Holmes then asked to see the cash box, a wooden box that contained a large number of Indian rupees. There was no clue here beyond the box and the notes themselves. What was of immediate interest was that the notes were well worn, not the new notes that a person recently arrived would receive from a bank or exchange. Some of the money was bloodstained. Holmes laboriously counted it. There were a few large notes, but much of it was in small notes. There was a total of almost 10,000 rupees, a princely sum for a soldier, far greater than any salary he could have saved. His curiosity grew. How had the soldier been paid for his duties? In what currency? Hardly in Indian currency. No, this cash box represented something other than the soldier's wages, a different source of income. But what? Had he himself stolen it? And, if so, from whom?

"I examined the box closely, looking for clues. It was of a common Bombay type, and had a variety of uses. One often sees them in small shops placed next to where merchants sit. This one had a small lock, but the key was gone.

"There it was, Watson. I had no more. A bit of clay, a broken earring, a wooden box of Rs. 10,000, a steam ship ticket that indicated that the soldier had come from Aden, and a small piece of paper written in French and Arabic that I could not decipher because of the blood stains. I should say to you now, in hindsight, that I had enough to solve the crime right then, or, less sanguinely, I had enough to find the path to the criminal. And here, may I emphasise, the next step in all solutions: one must begin to weave a thread, something that connects, through the brain, the various pieces of the puzzle. For what one must create must resemble a picture, or series of pictures, of what had happened. One must become, Watson, an interpreter of events, and re-live what happened in the past, very much as a historian must who wishes to solve the riddles of the past."

Holmes decided then to put the case out of his conscious mind for a time, and went to the Gymkhana, where he put himself through a rigorous round of calisthenics, after which he received an Indian ma.s.sage by one of the master ma.s.seurs of Bombay. He then dressed and sat on the veranda, sipping a strong cup of Indian chai, rich with sugar, spices, and heavy buffalo milk.

"It was then that the story of the dead soldier and its end began to present itself in a new way. So quickly did it all appear to me that it was as if the solution came at once out of the meagre evidence itself without any deliberation on my part. In relating it to you now, I shall retell it as if I became aware of the steps individually. First was our dead soldier himself. Here was a man of military skill and experience who, I guessed, had started out some twenty years before as a recruit in the British army. After duty abroad, he either left or was dismissed from Her Majesty's service. He then entered the world of the mercenary, fighting for the French, I imagined, in a variety of North African campaigns. His body now filled with the wounds sustained in years of combat, he decided to return home to retirement and engage in some more peaceful employment. Two days before, he had arrived in Bombay aboard some transport ship, the ident.i.ty of which I could easily ascertain by a quick trip to the docks. Landing on Indian soil, he decided to seek lodging close by. A few inquiries led him by chance to the house of our Lachman. Lachman's wife rented him the room, and our soldier proceeded to make advances towards her, just as Lachman returned home. Hearing his wife's shouts, a loud quarrel then ensued. Lachman threatened to kill the soldier, but a crowd gathered and separated the two before they came to blows. The soldier insisted that he would stay for the night since he had already paid, and would leave in the morning. Lachman reluctantly agreed, and the soldier, leaving his belongings in the room, left and did not return until dark, just before Lachman and his wife returned from visiting the home of some close relatives.

"It was clear to me at that point that the soldier, during that afternoon, had gone somewhere and had most probably met his murderer. The question was where? And here, Watson, one does not have to meditate on the problem very long. Here is a tough, mercenary soldier, arrived in Bombay after a long series of campaigns and a sea journey of several weeks. Where would he go at the first opportunity?"

It does not take a strong imagination to suggest, as an answer to Holmes's question, that the soldier's first destination would be the nearest brothel or opium den, where he could find solace in the pleasures with which a city like Bombay is perhaps endowed like no other. He enters, begins with a round of intoxicants, and then retires with one of the women who ply their wares in such establishments. He has no cash on him, but presents her with a set of cheap earrings from abroad. No client has ever done anything like this. Touched by his kindness, she tells him of her desire to leave her trade, and pursue a normal life. She has saved some money, she says. He suggests that they leave together. She leaves to pack her meagre belongings, and he departs before she returns, stealing her money box. She is able to follow him to Lachman's house, where she murders him in his sleep. In his final agony, he pulls one of the earrings from her ear. It disappears into a crease in his uniform. The cash box falls to the floor. Lachman and his wife, awakened by the noise, rush to the room. She barely has time to escape, and must leave the box behind. The rest presents no difficulty.

