdael greeted me with a slight nod. He did not rise, I think not out of any innate rudeness but rather because his bulk made it difficult for him to move out of his chair. He was an enormous man even seated, one who projected immense intellectual and physical energy. His face was round, his head bald with a fringe of long, dark brown hair, and he had small, dark but penetrating eyes. He motioned me into the chair next to him and we began to talk.

Van Ruisdael until then I had known only by name. He was one of the leading archaeologists of Europe and was by training a paleontologist, one who had made significant discoveries in the Pyrenees with regard to early mammals. He had been asked by the Dutch government to lead the archaeological explorations of the East Indies, and had been in Java for over three years.

"I gather that you are an archaeologist," he began, with a slight tone of condescension. His English was not quite perfect, but in the few words he uttered he communicated an overwhelming self-confidence.

"Not by training, only by continuing interest," I answered in Dutch, a language which I had spoken since childhood. My answer, in his native language, delighted him and we both laughed.

"An Englishman who speaks perfect Dutch, a rare pleasure indeed!"

He seemed genuinely pleased, and our conversation continued that evening in both languages. We discussed the ancient ruins of India and the rest of Asia, comfortably isolating ourselves from the other guests.

Van Ruisdael had just finished the initial clearing of the famous Buddhist site known as Borobodur and had begun the preliminary investigation of a series of Hindoo temples at Prembanan, a village not far from Yogyakarta. But at a certain moment, his voice took on a more serious tone and he said: "But the monuments have not much interest for me. I am interested in deeper things, what lies behind them, perhaps."

I asked him to describe these things, and without hesitation he answered: "These monuments, all of the historic period, all very recent from the point of view of mankind's long history, all lifeless stone even though some of them bear remarkably beautiful sculptures, are the result of long processes about which we know very little. They are of greater interest to the historian than they are to me, for I am interested in origins, in human origins and man's early society, in the earliest creatures man knew and domesticated, and his relationship to them. I am interested, in other words, in the origins of man's culture. As you know, I began as a paleontologist interested in early mammals. It was only natural, therefore, that when I began to work on the Hindoo temples of Java I became intrigued with their portrayal of animals and other fantastic creatures. Have you ever looked at Hindoo sculpture not from the point of view of fantasy but from the point of view of reality, from its paleontological aspects?"

I said that I had not really ever considered the question, that I a.s.sumed that the rich imagination of the Hindoo had conceived these creations for didactic purposes, but that the world often turned out to be stranger than we first conceived it to be.

Van Ruisdael looked at me and said quite simply: "I too for the longest time shared your view. But my investigations have begun to lead me to see things differently. I believe now that these may be more than what we have believed them to be. These temples, with giant apes and monkeys, halfman, halfbird, elephant-headed, G.o.d-men riding on birds, on rodents, on bulls, four-armed deities, what indeed does all this represent?"

"Surely," I said, "you do not believe that these are images of actual creatures of the past?"

He laughed and said, "In most cases not, though I do not believe that they are imaginary either. I believe, however, that they may represent ancient forms represented in religious life, the memory of ancient life forms used in early prehistoric ritual and sacrifices, perhaps now lost to us. In some cases, however, I am not sure what to believe."

His face became quite serious and he moved slowly in his chair, searching in one of his coat pockets, from which he took a small circular silver box. He handed it to me and asked me to open it and examine the object which it contained. In it I found a small whitish object, about a quarter of an inch long, that I immediately recognised as a tooth.

"An incisor," I said, "probably of rodens communis or rattus alexandrinus, the common field rat."

"Yes, indeed," said he. "Now look at this." He then pulled a larger box from his coat and invited me to open it. Again, I found a whitish object, this time over four inches long, in form exactly like the first, only much larger. It was embedded in a black rock and had been partially fossilised.

"Extraordinary," I said, "in form almost exactly like the first, except that it is many times bigger. It is the tooth of a rodent, or a rodent-like creature, but one of enormous size. I have never seen anything quite like it. The collections of Europe contain nothing remotely comparable."

