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.'
'What is it, Lestrade?' I asked.
'Why, the oddity, just as Mr. Holmes predicted. I was lucky enough to be able to get divers on the job within a matter of minutes after you'd left. And on the bottom of the Thames they found this bag.' Stooping to open the canvas container, Lestrade brought out of it another bag, which if unfolded would have been even larger than the first. 'And containing these.'
As he spoke, Lestrade undid the fastenings of the inner bag. Metal clashed as he let its contents slide out upon the carpet. There lay before us two pairs of heavy manacles, circles of steel connected by short, strong chains. 'Darbies and leg-irons, I make them out to be, though they're a good deal different from the style we use at the Yard. I've got people at work already trying to trace 'em. Especially made, I'd say, and extra strong. As you see, both pair are locked. The keys are missing.'
Peter Moore came near to shouldering me aside when Lestrade displayed his find. I looked at the young American in surprise, but quickly forgot my ruffled feelings when I beheld the strange expression of excitement on his face.
For a few moments Moore seemed unable to find words or even gestures to express his thoughts. Then he seized one set of the manacles and held them up. There were only a few spots and traces of rust on the bright steel, which could not have been long in the river.
'These were made by my company in New York,' Peter Moore burst out. 'And they were with John in the South Seas.'
Stepping on shaky legs from that droll imitation of a coffin, I knew that I had recovered my identity not an hour too soon to save my life.
Nowhere but in the hallowed soil of my homeland would I, vampire, be able to find rest. Turning impulsively to the cowed sailor, I barked out: 'Tell me! Where shall the unclaimed baggage be taken, from a ship unloading at the East India docks?' Of course I had in mind the great leather trunk that had accompanied me to England; besides containing large sums of money, my own clothing, and papers of identification under several names, it was half full of that sweet stuff I needed more than air.
Huddling in mute fright, the man could only shake his head. Of course there was no reason why he should have known anything about baggage-handling procedures, or what had happened to my trunk. Nor had I myself the least idea of where to begin a search; so it was indeed fortunate for my hopes of survival that during my London visit six years earlier I had taken certain measures with the idea of establishing a permanent residency.
Never mind how foolish those ambitions of mine were proven when the pack of vampire-hunters fastened on my trail; I have told that story elsewhere. The point was that some at least of those scattered, secret nests I had then built for myself, and lined with imported earth, must be still intact after no more than six years—or so I devoutly hoped, as I stalked out of that noisome dormitory toward the main doors of the hostel.
As I drew near those doors my purpose of departure must have been obvious, for the gatekeeper at once emerged from some cubbyhole nearby. He was a large man, garbed now in a blanket that he had draped about him like a toga, and evidently accustomed to peculiar midnight fits among his clientele. In a voice heavy with authority he warned me that the doors were going to stay locked and barred until daylight.
'Just toddle back't' bed now, like a good chap. Wot business you 'as out there will keep till—whoa!'
Quite gently I set him out of my path, for they were good Christian folk who operated the shelter, and they had served me well—aye, better than they knew. I threw the bar aside, and bent my waning strength, one hand to push and one to pull, upon the lock. It was strong, but not to be classed with those gorilla-manacles. Presently I
