The steamer put in at Madras on a sweltering afternoon, greeted by the roar of surf crashing against the harbor's breakwaters. The city spread before us low and broad, the white steeple of St. George's Cathedral and the red Indo-Saracenic domes of government buildings rising amid groves of palm. Along the Marina, the famous beach road, the Bay of Bengal's waves glittered under a hazy sun.
Major John Allardyce met us at the landing stage of Madras's port. Clad in a plain khaki uniform without insignia, he might have been mistaken for a common soldier but for the authoritative set of his shoulders. He was a rugged man in his forties with a weather-beaten face and a direct gaze. After a quick, firm handshake, he hustled us into a waiting carriage.
"Better not to linger where the whole city can see," he said in a clipped Scottish brogue. As the carriage clattered out of the port area, he introduced himself more fully. "I manage internal security for the Madras Presidency. Mycroft's message was damned alarming, I must say. I've kept ears open for that code word you sent – 'Ashwamedha' – but heard nothing explicit. Still, I've sensed something amiss: unusual shipments through the port, sudden wealth among certain officials, and an elusive puppet-master hinted at in native whispers. Now you're here to confirm my fears."
Holmes wasted no time filling Allardyce in on the essentials of our discoveries: the trail of murders, the financial conspiracy, and above all the mastermind's identity – Adithya Varnama Rao, lurking under the guise of a legal counsel. The Major's jaw tightened as he absorbed the tale.
"I knew of A. V. Rao," he muttered. "He's been consulting on a new legislative overhaul here – a panel on legal reforms. Hell's bells, if he's Varnama, he's been under our noses, using our own institutions as cover. The audacity of the devil!"
"We suspect the culmination of his scheme is imminent here in Madras," I added. "Perhaps tied to an upcoming council meeting or transaction."
Allardyce nodded sharply. "The Governor's Council is meeting tomorrow afternoon on an emergency motion – something about war subsidies and land grants. It was called rather suddenly. I wasn't privy to details; perhaps an act regarding financing troop deployments. But war subsidies… land grants…" He trailed off, eyes narrowing. "Could that tie in?"
Holmes's features grew intent. "Possibly a pretext. If Varnama influenced the agenda, the council might be set to approve a major allocation of funds or lands – perhaps legitimizing his ill-gotten gains. Ashwamedha may be the code for a final sweep—acquiring a swathe of territory or funds under legal cover, asserting dominion like the ancient ritual."
Allardyce looked grim. "If that's so, we must act fast. But we need evidence to convince the Governor or to justify intervention. Do you have proof tying Rao to the crimes?"
Holmes produced the purloined council amendment page and other notes we gathered. "Here – a page naming A. V. Rao as drafter of a corrupt law, Judge Lawson's notes linking companies to Madras, and partial cipher letter from O'Neil indicating something climactic in Madras. It's a mosaic of clues, persuasive but circumstantial. We were hoping to obtain something conclusive here – say, the ledgers of the Carnatic Trust or Peacock Trading, or correspondence under Rao's hand."
Allardyce glanced over the documents, his brow furrowed. "This might sway some, but to actually move against an esteemed man like Rao, we'd better have the smoking gun. The Carnatic Trust's office is in Georgetown, the mercantile quarter. We could raid it, but formally I'd need a warrant, which I doubt I'd get on this scant evidence without tipping our hand. Unofficially… well, I have a few loyal soldiers from my unit who could assist off the record, if you catch my meaning."
Holmes smiled thinly. "We do. Another nocturnal excursion, Watson."
I sighed theatrically, earning a chuckle from the Major. "Count me in as well. The advantage of operating in one's own province," Allardyce said, "is that I know which watchmen will keep their mouths shut with the right encouragement."
We agreed on a plan: that very night, under cover of darkness, we would enter the Carnatic Trust building and search for incriminating evidence. Meanwhile, Allardyce would quietly verify Rao's presence and routine. The Major informed us that Rao maintained a bungalow in the upscale neighborhood of Mylapore and an office at the High Court building. Tomorrow's council meeting he would likely attend as an advisor, which could be our moment if we gather proof by then.
