EPILOGUE

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

Forgive me for rushing the last few chapters. But I had no other option, as I was facing a deadline, literally. Some of you may believe that this was merely a cooked up story to disgrace Mr. Holmes, after all I am not what you may call a credible witness. Though I have no solid evidence to support my claims, I would like you to ask yourself what a woman like Beryl was doing reading an article on free trade from the inner pages of the Times.

Now getting back to that deadline of mine. In a cruel twist of fate, I fell critically ill just before the day of the hanging. I did not know whether to laugh or cry when I so the worried faces of the authorities as they tried to save me.  They wanted to save me, so that they could hang me! Oh! The irony! But all their attempts failed and I fell to eternal sleep or so they thought.

I don’t know how long I lay dead, for in death one loses track of time. When I finally opened my eyes, I was sure that I had made it to hell, for it was the smiling face of James Moriarty that greeted me.

How did I escape? How was Jim still alive? That, my friends, is a tale for another day!

CHAPTER 13: ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 13

We beat a hasty retreat from Merripit Hall and were lucky to escape undetected. Our client, Rodger, was not so fortunate. He did manage to flee unseen but his decision to take refuge in the deadly moor only resulted in a fatal end. Beryl was found bound and gagged to a post. Evidently she had developed feelings for Sir Henry and turned against her husband at the very last moment. As for Sir Henry, the events of the night were far more than he could stomach. The man who returned to Baskerville Hall that night was a pale shadow of his true self. No mention of Sherlock could be found in the papers and as far as the outside world was considered Inspector Lestrade had solved another sensational case.

But the man who was worst affected by the events of the night was my poor friend, Jim. He was shattered when he saw his well laid plans come crashing to the ground. He even refused to speak to me! The next day, I found a note in his room stating that he would be out of town for a few days. It so happens that when people live in fantasies like the ‘perfect crime’, they easily fall into depression when things go amiss. Right then, what Jim needed was a breath of fresh air and some time alone.

***

It was Christmas Eve. 1885. The whole of London was in a merry mood. Yet I sat on my chair feeling gloomy. It had been two months since I last heard of Jim and I feared the worst. Had I failed my dear friend? Should I have tried to find him? I did not know. All I knew was that I had lost a brother. How can it be a ‘merry’ Christmas, if you did not spend it with your family? There would be no presents, no cakes. And what good was Christmas without hope?  Quite appropriately, I went to sleep reading Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol.

The next morning, when I woke I was surprised to find a present waiting for me in the living room. I opened it to find a strange air gun. After all these years, Santa finally remembered!

“Merry Christmas, Seb!” said a familiar voice.

I turned around to find James Moriarty on the sofa.

“Where have you been?”

“America. Europe. Quite a few places.”

“So you were on a pleasure trip, while I sat here worrying all day about you?”

“Not exactly. I always mix business with pleasure.”

So saying he gave me a big bundle of note.

“What’s this?”

“Your share.”

“My share?”

“For your part in the Baskerville incident.”

“I am your partner, Jim. Not your hired help. You owe me nothing.”

“Oh! You are mistaken. This is not from me. Its from our client.”

I froze on hearing those words. I had seen such things happen before. When people cannot accept the harsh realities of the world they live in, they make up their own stories to overcome their sorrow. Jim needed a wake up call or he would be lost forever.

“Jim, snap out of it. Our client is dead. Though they never found Rodger’s body, there is no way he could have made it out of that death pit. He was swallowed by the Grimpen Mire and there he will remain until Judgement Day.”

There was pin drop silence in the room. Nobody spoke for a minute. Jim gave me a long cold stare. Then he burst into laughter, a most unnerving one at that.

“I am sorry, Seb. I forgot. I should have remembered! How foolish of me! You were not there! For Heaven’s sake, I should have told it to you a long time ago.”

I stood there clueless. Not understanding a word of what he said.

“Seb, you were at the wedding!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know my ‘One Rule’?”

“The one you made up just to turn down Rodger? Yes. One job per client. What about it?”

“That’s it, Seb! One job per client! Rodger was never our client in this case! Beryl was! Or should I say Mrs. Baskerville was! And the job was not to kill Sir Henry but to kill Rodger.”