"I must admit, Watson, that in retrospect this story had its difficulties. And yet, I had nothing else but to follow the rather bizarre tale that I had invented. I left the comfort of the Gymkhana and proceeded to the brothel district of the city. I began in the section that was not far from Lachman's house. I started with the main street. I stopped in several establishments and asked whether someone fitting Vikram Singh's description had been there. My questions were greeted with laughter. Everyone looked like that, was the reply. No one recognised him from my words."

It was only when he reached the smaller gullies that Holmes saw what was to bring him to the solution of the crime: in front of one of the brothels were two men digging, for what purpose he did not know. As he approached, he realised that they had produced a large pile of red clay, undoubtedly the same as those small pieces that he had found in the soldier's room. He perhaps had found the establishment that he was looking for. He ascended the narrow staircase and came into a room of garish velvet. A woman sat at a small desk. He told her that he wanted to see her women. She obliged him by parading before him several of the poor inmates of her establishment. Dressed in flamboyant saris, the women cavorted in front of him, laughing, teasing, their faces the colour of flour paste, their eyes filled with pain and resentment. Holmes looked at each closely, hoping to see a wounded ear, but he saw nothing. He waved them all away.

"What is wrong? You have refused my best," said the woman at the desk.

To Holmes she was quite a horror in her own right, a fat, rather loathsome creature with orange hair, skin powdered to a thick whiteness, dressed in a red velvet gown, a large necklace of fake Bombay pearls around her neck.

"'I want the one with the wounded ear," he said in answer to her query.

She frowned, hesitating for a moment. "She is not here today. It is her day of rest."

"I will pay well," he said.

"Very well. I will fetch her. Wait here."

Holmes waited for several minutes. The room was suffocatingly hot, and the smell of incense and cheap perfume made him want to retch. The madam returned, accompanied by a youngish woman, who was not dressed in her professional attire but in a simple sari. She wore no powder on her face. Her right ear bore a bandage, however, and the other a silver earring like the fragment he had found. Luck had brought him to the end of his search very quickly.

Holmes extended his hand and gave her the fragment of the earring that he had found. She looked at it with great surprise and then fear. She motioned for him to follow, and they went to her room. The madam chuckled as Holmes pa.s.sed her.

"Let me speak frankly to you, my dear woman," Holmes said in Hindustanee. "I have reason to believe that you murdered one Vikram Singh in cold blood last night. Why you committed such a deed is not of any consequence to me at this moment, for a young friend of mine has been unjustly accused of what you have done. I must clear his name. And so I must ask you to accompany me to police headquarters."

She stood there, silent, motionless, for what seemed to him to be an eternity. Then she spoke softly: "You are right. I did kill Vikram Singh. But why I did it is important for you to know, and for the police to know. Before I go with you then, I wish you to listen."

Holmes sat on a chair in the corner of the room. She turned and said: "I have lived and worked in this room for eleven years. I was brought here when I was thirteen."

As she spoke, Holmes soon realised that the story he had imagined was hardly the truth, even though it had led him to the murderer.

"I was born in a village to the south of here," she said. "We were a poor family of farmers, and much of the time there was nothing to eat. My mother had five children and died after I was born. My father raised us as well as he could. One day he said that I was to become a devadasi, a temple dancer, and that this was to be a great honour. I was to become a wife of our G.o.d, Shiva. I was very proud, for I had no idea what the word devadasi meant, but marriage to the G.o.d was to me the greatest happiness. In a few days, I was dressed in fine clothes and taken to the temple, where the priests uttered prayers in Sanscrit and anointed me into the temple. I remained there for several days. Then my father fetched me and told me that I would go to the city. My uncle, his cousin-brother, would take me there. I would do the work of a devadasi. I would have much to eat, and I would earn much money. My life would be good.

