Sherlock Holmes: The Army of Doctor Moreau

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

It was no more than ten minutes before we were reacquainted, Carruthers having found a slightly crumpled suit to preserve his modesty before the waiting staff.

“That’s better!” he announced, once able to graze on a plate of bread and butter and eye the cake-stand appreciatively. “One forgets to indulge in the niceties.”

“Food is a nicety?” I asked with a smile.

“Food that comes on a plate at least,” he replied.

“We may well have found you your prey,” said Holmes. “Which will save another night of aimless tracking.”

“Thank the Lord for that,” said Carruthers. “There is nowhere quite so impossible to pin a trail as the city. It has been driving me positively wild.”

“I suppose I have grown used to it,” said Holmes, “as it has become such a familiar hunting ground to me over the years. Still, even when I think I know every inch of it I stumble upon somewhere new.”

“I’m afraid I’m used to areas further afield,” Carruthers admitted. “I’ve spent very little time in the capital. I’m an explorer really, never happier than when I’m far from the place I, somewhat inaccurately, refer to as home.”

“Have you always sought game?” I asked.

“Far from it, in fact I’d never claim to be a hunter at all, though certainly I’ve had occasion to adopt the role. I travel a great deal, as I have mentioned, and tend to find myself drawn to the more dangerous areas of our globe. I have often lent my services to Mycroft’s gathering of intelligence. When it came to finding a man who has pitted himself against nature at its most violent and unpredictable, I imagine Mycroft’s list was small.” He leaned forward in his chair and grinned. “And I dare say most of ’em were far from the capital!”

“It can’t have been easy for my brother to find someone whose discretion could be assured,” said Holmes.

“Indeed,” Carruthers agreed, “the thing with big game hunters is they cannot help but brag, it’s part of the sport. How my ears have grown limp listening to interminable tales of unfortunate tigers!”

“Certainly whatever creatures we find are not for show,” I said. “These heads are never destined for the games-room wall.”

“A fine thing too,” said Carruthers. “I’ve always been more fond of seeing breathing animals than dead ones but, if it’s a case of preserving the lives of innocents, then I shall take my shot when I have it.”

He leaned back in his chair, finally satiated by the considerable tea platter.

“A number of years ago I was forced to make a similar decision on behalf of a village in the Himalayas. They were besieged by a wolf pack, regularly losing their children, the animals creeping into their huts at night and stealing them from their cots.

“The villagers saw it as an act of nature, a punishment no less, for perceived indolence amongst the farmers. I knew better of course and begged the hunters to set out and kill the pack. They refused and it seemed to me that they would simply dwindle, vanishing one by one every night until there was nobody left alive in the place but the fleet of foot or the unappetising.

“I interfered. To do so is to break a cardinal rule amongst those like me who make it their life’s mission to see the world and the varying cultures it offers. Still, I could not stand by and see more die. I saw the weeping parents, trying to remain strong in the eyes of the god they decided had seen fit to punish them, and knew that I could not just stand by.

“I tracked the wolf pack over a period of two days.” He took a calm sip of his tea. “No more children died at their hands.”

“And yet,” Holmes said, “it could be said that nature was simply taking its course, the weak feeding the strong.”

“Survival of the fittest,” Carruthers said. “Whether my Remington could be deemed unnatural or not I think I proved myself fit enough.”

Holmes nodded. “I don’t disapprove,” he said, “just thinking aloud. Darwinism haunts our steps in these matters. I find myself thinking more and more about what this research could bring. Is man wrong to interfere in the passage of so-called natural law or is he simply exhibiting the intelligent dominance that proves the validity of that law? As the dominant species can we not be expected to become stronger and stronger until there is nothing that can harm us? And what then? Where does it all lead? What manner of creature are humans destined to become?”

“Well,” said Carruthers, “if you want my opinion, lonely ones. We can’t seem to bear sharing our world, not with other animals, not with other humans for that matter. If we don’t sort that little flaw out then one day there’ll be nothing left of this planet but a spinning, empty rock.”

“Oh now,” I said, “surely we’re not as bad as all that? Mankind can be capable of great kindnesses and consideration. We’re not the voracious destroyers you think.”

“But those who are outnumber those who aren’t,” he replied. “And I fear they will not stop until they’ve ravaged our world. But then—” he smiled over the ridge of his teacup as he drained it “— if we don’t deal with this Moreau fellow, there might not even be much left of the world to ravage!”

“Sir?” said a waiter at Holmes’ arm. “Are you Mr Sherlock Holmes?”

“I am indeed,” he replied, taking a telegram from the proffered silver platter.

“How on earth could anyone know you were here?” I asked.

“There’s only one man I would rely on to pull such a trick,” he said, opening the telegram.

“Mycroft,” I agreed with a chuckle.

Holmes did not share my good humour. In fact his face was positively ashen as he lowered the telegram. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I fear we may have left it too long to act. A man calling himself Dr Moreau appeared at the Houses of Parliament an hour ago.”

“He’s been captured?” asked Carruthers.

“Far from it,” Holmes replied. “He’s abducted the Prime Minister!”