It took a moment for the truth to register in my mind. The perfect crime! The one that went unnoticed! Nobody cares what happens to an antagonist! Nobody remembers! But I still couldn’t understand why Beryl would want her husband dead, let alone pay such a hefty sum of money for it.

“Why did she want him dead?”

“Well, to be frank, when she arrived at our apartments she didn’t. All she wanted was to help her husband. But once I broke the news of the affair with Mrs. Lyons and promised Beryl a rosy future, she was only more than willing to comply.”

“So you killed him and took his wife!” I said with growing contempt. “I presume this pleasure trip was your honeymoon.”

“By Joves, no! Beryl was only my client.”

“So what’s all this about?”

“Before I tell you that, I have a question for you. Do you know what happened to Sir Henry?”

“The last I heard of him, he was embarking on a long voyage with Dr. Mortimer, probably to America. They said it was for his nerves.”

“Would it amuse you to know that the doc didn’t make it to the docks of America?”

“What?”

“My sources tell me that the good doctor had a glass too many on his very first day. The next day, a lifeboat was found missing along with a passenger.”

“Atleast, you didn’t kill him.”

“Why would I? He was an innocent man!”

“So, why did you put Mortimer out of the way?”

“I thought he would be a thorn in heaven. After all, we should give the lovers some privacy.”

Then it hit me.

“Beryl was on that ship!” I exclaimed.

“Now you see it!”

“Jim, you idiot! What makes you think Henry would fall for the woman who tried to kill him? No man would make such a mistake twice!”

“My friend, as far as Henry is considered she was a puppet in Stapleton’s hands. Besides she had been warning him from the day he set foot on English soil. She even turned against her evil husband to save him. Now she is a lonely widow. Don’t you think he will take pity on her?”

“Pity, perhaps. But he will never love her.”

“You underestimate the power of love, Seb. You ought to read the Bible more often.”

“The Bible? What has the Bible got to do with this.”

“The greatest crimes are done with a kiss!”

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 12: WHEN THINGS WENT AWRY

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 12

Since Lucifer had already bonded with Jim, it became imperative that he accompanied Lucifer on his second trip to the Great Grimpen Mire. This time I missed out on all the action, as I had some pressing matters to attend to in London. Jim, though, kept me up to date on the daily happenings in the shire and I was thrilled when I was finally asked to join him at Merripit House for the final showdown.

But I think I am getting way ahead of myself. So let me start by listing out the three major events that took place in my absence. First major incident of not was his meeting with our adversaries Dr. Watson and the famous Sherlock Holmes himself. Second was the outburst of Stapleton and the third, which was a direct consequence of the second, was the backfiring of our backup plan.

Before I go deep into the details, I would like to reveal the cover which Jim used during his stay in Merripit House. ‘The perfect guise’ was what Jim called it. It so happened that the Stapletons had brought a manservant, Anthony along with them when they set sail from the New World. This man had contracted pneumonia and died a few months after their arrival in London. With a bit of makeup, Jim became Anthony and since the Stapletons didn’t have many visitors, it was assumed that there would be no hiccups.

Imagine his bewilderment, when he found that his very first visitor was none other than Dr. Watson, Holmes right hand man! Watson, who did not possess the same talents of observation as his acclaimed friend, walked right past him without a second glance. Jim later learned from Stapleton that Holmes had stayed back in London to finish some important task. But a few days later, Jim discovered the true colors of Holmes when he came across the great detective in the Grimpen Mire. Jim beat a hasty retreat, mumbling an excuse and praying that Holmes didn’t see through his guise. Here his time in India came in handy, as the tan suggested that he came from the tropicals.

The next incident of note was Stapleton’s outburst. It must be stated here that Jim had accepted the case only after procuring a promise from Stapleton that he would not interfere with the plan. The plan was simple. Beryl would be used as the bait to lure Sir Henry to his death. In no way was Rodger to intervene on their romance until Jim gave the signal. But as is the case with most men, while they do not feel the slightest guilt when they chase after other women, they easily get enraged when his wife showed the slightest affection for another man. We couldn’t exactly blame Rodger for his predicament but it would have been better if he had kept his cool and not hurt our plans by barging in on Sir Henry and Beryl.