"You are obviously well versed in paleontology. You are correct. It is a rare find, from Sumatra in fact, where the species flourished millions of years ago but is now extinct. It is the tooth of a giant rat, an animal that may have been several feet long, an extremely dangerous and efficent creature, I might add. It is difficult to imagine what havoc could be wreaked by such an animal. One need only think of the speed of the common rat and add great size to it. There are few who could have recognised precisely what this is, and I compliment you. Perhaps you would like to visit my laboratory at some point and see some of my other specimens. I think you would find it most interesting."

"Indeed, I should like to very much," I replied. "Doch dieser Schwelle Zauber zu zerspalten, Bedarf ich eines Rattenzahns," said I, quoting old Goethe.

Van Ruisdael smiled: "'To break through this magic door, I need a rat's tooth.' So said Mephistopheles. Let us see what magic doors we must break through, then."

Van Ruisdael explained that he would be visiting a couple of newly discovered sites outside the city and would be gone for several days. I would be welcome at any time after that. We continued to talk, and by the time we parted, most of the guests had left.

"I trust that you two had a pleasant and interesting talk," said our host.

"Yes, indeed," said Van Ruisdael. "Your friend here is well informed, an excellent archaeologist." He then bade us all good evening. My eyes followed his huge bulk as he made his way to the door.

When we were alone, Maupertuis turned to me and said: "A brilliant mind, that one. But he knows no limits and takes great chances with his life. On two occasions now, I have had to go into the remote interior of our islands here to rescue him. He is fearless and will do anything for his science. He has no family, no close friends. His life is devoted to his work and his work only."

"It is a devotion which I greatly admire," I said.

"He must have sensed that, for you are the first person in whom I have seen him take other than ordinary pa.s.sing interest."

Maupertuis took out an old silver pocket watch and said, "It is late, and I still must prepare a doc.u.ment for the Maharajah's signature in the morning. Sleep well, my dear friend."

I watched the Baron as he slowly made his way up the circular staircase. I retired shortly thereafter, thinking that for the first time since I had left India something unusual was about to take place.

It was only towards the end of the week that I heard from Van Ruisdael. In a short note, which I received early one morning, he informed me that his trip had been unusually successful and that, if I were still of a mind, I could come over the following day at around four.

Finding Van Ruisdael's quarters took longer than I expected. He lived off the Marleboro, in a boarding house called the "Peac.o.c.k Throne" on one of those winding alleys behind the bazaar. After pa.s.sing through a long series of low archways, one eventually came to a dead end. There, to the right, was a small wooden sign board with a peac.o.c.k carved on it.

I knocked on the gate and was immediately ushered in by a servant, who took me to his quarters. The courtyard just the other side of the gate was beautifully cultivated. Flowers bloomed everywhere, and the small hotel, which is what it was, was very tidy, unlike the rest of the city.

Van Ruisdael occupied a small white cottage at the back of the larger house towards the far end of the garden. It was a small stucco building, with a green tin roof. There was a narrow porch, which ran the circ.u.mference of the house. High walls gave his residence almost complete privacy.

When I entered, Van Ruisdael was seated at his desk in a very large room that served as both his parlor and his study. There were books and papers almost everywhere, and where there were not, there were bones, and specimens of every conceivable variety. In a quick glance at the shelves on the walls I noticed several large fossils, including the thighbone of an ancient a.s.s, the skull of what looked to be an early ape, and several large specimens completely unfamiliar to me. One shelf contained enormous seash.e.l.ls, presumably of creatures long since vanished from the surrounding oceans. Van Ruisdael was apparently sorting through some of his latest finds, for there were boxes everywhere, some half opened, in which I could see the fruits of his recent explorations. He rose to greet me and wasted no time in bringing me to a comfortable chair near his desk.

There was a troubled look on his face but excitement in his eyes, a contradiction set deep in the expression on his face, as if he had found something of the greatest scientific interest, but at the same time mysterious and deeply troubling.

"It appears that your explorations were successful," I said to him, pointing to one of the open cartons.

"Beyond my wildest expectations, my friend. Just a few days' walk from here, I came upon a field of enormous richness in an unexplored area. Every conceivable kind of ancient form is to be found there. Look at this, a hitherto unknown form of suinus selvaticus, an ancient wild boar, and this, a humanoid skull, of unknown age and form. There is no end to it: an area of remains that covers several square kilometres that will need the most careful scrutiny."