As twilight fell, we assembled our little force behind a warehouse near Georgetown. Allardyce had brought two native sepoys he trusted implicitly, as well as one English sergeant; each was dressed in plain clothes with sidearms. They gave Holmes and me a curt nod, recognizing presumably that if the Major vouched for us, we were to be obeyed.
The Carnatic Trust office was a two-story structure of brick and stone amid a row of shuttered export houses. By midnight, the street was deserted but for a pair of flickering gas lamps. A heavy padlock secured the front, but Allardyce led us through a narrow alley to a rear court. One sepoy produced a skeleton key (evidence that British military intelligence in India had its own methods), and within moments we slipped through a back door into a filing room.
The search began in earnest. By dim lantern, we rifled through cabinets and desks. Holmes directed our attention to a large safe in the manager's office. It was, unsurprisingly, locked tight. I observed Holmes's eyes gleam; he lived for such challenges. Producing his pocket lock-picks and a stethoscope from my medical bag, he knelt by the safe. The rest of us stood guard or combed through ledger books from the shelves.
Minutes ticked by in tense silence but for the faint scrape of Holmes's tools in the lock and the muffled sounds of the city nightlife outside. At length, there was a soft metallic clunk and Holmes exhaled. "Got it."
Inside the safe were several thick ledgers and a satchel stuffed with documents. We hauled them onto a desk. One ledger bore the title "Carnatic Trust – Special Accounts". Flipping it open, we immediately saw entries that made our hearts quicken: large deposits from Eastern Syndicate, from a "Bombay Trading Co.", and transfers to "Peacock Trading Co." Summaries of enormous transactions in rupees and pounds, dated over the past year, each corresponded to the incidents we knew: one in January (Assam tea estates), one in February (Orissa lands), March (Bombay bank funds)... all culminating in a final blank entry for tomorrow's date with an amount tantalizingly left empty, as if awaiting the outcome of the council meeting.
"This is it," I whispered. "A ledger of the conspiracy."
Holmes's finger ran down the columns. "It ties together all the threads. If we present this, no one can deny the link between those companies and a central fund. Look – the authorization signatures… A.V.R. – it matches!" Indeed, at the bottom of each section was the same flourishing initialing: A.V.R.
Allardyce grinned fiercely. "Excellent. We'll copy key pages as backup and take the ledger itself as evidence. Now, what's in those documents?"
We pulled out some letters from the satchel. They were correspondence between the Trust and various officials. Some were in cipher or legal codewords, others clearer:
One letter from a Sir Bartholomew Ulbrick (the councilman we knew of) politely "confirmed receipt of the generous donation to the Imperial Orphan Relief, and looked forward to continued partnership in legislative matters." A thin euphemism, likely acknowledging bribe.
Another was unsigned but bore a peacock watermark seal and read: "Stage set for final offering. The stallions are unbridled. Upon sanction tomorrow, proceed to consolidate. Burn this note." It was not burned – luckily for us. Could this be from Varnama to the Trust manager?
Holmes took that note, eyes narrowed at the flourishing penmanship. "At last, the villain's own words, if not his name. A pity he did not sign it, but the peacock emblem will be damning when we connect it to him."
Just as we were gathering these spoils, a whistle sounded outside – one of our lookouts warning of approach. Everyone tensed.
Through the front shutters, we saw dim shapes – a patrol? But at this hour? Allardyce cursed under his breath. "We might have been sold out. Or just ill luck—a constable making rounds."
Holmes blew out the lantern. "We have what we need. We must go, quietly if possible."
Too late. A commanding voice at the door barked, "This building is surrounded! Come out with hands up, in the name of the law."
My heart sank. Peering through a crack, I glimpsed at least half a dozen men – some in police uniform, some shadowy figures with firearms gleaming. We had moments to decide.