"My father's cousin-brother came one day and took me with him. I cried as we left, but my father did not hear me. Nor my brothers. They all turned away. My uncle and I travelled to Bombay by rail. As soon as we arrived he brought me here and sold me to the woman you met below. I soon was taught my present trade and became a woman of the night. I have been here ever since. This is how I learned what it means to be a devadasi.

"During all of this time, I have never seen my family. My father came several times, but only to collect the larger part of my earnings. My uncle was a soldier and he left for battle-never, I thought, to return.

"Two days ago, a man came. I did not know him, but he asked for me. There are so many who have come and know me that I did not think it strange that he asked for me by name. He was drunk and wanted opium. At first he was kind: he gave me a pair of earrings, which I put on. He told me how beautiful I was. He caressed my face tenderly. Suddenly his mood changed, and he grabbed me and forced me into his embrace. I submitted and when he had finished he threw some money in my face. He laughed. Then he told me: he was my father's cousin-brother, the very uncle who had brought me here. He had come for my wages. In disbelief, I told him that I had nothing. But he searched the room and found the money that I had hidden over the years, the money that was to make me free. He took it and left. I followed him but when we reached his room, he threatened me with death and pushed me away. I returned here in despair, determined to obtain vengeance. As soon as night fell, I returned to his lodging. He had left the window open and I could see that he was fast asleep. The liquor and opium had put him in a stupor. I climbed into the room. He must have heard something for he mumbled in his sleep. Frightened that he would awaken, I rushed at him and slit his throat with all my strength. He awakened long enough to see my face before he died. Blood shot from his neck onto the bed. He tried to grab me, and I pushed him back. But his hand had reached my ear and pulled the earring from it. I almost cried out in pain. I tried to grab my money box, but it fell to the floor. I heard people coming and I ran to the window without it. Once outside, I no longer cared about the money. The death of this man brought me the greatest happiness I had known since I had been forced to leave my village. Now that you know my story, I have no fear in going with you."

Holmes rose once again from his seat and began to pace to and fro. "How wrong I was, Watson, in the basic details of the story. I had merely established a possible thread between pieces of evidence, its only virtue being that it led me to the true version."

As soon as she had finished her story, Holmes decided on a course of action. He asked that the woman remain there in her room until he returned. She agreed. He then went directly to police headquarters, and again to Pushkar Samsher, the chief inspector, in whose hands Lachman's case had fallen. He told him that it was most urgent that he listen to the version of the events that had just transpired. The chief inspector listened attentively to all that Holmes had to say.

"Mr. Holmes," said Shamsher, "it seems to me that you have cast sufficient doubt on the evidence adduced to convict young Lachman, and therefore I shall release him. As to the young woman, whom you have described to me, I believe that in her case justice has already been done. There are," he said with a smile, "cases from which we police should remove ourselves."

The inspector shook Holmes's hand and asked that he deliver the money box to the young woman. This he did. He learned before he left India that she had fled Bombay for good. Lachman and his wife were happily reunited, and Holmes heard from time to time that their lives were happy and uneventful since the events recounted here.

My friend sat back in his chair and looked for a time in my direction but without seeing me.

"And so, my dear doctor, "he said, "there were a series of interpretations of the evidence: Inspector Shamsher's, Lachman's, and mine. And finally, there was the real version. Or so we might think . . ."

THE SINGULAR TRAGEDY.

AT TRINCOMALEE.

RARELY DOES THE HEAT IN LONDON BECOME SO strong that one longs for the cold dreary winters that regularly afflict it. Thus it was, however, in the closing days of June, 1897. It was the year of the sixtieth anniversary of Her Majesty's coronation and the very week of celebration throughout Britain. The festivities had brought hordes of celebrants from the countryside into the city, and the loud din of the revelers in the street below our open windows had stolen away the easy comfort to which Holmes and I had grown accustomed.

"Impossible, Watson," said he, with uncharacteristic exasperation in his voice as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief. He had been lying on the couch attempting unsuccessfully to read the morning papers. "We should leave London to the rabble and retire to some tranquil place in the country."

"A most welcome thought, Holmes, but a trip to the country would be unpleasant in itself. The trains are off schedule, and the cars are filled with the crowds that one wishes to avoid. And where is there to go? Where is there a tranquil corner on this sceptered isle? The celebrations are everywhere."