Van Ruisdael became breathless as he talked, and beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead as he continued to move his great bulk animatedly through the room, with far more grace than I had at first thought possible. He continued to expatiate on his findings, throwing new ideas out as fast as he could utter them. There was much in his talk that I immediately had to reject as the first sketches of a mind hard at work, but I could not deny his genius: I was in the presence of a first-rate mind at work on material of the utmost scientific importance.

His face suddenly darkened. He turned towards his desk, picked up an object from it, and handed it to me.

"Look at this," he said. "What do you make of it?"

As soon as I saw it, I realised why he was disturbed. It was a large tooth, exactly the same as the fossil specimen of the giant rat that he had shown me a few nights before.

"This is the same as the fossil," I said, "only it is modern. There is something wrong. If the fossil is what we think it is, then the creature has survived to the present from prehistoric times. But there is no other evidence for this. And no one has ever seen or described such a creature. Perhaps we have a coincidence of forms. This may be the tooth of a different animal, perhaps a member of another family."

"The fact that no one has ever seen or reported such a creature is no argument against its existence. I agree that it is strange that such a creature would have survived and its existence still be largely unsuspected, but it is not impossible."

"Let us eliminate whatever is impossible," I said, "and whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the solution. In this case, there is no absolute impossibility, but a near one. The idea of a giant-sized rat surviving in its prehistoric form would go against the entire evolutionary trend of the species. Yet, we cannot rule it out. Do you intend to return to the field where you found it? If you do, I should be most happy to accompany you. Whether this turns out to be as interesting as it seems or not, I would at least get to see the field as a whole and the place of this rather incredible series of finds."

"I would be most happy if you accompanied me, Redfern, for reaching the find spot entails a very difficult trip. It lies about fifty kilometres to the east of Solo in a deep depression in the central mountains. I do not know if any Dutchman has ever penetrated so far before, but I would prefer not to return alone this time. One never knows-a slip, a slight misstep, and one is down a precipice or into a chasm. A broken leg, or even an ankle, and one is doomed. And, besides, who knows what we will find?"

With the greatest alacrity, I accepted his invitation, and we made arrangements to depart early the following morning. A tonga was arranged to pick us up at dawn, which was to take us with our supplies to the next large town, Bulayo. There we would begin the walk towards the fields themselves.

The ride to Bulayo proceeded without incident. We pa.s.sed through wide paddy fields and then entered the town. There we were met by two porters who were to carry our supplies. It was now about ten in the morning, and the sun already beat upon us relentlessly. Having given instructions to our guide, we began the trek, upwards and eastwards towards the foot of the central mountains. We were to pa.s.s over this first range to the valley that lay on the other side. It was here that the field that Van Ruisdael had discovered lay.

The path that we took first went through a large and dense forest. It appeared to be a well-travelled track, for it was clear of obstacles, and the undergrowth had made no inroads in it. Our progress was rapid for the first three hours, and we reached a clearing near the top of the range at around one in the afternoon. There we rested, shaded by some large trees, and waited for the porters to prepare our food.

"Another hour or so upwards," said Van Ruisdael, "and we shall be at the top. From there you will be able to see our destination, the richest field in the world."

It was after we reached the top that I realised why Van Ruisdael had been so reluctant to return alone, for the descent lay along a steep and rocky path that pa.s.sed along the valley that stretched some two thousand feet below. One misstep and one easily fell straight down into a deep gorge cut by an ancient river. The valley itself, however, was a lush lowland, forested in part, in others filled with large rocks of what I took to be basalt.

Van Ruisdael pointed to a yellowish patch on the side of the hills opposite to us. "There it is," he said, "our destination. With luck we should be there by nightfall."

The descent was arduous, Watson, and I remember several times feeling that I should rather not tempt the G.o.ds so often in steep places. Except for blistered feet, however, we made it to the bottom without incident. There, after a rather harrowing cross over the gorge on a narrow footbridge, we began our trek through the valley, proceeding always in an easterly direction. We pa.s.sed through a thick forest, slashing our way through, until, towards dusk, we reached the place that Van Ruisdael had pointed out on the ridge. Yellow earth, patches of elephant gra.s.s-it was exactly how he had described it to me. Night came almost instantly as the sun flashed gold behind the blue mountains in the west that we had just traversed, and we could see no more. We decided to set up our camp and retire early. The porters cooked our simple dinner and we prepared for bed.

