As I stood in silence, not knowing what to think or do. Holmes, now looking perfectly normal, reached for his hat. "I am going out," he said, "to send a telegram or two to Plymouth, to try to learn if John Scott or his imitator has in fact taken ship from that port recently." He paused, looking at me with concern. "All will be well, old fellow, I assure you."
I shook my head. "I wish I were as convinced of that as you seem to be at the moment."
"Depend upon it." Holmes had never been more masterful.
I sighed. "Then, if there is anything that I can do—"
"There on my desk, Watson, are the letters Scott sent to Miss Tarlton from Sumatra. I should be pleased to have your opinion of them. And there is one thing more."
"You have but to name it."
"I fear I stand in need of protection—no, not from my enemies this time, Watson, but from my friends—or, at any rate, my clients. In Miss Tarlton I sense the type, fortunately rare, who is only too anxious to assist the hired investigator, and Mr. Moore's note suggests that he shares this tendency. Such excessive zeal may be basically a result of American energy, but it is undoubtedly intensified by the fact that the young lady, at least, has no routine business to occupy her in London . So when they return here, separately or together, I ask you to consider them as your patients, suffering perhaps from anxiety, and to provide them with such attentions and reassurances as may keep them from taking any investigative action on their own, while I am at work upon the case."
"I see what you mean, Holmes, and of course I shall do the best I can. I wish I might hold out to them some hope."
"That John Scott still lives? It is a possibility, but I fear that in the end it will be no kindness to those who love him to present it to them as any more than that."
As soon as Holmes had gone, I picked up the small bundle of letters from his desk and settled myself in a chair with my back to the window. A few minutes spent pondering my friend's condition left me no wiser than before, and, after determining to keep a very close eye on him for further signs of trouble, I took up the top letter and began to read.
Skimming over those paragraphs which seemed irrelevant to the problem at hand—irrelevant except in that they demonstrated the existence of a stable, affectionate relationship between young Scott and Sarah Tarlton—I quickly located the few passages in the letters describing the scientist's pursuit of the animal that was supposed to spread the plague. There was no sensationalism in Scott's account; I thought that out of consideration for the girl's feelings he must have tried to minimize the dangers. Still his efforts at understatement could not conceal what a truly heroic achievement had been his, in the struggle through mountains, swamp, and jungle, all virtually unexplored, in the face of a thousand dangers and difficulties.
Success had at last crowned his efforts, and he had taken the animal he sought. I quote here a small portion of a letter written after he had first seen the creature, but before its capture:
… the stories that reached me at home in which the beast was described as being a great ape, or ape-like, now seem certainly the result of some fabrication or misunderstanding, and I fear I have shipped a great deal of heavy equipment all the way to the South Seas for nothing, and have hired a dozen more porters than I would otherwise have needed. It has in fact the appearance and probably the habits of a giant rodent, larger perhaps than the tapir or the capybara.
This was certainly of interest, though as I read I could not see that it had any particular bearing upon Scott's subsequent disappearance. I worked my way doggedly through the pile of letters, looking especially for anything relating directly to the equipment taken from the warehouse. But of this I found scarcely another mention; an exception, in the last letter Miss Tarlton had received, was the following paragraph:
… so there it was, safe in our nets at last, for all its squealing and its snarls. Most of the men who had fled soon returned, and there was work for all hands. The first step of course was to take prophylactic measures against ourselves being infected with the plague, which we did with great thoroughness, as I had schooled the men. Now there is no need for you to be at all alarmed on my account, for the fine equipment that Pete and others have provided will let me bring the "critter" home quite safely for study and perhaps even for public exhibition later. I am sure it is of a species absolutely unknown to science until now. Thank God there cannot be many more like it upon the face of the earth; for if it were not under such good control as I will be able to establish, the animal would represent a terror and a potential weapon more fearful than the largest battleship.
Almost at the end of the same letter, I came across the passage to which Holmes had earlier referred:
… good news of another sort has come in via the native "grapevine." Another party of Americans or Europeans is said to be camped about ten miles away, on the banks of the Indragiri. I've sent an invitation for them to come for a visit, as I could use some company to share my triumph with.
I had just finished this last letter when a visitor was announced, who proved to be none other than Mr. Peter Moore. I had expected a man of middle age, but Mr. Moore was still on the youthful side of thirty-five. Well dressed in clothes of modern cut, dark-haired, and of a little more than middle height, he met me with a level though anxious gaze, and a fine manly handshake.
"Very pleased to meet you, Dr. Watson. Sarah tells me you seemed very sympathetic. But of course it's Mr. Holmes that I'm really anxious to talk to. To find out how I can best be of help. Is there any progress yet toward finding John?"
Despite the young man's open look and generally trustworthy appearance, and his evident anxiety, I felt it wisest in Holmes' absence not to discuss with anyone his thoughts on the matter. Therefore I countered Moore's question with one of my own. "How is Miss Tarlton? I see she has not come with you today."
"Sarah is… all right, I suppose." Moore gestured wearily. "As well as can be expected, given the burden that she bears. She's a very determined girl, and right now she's determined to control herself and simply wait, having finally put the case in Mr. Holmes' hands."
"I should say that her policy is a wise one."
"I'm sure it is. But I'm afraid I just don't have her patience. I had to let you gents know I'm ready and willing to do anything I can to help locate John."
"Is this your first visit to London, Mr. Moore?"
"Oh, no. My mother's family is English, or was." We had arrived at what might have become something of an awkward pause, when to my relief a distraction arrived in the form of Mrs. Hudson, who announced a second visitor. "It's Inspector Lestrade, sir."
"By all means show him in." The Inspector's face was rather more animated, and less strained, than it had been when Holmes and I left him standing on the pier a few hours earlier. He entered carrying in his hand a large canvas bag, of a kind I had previously seen used to hold evidence. There was something hard and solid inside, for the bag made a substantial sound when Lestrade set it down. I assured him that Holmes would very likely be back in a matter of minutes, and that it was quite all right for him to wait. I introduced Mr. Peter Moore as a friend of another client, dropping by to volunteer his services.
"Oh, ah!" said Lestrade. "Please to meet you, sir. You've nothing to do, then, with the business on the docks—so I can speak freely. I don't mind telling you both, gentlemen, that I don't know how Mr. Holmes does it—but he does. Mr. Moore, if your friend requires a miracle, I'd say he or she has come to the right shop."