"You are quite right, Watson. Let us not sit here moaning in discomfort, however. It is only eleven and already the heat is unbearable. There is a quiet refuge close by-the Diogenes Club. My brother Mycroft will admit us, and we shall spend the day peacefully in its quiet rooms. If I am not mistaken, the Indian coolers recently installed there will reduce the temperature by at least twenty degrees. Come, Mycroft and a gin and lemon await us."

I applauded the notion, for I had spent many restful hours in Mycroft's club during Holmes's absence from London.

"Excellent," I said. "Let us be off."

As we left, Holmes turned and said, "You know, Watson, the heat and its attendant humid quality remind me of my days in Ceylon. Serendipitously enough, there is a tale, one which you have not yet heard, which relates to this week's festivities. Mycroft put the whole affair into motion, and it will be good for you to hear his part in it directly. If the heat has not sapped the last of his energies, he may be willing to relate how he came to be involved in the case."

"Splendid," said I. It was often in this incidental way that Holmes introduced his adventures abroad, and I suddenly forgot the heat in antic.i.p.ation of what was to come.

The crowds were thick on Baker Street, and Holmes suggested that we leave our quarters by the back entrance. Once outside, his encyclopaedic knowledge of London's streets and alleys took us first through a series of narrow cobblestone mews of which I was previously unaware. We then found ourselves on Baring Street, from where we walked to Eaton Square. Here Holmes unexpectedly stopped in front of one of the more elegant houses, pulled a ring of keys from his pocket, and opened the door.

"The pied-a-terre of a most appreciative client," he announced, "one who has kindly granted me free access. It is one of a number of safe houses I have throughout the city. This is one is among the best. If memory serves, the Duke of Wellington resided here for some days after his return from Egypt."

As we entered, I saw three men huddled around a small table in the sitting room to the left. They looked up as we pa.s.sed, and Holmes nodded perfunctorily in response. Without pausing to converse, we walked through, quickly descending to the ground floor, where we exited into a small well-tended garden. A gardener's ladder enabled us to scale the back wall and, jumping gently to the ground on the other side, we found ourselves again in one of London's many alleys. I followed, a little breathless now, behind Holmes's rapid strides. He stopped in front of a large black door and rang the bell.

"This is the back entrance to the club," he said smiling, "one that I often find convenient, particularly if I have to disappear quickly."

A butler opened and, recognising Holmes immediately, took us directly to the large room in which the club's rules of strict silence were relaxed and one was permitted to converse softly. The room contained far more people than I had noted on previous visits, but, despite the small crowd, it was still far cooler than our sweltering quarters on Baker Street. Mycroft Holmes was seated alone in his accustomed place at the end of a very large table. He greeted us with a broad smile, but without rising.

"h.e.l.lo, my dear Sherlock, and dear Dr. Watson. Allow me to remain seated, for the heat is most unpleasant and unforgiving for someone of my bulk. I am about to indulge in something cool. Do join me. By the way, Sherlock, what do you make of the dark-skinned gentleman at the bar?"

Mycroft was perspiring greatly, and in weather such as this his corpulence must have been particularly trying. The great jowls hung from his face like soft pink pillows, and his enormous girth inevitably forced him to remain a fair distance from the table. But his grey eyes had their usual sparkle, and he grinned as he tested his younger brother.

"You mean the Ethiopian polo player?" Holmes asked "Yes, indeed, formerly a patriarch of the Coptic Church," replied Mycroft.

"Yes, and left because of his love of sport. Horses are in his blood," said Holmes.

"Probably of the royal family in Addis," said Mycroft.

"No, I think not, more likely a Galla tribesman. Note the thin nose, Mycroft. He has had a troubled morning . . ."

"An argument with his son . . ."

"True. The last match went badly, and he has not recovered from his defeat. He will leave shortly to make amends."

I looked over to the bar as they spoke, noting only a rather small slender man standing there in conversation with several other people. That he was from East Africa I might have guessed from his fine features, but how Holmes and his brother arrived at the rest I could not fathom in the least.

"Too much too quickly for me to follow," I said.

