Sherlock Holmes and Frankenstein's Diary by Barry Grant

Author:Barry Grant [Barry Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2013-01-24T16:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Monkeyshines

I opened my eyes.

Sun blazed beyond the cave entrance.

‘What are you eating?’ I asked.

The monkey gazed at me. He touched a long black finger to his nose. He nonchalantly put another morsel into his mouth and scampered off.

I got to my feet feeling wonderfully rested. My clothes were dry. I reached into the deep pouch pockets of my trousers and found that my journal in its plastic bag had never got wet. Neither had the camera, the life-sensor, or the plastic pistol. All were safely in their plastic bags. I was surprisingly intact. I walked out into sunshine and saw that the cliffs at this point tapered down to sea level. The cave was in the last significant hill that marked the rise of the cliffs. Beyond me – in what I supposed must be a northerly direction – lay a black sand beach. It was late afternoon, already four o’clock according to my watch. To my right lay a little valley, and far down the valley there appeared to be a structure of some kind rising above the trees. I set off walking in that direction on a small but well-worn path. I confess I felt a bit like a fearless nineteenth-century explorer, as if I were about to discover El Dorado or the source of the Nile. When I made the final turn and emerged from trees I felt, instead, like Alice in Wonderland – for there, straight ahead of me, was Tower Bridge! A little to the right of Tower Bridge rose Nelson’s Column, a full-scale model of it. I felt for a moment I was actually in Trafalgar Square. I rubbed my eyes; but when I opened them again, both Tower Bridge and Nelson’s Column were still there. Stranger still, they were swarming with monkeys, hundreds of them. Climbing and sitting. I heard a sound on the path behind me. A creature loped by – I recognized him as the monkey from my cave, with his torn ear. He must have been following me. He joined his companions, skittered to the top of Nelson’s Column, sat on Lord Nelson’s hat, and calmly continued eating whatever he had been eating.

More facts, as Holmes would say, were required. No use theorizing. I returned along the valley path to the shore and then turned north along the black sand beach.

I was by now very hungry. Along the edges of the sea-blown shore, where black sand met the firmer soil, little trees grew, bearing fruit. I was tempted. But I knew these must be the poisonous manchineel, for which the island was named. I had been warned about manchineel trees years ago, on my first journeys to the West Indies. Never go near them, people said, nor even sit beneath them. The fruit is poisonous. The juice of the manchineel, if it drips on skin, will cause blisters. If eaten, the manchineel fruit will cause wracking pain and perhaps even death.

A half hour’s walk brought me in view of the jetty.

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