Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

I helped myself to a brandy and settled in for the evening.

By and by my friend recounted examples of severe weather he had encountered upon his many and diverse travels. My interest quickened; it is the one regret of our friendship that Holmes rarely sees fit to avail me of the incidents that befell him during his sojourn to points east during the period I have termed, in my accounts of my friend's illustrious career, the Great Hiatus.

That night he was vague in the details of his travels, but at one point he did say: "Of course I had experience of the monsoon when I travelled from Tibet, south to Ceylon to revisit an old friend – "

I leaned forward, pouncing upon his use of the word "revisit". "Why, Holmes, do you mean to say that you visited the island before '94?"

My friend realized his mistake at once, and gestured with feigned unconcern. "A trifling affair at Trincomalee in '88 – "

"You actually worked on a case out there?" I expostulated. "But why haven't you mentioned this before?"

"An affair of little account and even less interest,Watson. And anyway, I was sworn to utmost secrecy by the Royal Ceylonese Tea Company. As I was saying, concerning the nature of the monsoon rains…"

Whereupon the affair at Trincomalee was dismissed by my friend in his desire to expound upon the subject of the Asiatic rains.

Towards midnight I took my leave and, during the course of the next few weeks, went about my business with hardly a thought for that evening's exchange.

I had quite forgotten about the affair when, one month later, I called upon my friend and found him at home. He showed me to the fire and urged to help myself to a snifter of brandy.

At length he gestured with a long, languid hand to a letter lying open on the table beside his chair.

"Do you recall that upon your last visit I mentioned a small affair at Trincomalee, Ceylon, and the injunction placed upon my mentioning the case by the Royal Ceylonese Tea Company?"

I sat up, quite excited. "Of course," said I. "But what of it?"

"It appears that the injunction no longer pertains, Watson," Holmes said casually. "Three weeks ago I received a letter from my friend out there, informing me that the Company has fallen upon bad times and gone bankrupt – and so the last obstacle to my telling of the tale is no more."

He proceeded to fill his pipe with tobacco from the battered slipper he kept wedged down the side of his armchair. Soon we were enveloped in a pungent blue fug; I took a sip of brandy and made myself an audience, as I had on many an occasion before, to my friend's oratorical skills.

"You recall the extraordinary case of the Gloria Scott, wherein I was called to the aid of my university friend, Victor Trevor?"

"I most certainly do," I said. It had been one of the cases I had written up during Holmes's long absence from these shores.

"For many years," he said, "I lost contact with Trevor. At length I heard through a mutual friend that he had set sail for Ceylon, with the idea of managing a tea plantation or some such. Whatever, I heard no more… No more, that is, until the year of '88, when I received a letter from my old friend, couched in such terms that made it obvious he was in need of my assistance. Indeed, he almost begged my presence on that far away island, and even went so far as to include a return ticket on a cutter of the East India Line and promise of payment for my troubles upon my arrival. He went on to outline the details of a case that had baffled himself and his employers, the Royal Ceylonese Tea Company, for a good three months."

"Those details I found curious enough, and the pleas of my friend sufficient to warrant a trip to those tropical latitudes.You probably never missed me, my dear Watson, being too occupied with other things at the time: it was shortly after your marriage that I put my affairs in order, packed my bags and set sail aboard the Eastern Empress. For the duration of the voyage I absorbed myself in the analysis of the details of the case presented to me in Trevor's somewhat hasty missive."

"The brothers Atkinson, Bruce and William, were neighbours of Victor Trevor in Ceylon. They had left England some ten years before, and set sail for the Far East with the intention of making their fortunes. For a decade they worked for the Royal Ceylonese Tea Company at various locations around the island, for the last two years managing an estate of some one hundred native workers near Trincomalee. They were by all accounts gentlemen of upstanding and personable character, well liked by both the Ceylonese and the expatriate community of fellow planters and other businessmen. My friend Victor Trevor was a regular social visitor to the plantation; in his own words the brothers were the salt of the earth". They never married – a situation not uncommon among those of their chosen vocation – and lived for their work. They had no enemies."

"Their disappearance was as sudden as it was mysterious. It occurred presumably in the early hours of 1 February: suffice to say, they were seen by their house-boy prior to turning in the night before, but in the morning they were gone. They did not appear for breakfast at six, nor show up to do their rounds of the plantation at seven. Their absence was reported to the Colonial Police at Trincomalee at nine o'clock that morning, and it was not until noon that my friend Trevor heard of their disappearance. He headed over to the plantation and arrived minutes before a Sergeant from the police. Together they searched the house, and found nothing to suggest anything amiss other than a broken gas lamp and an overturned table in the lounge room. The investigating officer suggested that these were suspicious, indicative of a struggle and foul play, but Trevor noted that the table had been positioned near an open window through which the wind disturbed a heavy curtain. It was conceivable that the wind had caused the damage."

"They searched the plantation, and even the neighbouring country, but found nothing and no one. They questioned the under-managers and local workers, who reported nothing suspicious or noteworthy. From that day, 1 February 1887, to the day Trevor penned the letter, the brothers Atkinson had neither been seen nor heard. It was as if they left the house that morning and vanished from the face of the earth."

"Of course, Trevor's account was selective and inconclusive – there was much that I wished to know of the affairs of the

brothers before I might begin to give an opinion on the case. By the time the Eastern Empress docked at the port of Jaffna I was eager to set about my investigations."

"Victor Trevor met me on the quay, and we drove south in his trap to Trincomalee. The passage of time had done little to take the shine off the youth of my university friend, and for the duration of the journey we exchanged information concerning our exploits during the intervening years. I was to stay at the Atkinson's plantation itself, which Trevor was overseeing in the absence of the brothers. It was late by the time we arrived, and I had little time to question my friend as to the details of the case before he suggested that we turn in and discuss the reason for my presence in the morning."

"The miracle of dawn in those climes, Watson! I was up early the following morning to witness the rapid transformation from night to day from my verandah. One minute the land was clothed in darkness, the next a golden sunlight exposed the deep shadows of the valleys and the bright green expanse of the tea bushes. My friend was already risen, and we partook breakfast excellent kippers and poached eggs – around the vast oak table of the dining room."

"I see the brothers Atkinson were fond of a game of cards," I observed, gesturing to the table-top. "Bridge, if I am not mistaken."