"No matter, Watson. You merely lack practise, and the courage to make the necessary deductions. And besides, this is our usual fraternal form of amus.e.m.e.nt, one with which we are well acquainted. The inferences are of no lasting consequence, however. Halloo," said Holmes interrupting himself, "I see that the rules of the club have been further diluted. A woman in the Diogenes Club! Perhaps a first, my dear Mycroft."

A woman of regal bearing, dressed in the loveliest of Indian attire, had entered and begun speaking with our Ethiopian. She was covered with jewels, the most valuable of which were the diamonds and sapphires embedded in a gold tiara which she wore with the confidence of a queen. She appeared to be of the highest breeding, and was, most probably, of royal descent.

"Just as we occasionally allow a break in the rules of silence, so in this case we have relaxed the strict misogynous rules that govern the Club. This occasional relaxation insures us against the dangers of fanaticism. The woman is a princess of Rajpootana, descended in part, so it is claimed, from French adventurers of the fifteenth century. In England, she goes by the name of Marie de Borbon. Her family, alas, has recently come on hard times. She remains a favourite of the Queen, however, and I suggested that we give her and her retinue lodging here at the Club during these crowded weeks. Her Majesty has already expressed her sincere grat.i.tude."

Holmes looked serious for a moment as Mycroft spoke. He took a quick look round the room as if to make sure that no person or thing unfriendly to him was to be seen.

"Most interesting, Mycroft, but I promised dear Watson a story with which you had some connection."

Mycroft beamed and sipped his gin. "You mean-"

"The adventure that we have referred to in the past as the singular tragedy at Trincomalee."

"And the Atkinson brothers," added Mycroft with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Perhaps for the good doctor you might tell how it all came about, for I was in Java when I received your message."

"By all means, Sherlock, I should be most happy to. As you are well aware, dear Watson, I am on occasion consulted by Government on a variety of important matters, particularly on those subjects that the Cabinet finds too delicate or difficult of execution. It often requires the aid of intermediaries. In this case, I was seated right here, some four years ago, when a distinguished member of the Cabinet arrived with a matter from the Prime Minister himself. If I recall, Sherlock, it was sometime in the fall of 'ninety-three, in late September to be more precise."

"Indeed," said Holmes. "I had just lived through the bizarre events concerning the giant rat of Sumatra, of which I have already given Watson a written account."

"Yes," said Mycroft. "The matter presented to me concerned the Prime Minister and his relationship, uneasy at best shall we say, with Her Majesty. It is an open secret, good doctor, that Mr. Gladstone has not enjoyed the full confidence and unalloyed affection of the Queen. To his credit, he has tried on a number of occasions to remedy this, but he has never succeeded in breaking through the rather cold reserve with which she has continued to treat him. It so happened, however, in that September some four years ago that discussions regarding the Queen's sixtieth jubilee arose in the Cabinet. Mr. Gladstone expressed his keen desire to make sure that the festivities would be a success, not only in Britain, but everywhere. It was his fervent wish that they be a worldwide tribute and a momentous success for her personally. Once again, he expressed his consternation at how successful Lord Beaconsfield had been in the past. What mattered most to him, however, should he be in office at the time of the celebrations, was that they should underscore the strong role that the Queen had indubitably played in the stability and the growth of the Empire. Let it be remembered, he said, that Her Majesty had acceded to the throne in 1837, at a time when it was not certain that the weakened monarchy would survive. Surely no one would have predicted then so long a period of progress and prosperity for England. No monarch in English history had done so much. Her Majesty deserved the very best that Government could conceive in her honour.

"The Colonial Secretary spoke next, saying that the celebrations should indeed be worldwide. Not only in England but in all the great cities of the colonies, the festivities for Her Majesty should be ample and unstinting. A large military tattoo should take place in London, with troops representing every country subject to her.

"The Prime Minister and the Cabinet agreed at once. The Prime Minister, however, stated in addition that he wished to be able to bestow upon Her Majesty some extraordinary gift that would not only please her but also symbolise her great superiority to the other crowned heads of Europe. Had not the clever Disraeli presented the Suez Ca.n.a.l to her as if it were her very own?