The third incident was a direct result of the second. Though Jim tried to beat some sense into the head of our client, the man would not listen. He set Lucifer upon Henry on the first chance he got but Lady Luck was kind to Sir Henry. The victim was to be Seldon, our own backup plan! He had the misfortune of wearing Sir Henry’s old clothes, which the Barrymores had given him. This sudden turn of tide meant we had to execute our plan as fast as possible and so I was summoned to Merripit House to take part in the events of that fatal night.

***

That night will always be etched in my memory. It was the night when for the first and the last time in my life I doubted the predicament of my friend and partner in crime James Moriarty.

It was the night when we would murder Sir Henry Baskerville. The trap was set and the ball already in motion. Sir Henry was dining in Merripit House. Jim and I waited outside to witness the crime that we had hatched. After all, there is no greater reward than to see your creation with your own eyes.

We waited for Sir Henry. I was reminded of my time as a shikari in the jungles of Hindusthan. I would tie a goat to a tree and wait for the tiger to pounce on the bait. One shot. That was all that was required to put an end to the man eater. But tonight I would have to content myself by watching the act. I was not to play an active role or so I thought.

It was then that I so the wagonette stop at the gates of Merripit House. Three men got out of it.

“Ah! Our friends have arrived for the party!” remarked Moriarty with a smile.

“Shouldn’t we warn, Rodger?’

“Of course not. Why worry the old fellow unnecessarily? I assure you, Seb, everything shall go according to my plan."

I watched with baited breath as the three men passed our hiding place and went to the House. They stopped two hundred yards before the House. Then one of them, whom I later learned was Dr. Watson, went to survey the house. All this time Moriarty waited in silence not making a move. Then suddenly, I saw why he was not worried. The fog was setting in. Holmes and party had to withdraw due to the advancing fog. In another five minutes, Mr. Henry would be completely under the mercy of the hound. That was when I felt something cold in my hand. Moriarty pushed a pistol in my hand and whispered a command into my ears. I was shell shocked.

“But that will ruin everything. What about the effort we put in to create the myth? Besides, Holmes will know of our presence.” I said in protest.

“Just do as I say. Shoot when Holmes shoots. That will conceal our presence.”

“But what about the extra bullet?”

“One of them is bound to miss.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Ever heard of probability and statistics?”

“This is not a lecture class, professo-“

Our argument was cut short by the sound of gunfire which was followed by a howl of pain from the poor creature. The time for arguments had passed. I was to decide the fate of this crime. I aimed my pistol at the target’s head. The hound had pounced on Sir Henry. In another moment it will bury its fangs into his neck. Holmes was too far to interfere. Our plan could succeed. No one would know of our presence. But my army training got the better of me. In the army, we did as our superior ordered us. No questions were asked. My finger pulled the trigger even before I realized. The bullet hit the hound on the head. The noise merging with the gunfire that Holmes unleashed upon the dead creature. Now you may think that by losing my aim, I had unwittingly saved the life of the man we intended to kill. But the truth was far from it. My aim was accurate. I had hit my target. Moriarty wanted the hound dead.

But why did he want the hound dead? Why did he ruin his own plot?

  

CHAPTER 11: MORIARTY’S LIST

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 11

When I returned from the wedding, I found Jim pacing up and down the room, deep in thought. He looked like a man possessed. He kept mumbling under his breath and making weird gestures with his hands.

“You should learn to smoke, Jim. It will ease your stress.”

“I am not a coward to bury my worries under some medication.” he retorted, “Get me a pen and paper, will you?”

I promptly gave it to him, not wanting to irritate him any further. He frantically scribbled a few things on to the paper. Then he handed it over to me along with a bundle of money. I stared at the list. It made no sense at all.

“A lady’s perfume?” I asked. So he was already buying gifts for her?

“Don’t ask any questions, Seb. Just buy it.”

“Which one? Atleast, give me a name.”

“Do you think I have any expertise on the matter? If I had got the idea earlier, I would have asked Beryl what she personally preferred. But I believe any perfume will do.”

If the first item on the list puzzled me, the second one left me shell shocked. A room for two in Mexborough Private Hotel! What the hell was he thinking? I wanted to hit him on the face. I was his partner not his -. I controlled my anger.

“You do know this woman is married, don’t you?”

He gave me a long stare. Whether it was sad or angry, I could not say. All that I knew, was that I made a grave mistake.