Allardyce whispered, "They can't know exactly who we are yet. If it's just the police, I might bluff. But I fear Varnama's men are among them."
Holmes clenched his jaw. "Destroy nothing – these papers are our lifeline. Watson, tuck the small ledger and note inside your coat. Major, if you go out and flash your official credentials, perhaps we might slip out in the confusion."
Allardyce squared his shoulders. "I'll try. You all slip out the back. I'll meet you at the Egmore safehouse if I can shake them."
Holmes shook the Major's hand firmly in a silent thanks. Then Allardyce strode to the front and flung open the door. "What's the meaning of this? I am Major Allardyce, on His Excellency's service!" we heard him bellow.
As the patrol's attention turned to the Major, Holmes, I, and the three soldiers slipped out the rear door into the alley. We crept along the shadows toward an adjacent lane.
But fate was unkind. A cry went up – perhaps someone spotted us or realized the ruse. A gunshot cracked, then another. "Go!" Holmes urged, gripping my arm and breaking into a run.
We darted through the narrow lanes of Georgetown. Behind us, shouts and pounding boots echoed. One of the sepoys following us grunted and stumbled – shot through the leg – but his comrade hefted him and continued limping behind as best as possible. Another shot splintered a wooden post by my head. I felt a sharp sting on my cheek – a wooden shard had grazed me.
Holmes led us zigzagging through a maze of godowns and sleeping bazaar stalls. His sense of direction in that unfamiliar city at night was uncanny; perhaps he had memorized the map earlier. Eventually, we lost our pursuers in the labyrinth of streets by the railway yard.
With great effort and much sweat, we half-carried the wounded sepoy until we found a shuttered clinic where, with gentle knocking and a gold coin's persuasion, we roused a Eurasian doctor to take him in silently. The other two soldiers vowed to stay and guard their comrade.
Holmes and I pressed on through the pre-dawn darkness, finally reaching the safehouse – an unused surveying bungalow on Egmore Road that Allardyce had prepared for emergencies. Exhausted and bloodied (in my case), we collapsed inside, bolting the door behind us.
We waited for Allardyce anxiously as the sky lightened to a dull gray. At last, near sunrise, the Major arrived, hatless and breathing hard. He had a bruise on his temple and his right arm hung oddly, as if wrenched.
"They've got Sergeant Harris," he said bitterly, referring to the English sergeant who'd been with us. "But I gave them the slip. Claimed I was chasing the burglars myself when they arrived, but I don't know if they bought it. I fear Harris might spill our involvement under pressure."
Holmes offered him water and he slumped into a chair. "We haven't much time. The council meeting is today. If they've raised alarms, Varnama will know we seized his records. He'll either accelerate his plan or destroy evidence and vanish. Perhaps both."
"All the more reason to move quickly," I urged. My cheek throbbed where I'd been grazed, but adrenaline kept discomfort at bay.
Holmes spread the seized letters on a table. "We still have the ledger and papers," he said, eyes fixed on the peacock-sealed note. "With these, we can prove the plot. But we must also capture Varnama. Otherwise, he remains a menace."
Allardyce nodded. "I'll take the ledger and notes straight to the Governor. Sir Alexander is an upright man; if he sees this, he'll sanction immediate action. We can have constables at the council to arrest Rao and his cronies."
Holmes held up a hand. "Varnama is armed and dangerous, as we saw. If he senses the slightest move against him, he'll shoot his way out or slip off in the confusion. We should be subtle. Let the meeting proceed just enough to lull him. Watson and I can attend incognito in the public gallery to keep eyes on him."
Allardyce looked at me. "Are you up for that, Doctor? Rao may have henchmen. It could be perilous."
I swallowed dryly. "Holmes will not be dissuaded, I know. And I will not let him face it without aid. We've come through too much to balk now."