"Speaking once again, the Colonial Secretary said that he had just received some news from abroad, as yet unconfirmed, that was most pertinent to the Prime Minister's last remark. Secret word from our resident in Colombo, Mr. Anthony Vansittart, had just arrived that morning saying that in the recent pearl fisheries in Ceylon, considered to be the best in years, what appeared to be the largest and most perfect pearl ever found anywhere had been discovered. It was said to be a perfect sphere weighing over five hundred grains and possessing the most exquisite luminescence and colour. In size and beauty it far outranked the famous Cinghalese paragon acquired by Napoleon and now in the national collection in France. Why not acquire this jewel for the Queen and present it to her for her anniversary?"

"Mr. Gladstone was overjoyed at the suggestion. Indeed, he went further and asked whether jewels of a similar quality might not be acquired in our gem-producing colonies, all of which could be presented to the Queen set in a new imperial crown symbolising both the power of the Empire and the homage and affection that the native peoples showed her. The new crown would be given to her at a special ceremony and would be hers and hers alone. A new t.i.tle might accompany it. Perhaps Regina Mundi et Imperatrix, Empress and Queen of the World.

"In response, the Colonial Secretary agreed most heartily, and stated that South Africa, India, Ceylon, and Burma were the chief repositories of precious jewels. Given sufficient time, there was no reason why the requisite number could not be acquired. The first step, however, was the immediate acquisition by Government of this greatest of all Cingalese paragons."

"It was at this point, having agreed to acquire the pearl, that the Cabinet sent the Colonial Secretary to discuss the matter with me. Our discussion was held at this very table, Sherlock. Here he presented to me the matter as I have just related it. He requested help in finding the person capable of completing the acquisition in absolute secrecy."

"I a.s.sume," said Sherlock Holmes, "that the Colonial Secretary is the same gentleman who visited me in Florence with regard to the Tibetan affair."

"Indeed, my dear Sherlock. The first thing he asked was your whereabouts and whether you could be convinced to undertake this mission. I replied that we had been out of touch for several months, and that as far as I knew you were still in the Orient, perhaps on your way back, but that I would try to communicate the request to you as soon as possible. I of course reminded him that my confidence in you had only been strengthened by your exploits in Tibet and elsewhere, but that acquiring an expensive bauble for Mr. Gladstone was not exactly as enticing an affair as the Tibetan adventure.

"For his part, the Colonial Secretary agreed that the task itself would present few challenges for you, but that Government was prepared to make it worth your while with a handsome remuneration. For Sherlock Holmes, a series of simple if uninteresting tasks: to find the present owners of the pearl, to establish its authenticity, to negotiate its sale, and deliver it to Mr. Vansittart for safe transport to England. You will recall, Sherlock, that in my message to you, I emphasised that though you might consider the mission to be without sufficient interest, the continued pleasure of the Queen and the deepening of her good feelings towards Mr. Gladstone would keep both home and empire strong and firm as we moved, rather perilously I thought, into the last years of the present century."

Mycroft paused to sip his drink and wipe his brow. He was almost exhausted by his relation and sagged in his chair as if he had expended the last of his energies. Noting his brother's fatigue, Holmes broke in to continue the tale.

"I recall that I was quite annoyed when I first read your message," he began. "To speak in all candor, I had no interest whatever in the Prime Minister's difficulties with Her Majesty, and the acquisition of a plaything to please her was not an especially inviting task. What, after all, is Mr. Gladstone to me or I to Mr. Gladstone? Surely, I thought, the entire task could be accomplished easily by Vansittart himself. But I was beginning to feel the pinch after my travels had depleted my pocketbook, and the remuneration was something I sorely needed. It is also true," he added quietly without emotion, "that I have a special knowledge of precious stones, pearls among them, because they are so often the object of criminal desire."

These last words visibly affected Mycroft. Despite his fatigue, he pulled himself up in his chair and said, "Come, come, Sherlock's modesty prevents him from setting forth all the reasons I had for choosing him for the task. His success in Tibet was only one. There are several others-"

"Enough, my dear Mycroft," said Holmes. "As you know, Watson, I have never considered modesty a virtue, for it only clouds the truth and misleads one into false positions concerning one's abilities. If I am reticent on the subjects to which Mycroft alludes, it is because there are still solemn promises of silence to be honoured. There are indeed earlier cases of mine which provided me with the rather unique experience necessary for dealing with the matter in Ceylon, and it would break no solemn oath to refer to them in a general way. One is of course the case of the black pearl of the notorious Count Batthyani."

