The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part XII by David Marcum

Author:David Marcum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sherlock holmes, mystery, crime, british crime, sherlock holmes fiction, sherlock holmes novel, untold cases, sherlock and watson, detective, murder mystery
ISBN: 9781787053786
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2018-10-30T16:00:00+00:00

The Giant Rat of Sumatra

by Nick Cardillo

“Life is infinitely stranger than anything the mind of man could invent,” Sherlock Holmes once remarked. Both my friend’s chosen profession and an inherent predilection towards the bizarre proved his point to be an accurate one almost every day of the many years which we spent together, yet I can think of no better way to introduce the tale which I am about to tell than by referencing the detective’s words. Never, I must admit, have I ever encountered a problem in my life quite so unbelievable and grotesque as the one I am about to relate. For many years, I deemed it a story for which the reading public at large would never believe. Perhaps in setting down the account to paper I am being too presumptuous, I tell myself even now, and maybe it would be for the best if this most singular adventure never did see the light of day.

It all began in that prestigious year of 1895, a span of twelve months which found Sherlock Holmes in more demand than ever before. There were few days when my friend was not roused from his bed early in the morning by a caller upon the doorstep, and there were even fewer evenings where we both found ourselves sitting idly by the fire of 221b Baker Street. At the beginning of this particular tale, Holmes and I had been called away from London to the seaside to investigate a series of seemingly unexplainable goings-on at Whitby Abbey. The case proved to have a completely benign explanation, and I feared Holmes may have resented being summoned from the city, but he was in a good humour that evening as we sat across from each other in our hotel room, blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The following morning, Holmes and I both rose early with the intent on taking the first train back to London. Despite my friend’s mild protestations, I cajoled him to break his fast, knowing that the long train ride would be an arduous one on an empty stomach, and as we sat together sipping from freshly brewed tea and indulging in some delightful home-made marmalade (courtesy of the innkeeper’s wife), I suddenly took notice of a young man rushing up the path towards the inn. He was dressed in the attire of a priest, but I was unable to make out much about him until he bustled into the dining room of the lobby, wringing his hands, and speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones to the innkeeper. I saw the man point in our direction, and before I even had time to warn Holmes - who was surely watching the scene play out with just as much interest as me - the young priest was upon us.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

“That would be me,” my friend replied courteously, “but I am afraid that now you have the advantage of me.”

Holmes gestured for the young man to take the empty seat beside him, which he claimed only too readily.

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