“Do you really think I am an adulterer, Seb? I would never think of breaking the commandments!”

I wanted to point out that he already broke the fifth but I knew what his reply would be. ‘I didn’t kill Sir Charles. He died of a weak heart. Had he more faith in his Lord, he wouldn’t be afraid of such superstitions.’ So I held my tongue and proceeded to the next thing on the list. Though this too was a strange request, it was not as outrageous. It seemed to be some petty makeup equipment complete with a false beard. But the fourth one was the strangest of all four requests. A nice sum to one Warden Thomas Banks.   

“You are bribing an officer?”

“You know that this mission is bound to be dangerous, so I felt a small backup plan was necessary in case things went awry.”

“Who is Thomas Banks and what does he have to do with all this?”

“He is a warden at Princetown. He will be providing us with a scapegoat.”

“A scapegoat?”

“You do remember Mrs. Barrymore’s brother who is undergoing a sentence for a murder, don’t you?”

“You mean, Selden?”

“Yes. Where do you think he will go, if he escapes from prison?”

“To his sister?”

“Naturally. So who will they suspect if something unpleasant were to happen to Sir Henry?”

I understood at once. I immediately left to carry out the task entrusted upon me. When I returned I found Jim cutting the Times and forming some sort of a message on a paper.

“What are you doing?”

“Just leaving a message to our friend.”

Jim went out with the paper and I did not give the matter much thought as I had a late night card game at the Club. I returned late that night.

By the time I woke up next morning, Jim had already left. I spent the day reading the translated version of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables and came to the realization that most of my favorite novels came from the other side of the Channel. But my thoughts on the matter were cut short by a knock on the door.

I opened the door to find an elderly man with a most remarkable beard staring at me with a smug smile. I could have sworn that I had never seen this man before but he walked right into the room as if he were walking into his own.

“Stop right there!” I barked.

The stranger turned around and pulled off his beard, to give me a most pleasant surprise.

“Now, you do see why I needed the make-up, don’t you?” asked Jim with a wide grin.

“What is all this make-up for? Did they put you in a play?”

“Yes they did!”

“And what was your part?”

“The one and only Mr. Sherlock Holmes” said Moriarty with a beaming face. 

CHAPTER 12 : WHEN THINGS WENT AWRY

CHAPTER 10: THE UNEXPECTED GUEST

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 10

It was a beautiful Sunday morning and I had a friend’s wedding to attend to. I was in my best suit and on my way out, when I heard the knock on the door. I opened the door and cursed myself for choosing to attend the wedding. There before me stood the most beautiful woman I had ever set eyes upon. A pair of beautiful dark eyes stared into mine from the other side of the doorway. I felt my heart skip a beat as I traced my eyes over the thick black hair, the sensuous lips and the perfect figure of the angel that stood before me.

“Is this the residence of Mr. Moriarty?” The lady asked.

I nodded, unable to mouth any words.

“Oh! I am sorry, I didn’t recognize you, I -”

“No, no, no! I am Sebastian Moran, Jim’s partner. Do come in.”

As I let the lady in, Jim entered the room.

“Ah! You must be Miss Beryl Stapleton or should I call you Mrs. Baskerville?” he asked.

His words produced contrasting reactions from us. The lady was visibly surprised while I was left devastated. She is married? I blessed the moment I decided to go to that wedding.

“How did you know?” asked the lady.

“Who else could it be? I should have guessed when Radnor let me go so easily. The one loop hole in my rule. You must be my ‘new’ client, err...”

“Beryl, call me Beryl. And yes, I am your new client.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, Beryl, but I am not interested in your case.” said Jim.

“Please, sir. Do accept it. If not for my husband, do it for me. Rodger can be very violent when things don’t go his way and he takes out his anger on me.”

“That is for you to worry about.” Said Jim coldly.

For a moment, I thought she would burst into tears. After all, what else were women good for? But when she saw that her pleas were not having any effect on Jim, she changed tactics with such pace that it left me stunned.

“You are afraid of him, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I’m not afraid of your husband, Beryl. The death of Sir Charles was a masterpiece. 

The perfect crime. The one that went unnoticed.  I will not spoil it for a fool’s flimsy fantasies.”