Van Ruisdael impressed me again with his physical energy and agility despite his great bulk. Silent for most of our journey, he now began to speak excitedly of his plans for the morrow.

"We have our work ahead of us," he said happily. "Tomorrow we shall begin our investigations. I have already measured the field and laid out our plans. In the morning we shall discuss them in detail. Our workers should be here by five. Local villagers, they are the people who helped me on my initial visit. Let us now get some rest."

In the early morning, just before five, the workers arrived, all residents of a local village save one, a fat, sweaty Javanese, who appeared to have engaged the others. We spent the next several hours with them, explaining the schedule of work, and the tasks that lay immediately ahead on the next day. The fat Javanese was named Uru, and it was he who acted as interpreter when needed. He spoke English, Javanese, and the nameless dialect shared by the others.

The next three days were days of deep engagement with the tasks at hand. Van Ruisdael had previously chosen the exact site where we were to work. It was promptly cleared and the excavation began. A trench was laid out, and the relentless work of marking each specimen as it came forth, noting its size, nature, and location, became immediately absorbing. The workmen, five in all, arrived each morning at daybreak, worked well, long, and in harmony, Uru giving the necessary directions to them. Van Ruisdael and I supervised, and he alone almost effortlessly organised the packing of the specimens that we were to take back with us. We took a long break from one to three during the heat of the day; otherwise we worked constantly until nightfall.

It was only after the first three days that Van Ruisdael and I began to discuss the pattern of the finds. It was clear to us that the site was a peculiar one indeed. "Disturbed" is the word often used, and the anomaly of many of the finds continued to perplex us. There were incomparable riches for science embedded in this field, of this there was no doubt, and much of it was destined to extend the frontiers of paleontological knowledge far beyond their present confines. But, my dear Watson, over and over we found the rather sinister problem that had presented itself in Van Ruisdael's study: we had found again not only teeth, but various other remains of the large Sumatran rat in fossil form, in a variety of strata, together with a variety of other paleontological specimens. But in a group of surface finds, the exact same species of rat was met in unquestionably recent, and unchanged, form. In fact, the number of recent finds was far larger than the ancient ones.

"This large rat exists," said Van Ruisdael one evening, "and continues to exist even now. This is the inescapable conclusion that we must face: the Sumatran rat has suddenly re-appeared after a long absence from the fossil record. But how can this be?"

"I remain as perplexed as you," said I, "but we must continue to search for a rational explanation. It may be that its reappearance here is due to some recent event, and that the continuity of its record lies elsewhere and can be supplied from other sites. But the gap remains enormous. The oldest of these surface finds can be no older than a century at most. There is something else, however, that is equally if not more disturbing, my dear professor."

"And what is that?" he asked.

"It is this: that the Sumatran rat, whether of the prehistoric or more recent record, was apparently always killed in the same way. Have you noticed? The available skulls record a blow to the head that despatched the giant rodent almost instantly. We are apparently in a killing field, where the rat and other animal corpses were brought after death. If that is the case, then we are faced with an even more insoluble problem: how and why were they killed, for killing them was no mean feat. This was a fiercesome creature, of the greatest agility and ferociousness. How was it killed? And, perhaps most perplexing of all, by whom?"

My words seemed to disturb him, and he seemed doubtful, ready to take my words as supporting his own theories and also unwilling to continue the discussion.

"Redfern, my dear Redfern, we are speculating without knowing, but your words tend to confirm my hypothesis. Is the rat wild, or domesticated? Perhaps it is both. If the oldest ones were killed in a uniform way, then perhaps they were killed by some early humans in sacrificial ritual after they were captured and raised for a time. Perhaps, as you say, we have stumbled upon a sacrificial field. It is in such ritual that we have the beginnings of religion-all later religion, the great temples, the great sculpture, and the great texts-all stem from these early original sacrifices. But enough, we must do our work, then a.n.a.lyse, and theorise, but only after we have all the evidence."