Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

"It was fairly dark by then," the younger man continued after a moment. "We couldn't really see very much. There seemed to be paths everywhere, and we were just wondering if we'd taken the wrong one, when we came over the brow of a small hill and saw the ruins dead ahead of us. We'd thought the sky was dark, but the ruins were darker still, and showed up as a black silhouette. To the left stood the ruined tower, tall and stark, with a huddle of lower buildings surrounding it, to the right, some more disordered ruins; and then – " He broke off and swallowed before continuing.

"As we drew closer, picking our way carefully along the rocky path, there came all at once the sound of movement somewhere just ahead of us, and then a dark, crouching shape scuttled across the path not more than twenty feet away."

"The Black Pig!" cried Murdoch MacLeod.

"What?" cried the elder Grice Paterson in return.

"You are in superstitious country," said Doctor Oliphant. "There is a belief in these parts that the appearance of the Black Pig is an omen of evil."

"There are some," said MacLeod in a low tone, "who say that the Black Pig is the Evil One himself "

Alexander Grice Paterson snorted. "Perhaps it is fortunate for us, then," he said, "that what we saw did not remotely resemble a pig. It was more like a man, crouching down."

"Aye," said his son. "Furtive and creeping, with his robes all draggling out behind him."

"I need hardly say that we were somewhat unnerved by this apparition," the elder Grice Paterson continued. "Then, as we

stood there, rooted to the spot, a faint, wavering light sprang up in a window high in the tower. I think Donald must have cried out – " "With all respect, Pa," his son interrupted, "I believe that you were the one doing the crying out."

"Well, well. Be that as it may, next moment an oblong of bright light appeared suddenly before us, as a door was flung open at the base of the tower, and a giant of a man with a great ginger beard stepped out, carrying a lantern.

"MacGlevin," said MacLeod softly, as Grice Paterson continued:

" 'Who's there?' the giant's voice boomed out."

"Why, man," cried Angus Johnstone, laughing, "it sounds more like a Grimm's fairy tale every minute!"

"No doubt," returned Alexander Grice Paterson, appearing a little annoyed at this interruption, "but it did not strike us that way at the time. We stepped forward and introduced ourselves.

" 'A strange time to come paying a visit,' the giant boomed back at us. I explained our situation, that we had had no idea that the island was inhabited.

" 'On our map,' said I, `this building is marked only as a ruin.' " 'Oh, is it?' replied he. 'Then your map, sir, is sadly in error reprehensibly so – and I recommend that you buy yourself a new

one! But, come! A MacGlevin does not turn even the meanest wretch from his door – no offence intended, Gentlemen! Pray step this way!'

"We followed him into his castle. He was most hospitable, I must say, and showed us into the clan museum that he has established there. 'I'll not light the lamps in here,' said he, 'for I ken you're in a hurry to be off, but take this lantern and have a look about, while I prepare something to warm you!' Shortly afterwards, we joined him before a blazing fire and drank his health, and five minutes later set off back to our boat, carrying the lantern he had lent us."

"Had you mentioned to him the creature you had seen earlier?" queried Holmes.

Grice Paterson shook his head. "I'd thought it best not to." "Does he keep a dog?"

"No, and there are no sheep or other animals on the island, either."

"It's the Black Pig!" said Murdoch MacLeod again, in a tone of awe.

"One moment, if you please," said Grice Paterson. "Our story is not yet finished."

"Dear me!" cried Doctor Oliphant. "Yet more adventures?"

"Indeed! You have not yet heard the strangest episode. We eventually reached the western extremity of Uffa, although it was not easy finding our way in the pitch blackness, and the lantern was little help. There, where we had secured the dinghy, was – " He paused and looked about the room.

"Well?" queried Doctor Oliphant impatiently.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Not a thing. No sign whatever of our boat. Just the dark sea splashing over the black rocks. We could see the Puffin riding at anchor a little distance off, for we'd lit a lamp on her before we'd left, but we'd no way of reaching her. And I was as certain that the dinghy had been secured properly as I'd ever been certain of anything in my life."

"What did you do?" queried Fergus Johnstone.

"We had no choice but to trudge all the way back to MacGlevin's domain and throw ourselves on his mercy. He seemed none too pleased to see us again, but said he would row us round to the Puffin in his own skiff, which was moored in an inlet just below the castle.You continue, Donald."

"Just as we were rounding the western head of the island, approaching the Puffin, my father cried out. I looked where he pointed, and there was our little dinghy, neatly tucked in the inlet, just as we had left it. Of course, Mr MacGlevin was a wee bit upset at this, and expressed himself somewhat warmly. Even a whelk would realize, he said, that we had simply taken the wrong path and looked for our boat in the wrong place. His parting words to us as he rowed off, after setting us aboard our own dinghy, were that we should henceforth confine our inept navigational activities to the streets of Edinburgh."

"There it might have ended," continued the elder Grice Paterson: "as an embarrassing experience, but no more although I was still convinced that the boat had not been there when we had looked for it before – but, as we were climbing from dinghy to yacht, Donald found something by his feet. Show them, my boy."

Donald Grice Paterson put his hand in his pocket, and pulled out a large, wooden-handled clasp-knife. He unfolded the blade, which was broad and strong-looking, with a curiously square end.

"It's not ours," said his father, "so how came it in the bottom of our boat?"

"May I see it?" said Holmes. He took the knife and examined it closely. "Made in Sheffield," he remarked; "which is hardly surprising information. The tip has been snapped off, which must have taken some considerable force."

The knife was passed around the room, amid much murmuring of interest, but no-one could make any useful suggestion regarding it.

"Someone has been playing tricks upon you," declared Doctor Oliphant.

"Someone – or something," said Murdoch MacLeod.

"A mischievous sprite," suggested Mrs Morton.

Sherlock Holmes offered no observation of his own, and later, when I queried his silence on the matter, he shook his head and smiled.

"My dear fellow," said he, "you must have observed in the past that an unresolved mystery possesses a charm and romance

which its solution can rarely aspire to. It is for this reason that unless it is likely to involve them in a personal loss – men often prefer mystery to enlightenment. I could have suggested at least seven possible explanations, but all of them were fairly prosaic, I'm afraid, and not really what the company was seeking!"

With that he retired for the night, and there the singular adventures of the Grice Patersons might have remained, but for the surprising sequel.

We were seated at breakfast the following morning when there came the sound of raised voices from the hallway outside. Moments later, the door was flung open, and, ignoring the protests of the manager, in strode a gigantic figure, whose tangled ginger hair and beard identified him instantly as MacGlevin, closely followed by a police constable. The Laird of Uffa's eyes passed quickly over the assembled diners, until they alighted upon the luckless Grice Patersons.