The woman burst into laughter, a mad maniacal laugh, like none I have ever heard before.

“Why are you laughing?” asked a puzzled Jim.

“I was not referring to my husband, Mr. Moriarty. And don’t you take comfort in the illusion that the crime was a perfect one. Dr. Mortimer suspects foul play.”

“He won’t be able to prove anything.”

“Of course, he won’t. But someone else will. Dr. Mortimer has paid a visit to the Baker Street detective. Accept it Mr. Moriarty, you are afraid of Mr. Holmes’ reputation and that is the real reason why you are scared of taking this job. Any rookie can commit a crime when no one is watching. Only a maestro can pull one off when the cleverest man on earth is watching.”

Jim winced. Beryl had hit where it hurts. First she wounded Jim’s pride by breaking the bubble of the perfect crime. Then to add salt into those wounds she called him a coward and referred to the ‘Baker Street detective’ as ‘the cleverest man on earth’.

Just then the clock struck nine. I was getting late for my wedding. Though I wanted to stay, I had no option but to leave my friend at the mercy of this woman. I learned an important lesson that day: Never underestimate a woman.  

 

   

CHAPTER 9: LIFE AFTER 'DEATH'

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 9

The events that followed the arrival of the Hound were well documented by our dear friend, Dr. Watson. I do not wish to bore the reader with a repetition of the facts. Yet for the sake of those who have not yet had the good fortune to read his work, THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES, I will give a quick briefing.

Once Lucifer (that’s what we named the Tibetan Mastiff) arrived in London, our first problem was to find a suitable hiding place for him in the shire. Here for the first time, Stapleton came to our rescue. He seemed to know a way to navigate through the deadly Grimpen Mire and with his help we were able to keep Lucifer out of sight from the village folks. Lucifer’s eerie howls were enough to spark the dormant Black Dog legends. When we started letting out Lucifer, we knew that our plan was working, for the doctor’s visit to Baskerville Hall became more frequent. Then one day, we heard the news that Sir Charles was leaving for London and we knew that it was time to set Lucifer upon our victim. Here again, Stapleton’s vice proved to be a blessing in disguise. With the help of an unsuspecting Mrs Lyons, we were able to draw our victim into the moor. One sight of our majestic pet was enough to shove our hapless victim into the abyss of death. It would all have come to a happy (or tragic, depending on your viewpoint) ending, had it not been for one big blunder on the part of Stapleton.

We came to know of it about three months after the ‘death’ of Sir Charles. Jim was called to Radnor House by the Professor. He thought it was a new client and so was only glad to go. When he returned he was in a bad temper.

“That fool! Who does he think he is?”

“What’s the matter, Jim?”

“Radnor wants us to commit another murder.”

“Isn’t that what we do?”

“Another murder for Stapleton.”

“What? Why does he need to kill anyone? I thought he inherited enough to live for a lifetime.”

 “It seems the idiot overlooked someone. There was a second brother in Canada and he had a son named Henry. Henry now inherits the whole fortune.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Stapleton must have had a heart attack when he heard the news. After all, he just committed a crime for someone else.

“So, what did you say, Jim?”

“I said I wouldn’t go through with it. This crime was my masterpiece. The perfect crime. The one that went unnoticed. I don’t want to spoil it by trying something outrageous as a second murder.”

“And what did they say to that?”

“That pompous fool suggested that I hand Lucifer over to him and he would do it himself. Can you believe him?”

A vein popped out on Jim’s forehead as he said this. Jim had asked for Lucifer instead of his share of the payment and Stapleton was only glad to comply. Radnor thought Jim was a fool for not taking the money. But Lucifer was Jim’s trophy. Over the three months, he had got quite attached to Lucifer. He even decided to stay in his brother’s country house for the sake of Lucifer.

“So, you turned him down?”

“I said that I had only one rule: One job per client. I said I was never going to change that.”

“When did you come up with that rule?”

“Just then. Anyway, Radnor seemed to understand and he assured me that Stapleton 

would no longer bother me.”

“Do you really think Stapleton didn’t know about Henry?”

“Why do you ask, Seb?”

“Do you remember once asking me ‘Why take so much trouble to kill a dying man?’? I think we have our answer, Jim. Maybe it was to get a shot at this Henry before he married and had a family of his own.”