"It was Sherlock," said Mycroft interrupting once again, "who proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that this pearl had been stolen from the British Crown Jewels a century and a half before."

"How it was finally found in a p.a.w.n shop in Budapest would make most interesting reading," said Holmes, turning to me with a smile, "as would the case of the pearl known as 'La Pellegrina,' a gem once in the possession of the Zosima brothers of Moscow. Perhaps someday they will be told. In any case, we have the Trincomalee affair before us."

"But surely there is something else, Holmes," I said, "something even closer to this case, for I distinctly remember mentioning the Atkinson brothers of Trincomalee in my early chronicles, if I am not mistaken at the beginning of the affair concerning Irene Adler."

Holmes became visibly annoyed by my mention of Miss Adler, to whom he still referred even after all these years as the woman. A dark look came over his face, but he recovered quickly and said, "Excellent, Watson, you have a most prodigious memory. There was, indeed, an earlier case in which I was consulted here in London involving some of the same princ.i.p.als, but I never visited Trincomalee before the present episode. Although the matter is of some relevance here, it too must remain, for reasons of state, yet untold. Let it suffice to say that it too concerned a jewel, in that case a magnificent sapphire . . . and several murders."

Holmes broke off his narrative for a moment to sip his drink. A faraway look came across his face, one mixed with sadness.

"Think of it," he said, "the misery produced by these playthings. A pearl is merely the grave of some tiny parasite, sometimes a grain of sand, sometimes a worm, but in all cases a microscopic intruder into the private residence of a brainless mollusk buried fathoms below the surface of the sea, an intruder which annoys its host into secreting a substance that envelops it and buries it forever. Like all good gems, it is among the devil's pet baits. For every fifty grains of weight, there is often a monstrous crime. Who would think that such bonny things, with such humble origins, would be purveyors to the gallows and the prison? But there it is. And it was with the knowledge that this most beautiful of all pearls, if indeed it truly existed, would already be the focus of criminal intent, that I accepted the task. Ah, this pearl, Watson! Despite my annoyance at the task, I knew that it would keep me in my element. Like fresh-killed prey, it would draw many of the worst to it, as hawks and buzzards gather in ever narrowing circles above a wounded or dying animal. And I would be there watching-unseen-I hoped, as they gathered. The danger? The obvious. The closer I came to the prey, the greater the chance that I would be devoured as well. And yet, the scent of the criminal was so strong that I could not but stay close, with ever increasing antic.i.p.ation, I might add."

"I have always thought of you as a bit of a sleuth hound, Holmes," said I.

Mycroft laughed. "It is precisely that, "he said, "which distinguishes me from my younger brother. It is what activates him, this ability to follow the scent, the total lack of which limits me to observations made from my chair."

Holmes said nothing, and again paused for a moment to sip his drink, and I took a moment to glance about the room. It had emptied for the most part. The beautiful Indian woman had left with the Ethiopian, and those who remained appeared to be regular denizens of the club, eccentric in appearance most of them, but all quiet in demeanour. The room had also cooled considerably. I noticed through a nearby window that the sky had begun to cloud over and that there was the welcome threat of rain. I turned towards Holmes again. The sadness that had come across his face had gone, and he continued the tale.

His reply to Mycroft's message, he said, was brief and affirmative. His final instructions came almost immediately. Mr. Gladstone's Cabinet had set aside one hundred thousand pounds for the purchase of the pearl, and the Gneissen in Utrecht had already been commissioned to design the new crown. He was to proceed directly to Ceylon, where he would meet with Anthony Vansittart, our resident in Colombo, at the circuit house in Marichakudi, the small village near the pearl fisheries where the great pearl reportedly had been found. From then on, he would be on his own.

