Congo River, seeking ivory. He knew the things for what they were and feared them. From that time we guarded them carefully lest they fall into the possession of an evildoer. Some thought best to destroy them, but others feared the release of malevolent power bound up within if they were burnt. Then we were visited by a man who feared nothing in the secure protection of his own God. The Christian missionary, Dr Livingstone.”
I could restrain myself no longer. “But none of this tells of a threat against our good Queen. Please, is there indeed such a threat, or are we drawn here by deceit merely to listen to a wandering tale of African magical practice?”
“Dr Watson, I will not retain you much longer. Believe me sir, all I have to say is needful to a good understanding of current events and of the nature of the treasonous conspiracy I must disclose to you.”
Any rejoinder would only prolong the discourse at this point, so I settled again to listen, with what shreds of my patience I could muster.
“In conference we, the people of my village, decided to entrust the voodoo dolls to the care and safekeeping of the good Doctor Livingstone. He agreed to take proper care they would be kept from the hands of evil practitioners, in deference to the fears we expressed. In short, he took them from us. They were later transferred to the custody of a fellow missionary returning to England. This gentleman lived near here, in Hampshire.”
More tea was offered, which both Holmes and I declined, and a pause ensued while our informant refreshed himself with a degree of delicacy and evident relish.
“Nothing like a good cup of tea to refresh and restore the spirits. Now, all was well until this gentleman, who I do not care to name, died recently of a sudden choleric infarction. This was in a house of ill repute in Southwark, a scandalous circumstance for a gentleman of the cloth. His will bequeathed a considerable collection of African and Asian artefacts to his cousin, Lady Violet Chatterley. Naturally the Dolls in question were included in this bequest.”
“Well now, what further game is afoot, Mr Zungo? Has some eastern evildoer now gained possession of the ritual devices by larceny? Does he intend to direct their malevolence against Her Majesty in some magical ceremonial? Oh, and by the bye, anent this unfortunate death, was that four weeks, or eight weeks ago?”
“Mr Holmes! You astonish me. I will not enquire as to how you draw such conclusions, but must admit you are correct in your surmises. There is a person of Oriental appearance who has been seen in possession of the dolls. Possibly from Goa or another Portuguese territory, or mayhap a Malayan. In any event, Lady Chatterley discovered the loss of the dolls upon the occasion of my recent visit. She had been unaware of their nature and kept them in the library along with the other baubles inherited from her cousin, who died some twelve weeks ago, in fact.”
Zungo paused a moment, perhaps considering what further information to impart. “I came to England, courtesy of the British Colonial office, to take part in the grand gathering at Her Majesty’s Diamond Jubilee. My duties in this being discharged, I spent some time to trace the location of the Dolls, which was a concern of the village elders I have promised to look into.”
Now the old woman spoke, “My people heard about this burglary, in which only these strange dolls were stolen. Lady Chatterley told me the story just as you’ve heard from Mr Zungo, and I put our eyes and ears to work. We knew of an oriental man who lived rough in the Forest for some weeks and was not seen again after this theft. We found a younger man of similar appearance, and asked what he knew. The other fellow is his countryman and some sort of cousin. Barendra by name”
She turned and spat copiously into the fire. “Barendra wants to use the dolls to place a curse on Her Majesty. He bears a grudge against Britain and the Empire for the death of his father, who was a rajah in the Molucca Islands. He was accused of piracy and slave raiding, and a British expedition burnt his fort, freed the captives he held, and executed him by hanging, a dishonourable death.”
Holmes said, “We know the intended crime, the perpetrator, and something of the method. What remains is to apprehend the miscreant before he can lay this curse.”
“The moon is at the full tonight, Mr Holmes. Evil stalks with the waning moon, so I fear some ritual is to be performed shortly. We must forestall this,” said the old woman.
“Is there perchance a poultry farm nearby? Or, better yet, a gentleman who keeps exotic birds, such as Oriental pheasants?” Holmes spoke in a seemingly casual tone, but I knew he was not digressing from the meat of our investigation, but had deduced some connection with this Voudoo practitioner and his forthcoming ceremony.