“Hmmh! Do you know what’s dangerous than a fool? A proud fool! If Stapleton knew about Henry and still kept quiet I will kill him personally. It would have been far easier to kill Henry when he was a poor man in Canada rather than when he just inherited a fortune.”

“Let it go, Jim. After all, we have seen the last of the Baskervilles.”

Or so we thought. But we had forgotten to take into account the visitor who would appear at our doorsteps the following day.

(If you are a die-hard fan of the invincible Sherlock Holmes, I suggest you read no further. But if you are ready to face the harsh realities of the world we live in, then do continue your journey. But remember, you were warned and truth is a bitter pill to swallow.)

CHAPTER 8 : A HIMALAYAN TASK

THE HAUNT OF BASKERVILLES

CHAPTER 8

The next day we found ourselves in the living room of Sir Charles Baskervilles. The man himself was standing before us with a jovial smile.

“Sir, I am Arthur. Arthur Bell from the Daily Times. And this here is Professor Alexander Boyle.” said Jim as he introduced us to our innocuous victim.

“And what brings you to Devonshire, gentlemen?”

“I am doing a story for the paper. The Mysteries of the Shire. I was hoping if you could shed some light on the legend of the Black Dog.”

“Ah! A popular folk legend in these parts. I remember my mother threatening me with the tale when I was a child. ‘Eat your food, Charlie or the hound will come and get you.’ I used to get frightened and obey her. So did most of the kids in the village when their mothers told them the same tale. Those were the days we actually believed in the legend. My brothers and I would stay awake all night to get a glimpse of the hound.”

“What do you think now?”

“Tut! Mr. Bell! I am way over that age. I have gone through a lot in my life. Once you have come face to face with an African lion you seldom lose sleep over an imaginary hound. Besides, it’s just one of those ghost stories which folks make up to discipline naughty kids. I really am surprised that you came all the way just to seek my opinion on the topic. After all, I am no expert on folk tales.” said Baskervilles with a chuckle.

“Well, sir, the reason of our visit is something else. My friend, here, is in possession of a manuscript which may be of interest to you. Alex?”

It took a moment for me to realize that Jim was referring to me. I quickly took out the manuscript and handed it over to our victim, all the time maintaining a grave face. I was disappointed to note that there was no significant change in his manner as he read the old parchment.

“Where did you get this?” he asked suspiciously.

“I had recently made a visit to Central America to study the culture and superstitions of the indigenous tribes. There I came across an Englishman who said he wanted to sell an old manuscript related to the Black Dog of Devonshire. At first, I suspected it to be a hoax. What was such a manuscript doing, so far away from London? The man explained that it was passed on to him by his father. He added that it was the curse of his family and that he had run away from his home to escape the curse. Since the price was quite modest and the man seemed to be telling the truth, I bought it right away. When I learned that Artie was doing a story, I showed it to him. He wanted to cross check it with you before he published anything.” said I with my best poker face.

“And may I ask who the mysterious Englishman was?”

“He claimed to be your brother. One Mr. Rodger Baskerville.”

“Ah! Rodger!” he said with a chuckle.

“You seem amused.” remarked Jim.

“Of course! Rodger was the black sheep of the family. He always had a trick up his sleeve. He was neck deep in trouble because of it. That is the real reason he fled to Central America. I am sorry to say that Mr. Boyle was duped.”

“But the parchment seems to be very old.”

“These things can be forged, Mr. Bell. I have seen such things done during my time in Africa.”

Clearly the conversation was not going in the direction we expected. Sir Charles was proving to be a tough nut to crack.

“Mr. Bell, as the eldest son of my family, I am pretty sure that my father would have entrusted such a parchment with me rather than with his youngest son.”

“But was he not the ‘naughtiest’? The legend says the innocent will not go punished. May be he felt his youngest son needed it more than you.”

“Enough of this childish talk! There are no such things as ghosts, Mr. Bell. Now if you would excuse me, gentlemen, I have more serious matters to attend to.”

“We are sorry to have taken up your time, Sir.”

We beat a hasty retreat. Not only had we overstayed our welcome but we also made a complete fool of ourselves.

                               

***

I slumped into the sofa as soon as we reached our lodgings. The trip had left me drained.