"I booked pa.s.sage at once from Singapore to Ceylon on the Susannah II, a steamer out of Liverpool, expecting to reach my destination within ten days. Two days out, however, our captain learned of several storms off Ceylon. He therefore diverted the ship north, towards the Coromandel Coast. Here we came in sight of land south of Madras and set anchor. After a day of waiting, I left the ship, having decided that it would be quicker for me to complete the journey by land. I came ash.o.r.e near Pondicherry, where I spent the night. It was here that I sent a message to my old friend, Gorashar, now in Calcutta, asking him if he could join me in Ceylon. I conveyed no reason, but urged on him that I would need his aid in a matter of great importance. I wrote simply: 'If convenient, come at once; if inconvenient, come all the same.' In the morning I took the first train to Rameshwaram."

It was on this portion of his trip that Holmes received confirmation of his early doubts about the secrecy of the recently discovered pearl. The train was crowded, filled with merchants and jewelers from all over India and from as far away as the Levant. They chattered constantly about the great harvest of pearls and the discovery of the greatest of all pearls at Mannar, the equal of which had never been seen before. Holmes listened to the talk in silence, antic.i.p.ating now that the tasks set for him would be far more difficult than Government in London might have thought. The pearl had already received an unofficial name: the Moonstar of Mannar. Holmes avoided all comment, maintaining his disguise as a professor of archaeology from London, on his way from Singapore to Ceylon to study the celebrated ruins of Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa. This scholarly disguise bored his companions instantly, for they soon lost interest in the apparently absentminded figure who sat among them.

"Among the many pa.s.sengers, I recognised only one person," said Holmes. "She had appeared at the station in Pondicherry after I boarded, and I watched her arrival from my seat at the window in my compartment. Her name was Franziska van Rhede, a woman of unknown European origin. I first observed her in Benares, but we had never met. She was a tall, slender woman, with long black hair, who often dressed in the clothes of a Punjab peasant woman. Most would have judged her beautiful, for her features were regular and her complextion light, but there was a look of cruelty in her eyes that marred her otherwise pleasing countenance. I had watched her unseen at the burning ghats, where she walked often by night, like some giantess, dressed in black, examining the fires, poking at them with a long stick, conversing with the cremation workers over whom she towered, sometimes screaming at them in a high-pitched voice. Her most remarkable feature were her large hands, and her fingernails which were exceedingly long and sharpened to most dangerous points. I had seen her use them in a fit of rage on one of the cremation attendants, b.l.o.o.d.ying him badly. I made careful mental note of her presence on the train, then buried myself in my battered copy of Petrarch."

The train reached Rameshwaram at dusk. It was the end of the rail line, and Holmes followed the crowd of pa.s.sengers onto the steamer that would take them across the Palk Strait to the Ceylonese mainland. As he alighted from the train, he noticed that Franziska van Rhede, now somewhat ahead of him, instead of walking with the crowd had stopped with her coolie as if in wait for someone. He slowed his pace so that he could watch her as long as possible. A tall, handsome, man, dressed completely in white, came up to her and embraced her in welcome. As Holmes pa.s.sed, he recognised him: it was Colonel Sebastian Moran, the deadliest of his remaining enemies from the Moriarty gang. It had taken far longer for them to come upon each other than he had expected. The two walked into the train station, and he then lost sight of them. He smiled in the deepening twilight, for I knew now that his mission in Ceylon would be far more interesting than any a.s.signment of Mr. Gladstone's.

The crossing of the strait was a rough one, and many of the pa.s.sengers became ill. The steamer was overcrowded with merchants and pearl workers, mostly Indians, but some from as far away as the Andamans. Luckily, the distance was a short one. After they disembarked, a waiting train took them south along the coast. Here Holmes looked out at the beautiful beaches and the sun setting into the sea. He knew almost nothing of the island on which he had just arrived. He had only a small map, which one of the pa.s.sengers disembarking in Dha.n.u.shkoti had given him. On it, the island appeared like a pearl itself, gently hanging near the tip of the Subcontinent. From what he could see, it appeared to be a paradise, but not an isolated one like Nepal. The rich Indian Ocean surrounded it, and its coast had many harbours, which had served as ports for sailors from places as far away as Rome and China. Through the varied names of its geography, one saw the imprint of the invader the Portuguese, the Dutch, and finally the English. Intermixed with the local names were Adam's Peak, World's End, Foul Point, and other names that attested to the British presence.