The old woman sat erect. She clenched her pipe so firmly in her toothless maw that I feared it might break, and exuded great noxious clouds of smoke. But thirty seconds passed in silence before she spoke. “Indeed, Mr Holmes. There is a gentleman nearby, a retired Colonial Officer, who busies himself with a menagerie. He has, I believe, several species of exotic fowl. There are tropical ducks, guinea hens, peacocks, and pheasants of various kinds in his aviary. Also a laying flock of Black Austrolope chickens, with several good sized roosters among them.”
Holmes allowed a twitch of the lips to indicate a degree of satisfaction at this, and turned to me. “Come, Watson, we must hasten to this menagerie. We may be able to frustrate some further larceny if we are quick about it.”
Josiah Green stood, and gestured silently to a path which led into the forest from close behind the tents of the encampment. “This way, gentlemen. The road to Forest Holt House from here is long, though by the direct route of this footpath it lies only a three quarter mile from us.”
We hastened along the narrow path in single file. Green in front, closely followed by Holmes, myself, and our new ally, Zungo. Green carried a lantern, and held it to one side so that the path was visible to those behind him.
Within ten minutes we emerged from the trees into a clear meadow. On the far side a low hedge divided the rough grass from an extensive garden, with several roofs tiled in an appreciably oriental style visible in the moonlight amongst an assortment of flowering azaleas and rhododendrons.
All was peaceful, until a jarring cacophony of clattering shrieks erupted. I gasped at the horrible sound, and wondered if some demon from the nether world was loose already.
Holmes and Green both seemed not in the least disturbed. Zungo grinned widely, evidently delighted for some reason.
“Sounds of your home, Zungo,” said Holmes.
“Quite, Mr. Holmes. Roosting guinea fowl. A sound I have not heard since leaving Africa.”
We made our way towards a gap in the hedge, evidently an unofficial entrance known to Green, and had almost reached that point when a figure emerged from the shadow of an overhanging yew tree.
He carried a bulky sack over his shoulder, and hastened head down through the opening in the hedge into the meadow but a few yards from us.
“Halt!” I called out.
The shadowy figure bolted into the meadow, moving with considerable agility across the tussocky ground, and vanished into the dark beneath the trees.
Green followed close on his heels, and likewise disappeared from view within a few seconds.
Zungo picked up the lantern, which Green had discarded as he set off to apprehend the miscreant, and proceeded to the gap in the hedge, closely followed by Holmes.
I hesitated to follow. “I say, you fellows, would we not be better occupied in pursuit of that fugitive we just saw? Surely he must be the Voodoun practitioner we seek?”
“Watson, we can best leave his chase to Mr Green, who is eminently more capable and practised in nocturnal perambulations in the uncultivated byways of Hampshire than we visitors. Further, I suspect that fugitive to be not the main object of our quest, who we must yet locate and apprehend,” replied my friend.
“How so? I caught only a fleeting glimpse of the fellow, and could not identify him with certainty, I concede. He had the height and general bulk of that Lascar we saw at Winchester, at the least.”
“I must suggest that you consider your own words in describing our encounter. You caught only a fleeting glimpse, and therein lies the basis of my certainty that this was another, and not the individual we seek.” Holmes strode through the gap as he spoke, and I perforce followed. “The agility of his movements, the speed at which he negotiated the passage across rough ground, indicate a much younger man, and likely a countryman, or someone long resident in this locality.”
Zungo said, “We must also consider that the disturbance we heard indicated the probable contents of the sack he carried. Guinea fowl, Doctor, though tasty and probably of some pecuniary value, are not generally used in rites such as that we seek to impede.”
“They are of African origin, are they not? Voodoo likewise springs from the Dark Continent, does it not?” I asked.
Holmes answered, “Not entirely so. Voodoo has roots in some African practices, but has been largely modified during the past several hundred years, during which time many adherents have lived in Europe and the Americas. Current beliefs and rituals give great significance to the use of domestic fowl as sacrifices. To my recent information, black cockerels are preferred, and my intent is to frustrate any attempt to purloin those particular creatures.”
With no further discussion we followed the gravel path to the