CHAPTER 8
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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.
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