Holmes clapped my shoulder gratefully. "Very well. Major, you must hurry. We'll need backup as soon as possible once we confront him. We'll head to the council hall in disguise and blend with the public gallery until the right moment."
We made our final arrangements. Holmes retained the incriminating note with the peacock seal, while Allardyce took the ledger and other documents to show the Governor. We then parted ways, the Major disappearing into the waking city on horseback, while Holmes and I procured a tonga to take us toward Fort St. George, the seat of government.
As we rode, Holmes handed me a folded paper. "Watson, if anything goes awry, this is a letter for Mycroft describing all we've found. Get it to the British Consul or mail it if you must. The truth must reach London even if local powers suppress it."
A cold knot formed in my stomach at his tone. "Holmes—this sounds uncomfortably like you expect disaster."
He attempted a reassuring smile but it faltered. "I expect nothing, only prepare for anything. Our opponent is at his most dangerous now. Cornered beasts, etcetera."
The council chambers in Fort St. George were open to the public in a limited capacity. We gained entry by presenting ourselves as visiting gentlemen curious to watch the proceedings – a common enough occurrence. Holmes had donned a mild disguise: a wig of sandy hair and spectacles, passing as a civilian administrator; I simply wore my best linen suit. We took seats in the back of the gallery overlooking the long horseshoe-shaped council table on the floor below.
The hall gradually filled with council members – British and a few Indian princes or noblemen who had seats – along with clerks and orderlies. I spotted Sir Ulbrick among them, looking somewhat drawn. And there, entering modestly from a side door, portfolios in hand, was a lean Indian man in a black barrister's suit and turban, with a short neatly trimmed beard and piercing dark eyes: Adithya Varnama Rao, in the flesh.
Holmes's hand gripped my arm briefly. "That's him," he whispered. My heart pounded at the sight of our phantom adversary made mortal. He appeared calm, dignified, bowing slightly as he conferred with a British official – perhaps the council secretary.
As the session came to order, the Governor's chair at the head remained empty; a deputy announced that His Excellency was delayed and that routine business would proceed. They launched into minor agenda items, but tension hung in the air. I could scarcely keep my eyes off Varnama. He sat at the side of the council, silent unless addressed, occasionally whispering to Sir Ulbrick and passing him a document. He seemed entirely at ease.
Time crawled. I kept glancing toward the doors, hoping to see Allardyce or a sign of intervention. Nothing.
At last, the deputy announced the key item: a motion regarding extraordinary grants for "security and development". Sir Ulbrick rose to introduce it. It was couched in patriotic terms, but as he spoke, Holmes nudged me and pointed discreetly to a line in the printed agenda we had picked up: a clause about transferring certain crown lands and funds into a "Colonial Reserves Trust" to be managed by a committee – likely a front for Varnama's people, the final move to legalize their loot.
Holmes's eyes flashed with urgency. Still no sign of any interruption. Council members began nodding at Ulbrick's stirring words about modernization and stability. A vote seemed imminent.
Holmes leaned to my ear. "If no one comes, I shall have to act alone. Be ready to follow my lead."
"Holmes, what—?"
Before I could protest, he had risen from his seat in the gallery. What happened next is indelibly etched in my memory for its audacity. In a voice that rang clear and sharp across the chamber, Sherlock Holmes spoke:
"I must protest this motion! It is nothing but a facade for grand corruption."
A stunned silence fell. All eyes turned to the tall stranger above. Sir Ulbrick froze mid-sentence; Varnama's dark eyes snapped upward, widening slightly.
Holmes vaulted over the low railing separating gallery from floor – an act both reckless and nimble. In three strides he stood on the council floor among the astonished delegates. I hurried down the side stairs to join him, heart in throat.
"Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" sputtered the deputy governor, half-rising.
Holmes drew himself up. In that moment, I saw the fierce detective at his most imperious. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I have evidence that this motion is part of a criminal conspiracy orchestrated by the man known as Adithya Varnama Rao – there he sits – to defraud the Crown and people of this empire."