“Such a waste!” I sighed.

“Don’t be so sure, Seb. Today we just planted a seed. In time, it will sprout and bear fruit. You must be patient.”

“I don’t think we even scratched the surface. Let alone plant seeds! Baskerville is a tough customer. He didn’t even buy our story.”

“We should have anticipated this.”

“What?”

“Anybody who goes to South Africa and makes a fortune couldn’t have been a saint. There is more to Sir Charles than that meets the eye.”

“It’s a sad thing that all your work went to waste. Speaking of which, did you bring back the manuscript?”

“No. I left it with Sir Charles.”

“Why would you do that?”

“What if he changed his mind and took the legend seriously?”

“You saw that man, didn’t you? He will not give the matter another thought.”

“Don’t be so sure of it, Seb. Wait till he sees the hound.”

“Didn’t you hear the man? He has faced an African lion. Why should he be afraid of an English dog?”

“What if it’s not an ordinary dog that I have in mind?”

“What do you have in mind, a hell hound?”

“You ought to know. After all, it was you who introduced me to it.”

“Me?”

Moriarty took a book from the shelf and gave it to me. I looked at the title. Heavy Game of the Western Himalayas. My first book.

“Chapter  18.” said Jim.

I turned to Page 105 but I already knew what Moriarty was implying. This particular chapter contained an incident that was not easily forgotten.

“The hour was well past midnight. My nap was cut short by a strange howl. I came out of the tent and looked around. My companions Colonel Anderson and Sherpa Jan Bahadur were also out of their tents.

“What was that?” I asked Bahadur.

“Do Khyi.” replied the Sherpa.

“Door guard?”

“The Himalayan mountain dog, Saheb.”

“Well it’s just a dog. Let’s go back to sleep.” said Anderson as he went back into the tent.

I looked at Bahadur. He seemed perturbed.

“What’s bothering you, Bahadur?”

“Do Khyi is a guard dog, Saheb. It’s used by the monks and nomads to protect their property.”

“So?”

“There are no monasteries in these parts and the nomads usually are down in the plains during this season.”

“I don’t get your point.”

“A tamed Do Khyi is a dangerous opponent. It can take on wolves and leopards on its own. But an untamed Do Khyi is ten times as dangerous. Especially during a full moon night.”

I looked at the moon in its brilliance. When I was a child my grandmother used to say that if you looked closely you could see Holy Mary holding Infant Jesus. For a moment, I thought I saw it. Then another long howl broke the silence of the night. As if answering the creature’s call, a fog dissented upon us. I went back to my tent to get my rifle. Better to not take any chances. Bahadur was working hard to keep the fire alive. Anderson was also out of his tent now.

“Do Khyi is hungry.” remarked Bahadur as another howl was heard, this time from a close range.

We stood alert, waiting for the predator to make its move. Bahadur took out his shining long knife. It glistened in the moonlight. Anderson had his pistol on the ready. I rechecked my rifle. I had taken down tigers. How bad can a dog be?

And as if as an answer to my question, a blood chilling cry came from behind me. I turned around and for a moment stood rooted to the ground. Anderson was lying on the ground, the gun out of his grasp and his neck bleeding profusely. Over him stood a creature like none I had ever seen before. A wolf like beast with a lion’s main and blood dripping out of its open mouth. Covered in thick black fur, as dark as the night, the beast seemed to have been spat out of hell. Then it turned its glowing eyes towards me and I felt the strength drain from my body. Before I could move a muscle it pounced upon me. All I could do was merely watch. But before its deadly fangs could find my neck, a flash of light struck the beast down. With a moan of pain, it fell to the ground, rolled over and disappeared into the night, the Sherpa’s knife protruding from its back.”     

I looked up.

“You want a Tibetan mastiff? But it would take weeks to find one, let alone bring it to London.”

“That has already been arranged for my friend. Our Hound will arrive in London tomorrow.”

“But how did you get your hands on one?”

“I have contacts in Hindustan, my friend. After all, I grew up there.”

“You have been to India?”

“You do remember that we first met in the Anglo-Indian Club, don’t you?”

I nodded but my thoughts were elsewhere. It was on the hell hound which was to set foot on London soil the next day.   

CHAPTER SEVEN: OVER A CUP OF COFFEE