A collective gasp. Varnama remained seated, but I saw his hand tighten on a document. His face was a mask of polite confusion, but something dangerous glinted in his eyes.
"This is outrageous!" blustered Sir Ulbrick, red-faced. "Arrest this intruder at once!"
Two uniformed guards hesitated at the door, unsure.
Holmes pressed on, voice echoing. "I have in my possession letters and a ledger that will prove every word. Major Allardyce can corroborate—"
At that instant, the chamber doors swung open and in strode Governor Sir Alexander himself, flanked by Allardyce and two senior officers. A relief flooded me. But it was short-lived.
The Governor looked perplexed. "What is happening here?"
Holmes turned to him eagerly. "Sir Alexander, we have uncovered—"
He never finished. Adithya Varnama Rao had risen smoothly to his feet. In a split-second action, he drew a revolver from inside his legal folio and leveled it at Holmes. I was standing just a pace behind Holmes and saw it first. "Holmes, down!" I shouted, lunging forward.
A shot exploded, deafening in the enclosed hall. Holmes jerked aside as the bullet whipped past his shoulder, then chaos erupted. Council members dove under tables. The Governor's guard rushed forward. I grappled at Varnama's shooting arm as he tried to fire again. Though of slighter build, he was surprisingly strong; his eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I have never seen such a cold, analytical gaze – like a serpent studying prey even amidst violence.
Allardyce barreled in, striking Varnama's wrist. The second shot went wild, shattering a hanging lamp. In the confusion, Varnama twisted free of my grasp with an almost practiced agility and sprang backward toward a side door behind the council dais.
Holmes recovered and gave chase, drawing a pistol of his own (the one he'd secreted since Bombay). Through the side door we all burst, into a back corridor. Varnama was fast; he darted around a corner toward an exit that led, I knew, to the courtyard fronting the sea.
When we emerged into the blinding afternoon light, we saw a carriage careening away down the driveway at breakneck speed – Varnama had clearly pre-arranged an escape. Holmes raised his pistol, but held his fire – too many civilians around and the carriage already distant. In seconds it rounded a corner by the barracks and was lost to sight.
Holmes stood there, weapon limp in hand, chest heaving. Slowly he lowered the gun. Governor Sir Alexander and others poured out behind us, alarms were ringing, soldiers mounting up in confusion. Allardyce ran to fetch mounted troops to pursue, but it was likely futile in the city streets.
In the tumult that followed, Holmes turned to me with a face I shall never forget. It was as though the very soul had been drained from him, leaving a hollow, haunted man. "He's gone, Watson," he said quietly, barely audible amid the din. "Varnama has slipped the noose."
I tried to console him that at least the plot was exposed – the Governor, now apprised, was barking orders to seize records and detain Sir Ulbrick and others. Indeed, Ulbrick and a few associates were being taken into custody, spluttering protests. The evidence from the ledger would no doubt implicate them. The council meeting was halted, the legal theft prevented.
But Holmes's gaze was distant. "The lesser snakes, perhaps. But the king cobra is away."
Governor Sir Alexander approached us, stern but not unkind. "Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, Major Allardyce has informed me of your heroic efforts. You have my thanks for unveiling this conspiracy. Rest assured we shall scour Madras for this fiend Rao. An arrest warrant is already in preparation. The ports and railways will be watched."
Holmes mustered a polite nod. "Very good, Your Excellency." His tone was flat.
An hour later, after exhaustive debriefings and signing of statements, we found ourselves free to return to Allardyce's safehouse. The manhunt for Adithya Varnama was officially underway, but privately none of us held much hope. The man's resources and foresight were immense; he'd likely prepared multiple boltholes.
Indeed, by evening reports trickled in: a coastal steamer had been found waiting and empty at a fishermen's cove—apparently hired under an alias; horses were found abandoned outside city limits. The trail was already cold. Adithya Varnama had vanished like a phantom into the vast Indian night.