Chapter 10: A Body on the Hook

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After hearing Billy recount everything, along with his subsequent deductions, Holmes smiled. “If I had not already known that I had never heard of you before, Billy, I would have thought you were a seasoned detective. You really are a remarkably gifted little fellow. Your reasoning is quite sound.”

Billy gazed at Holmes expectantly. As Sherlock Holmes, could he discover some new lead from these meager clues?

“Let us go fishing now!” Holmes declared, his voice rising as he turned and walked outside.

Billy had never expected such a reaction: …

Wait—why had the subject suddenly shifted to fishing?

“The fishing tackle is in the case. Hurry up and bring it along!” Holmes called as he descended the stairs.

Billy: …

All right. That was Holmes for you. Billy could only pick up the case from the table and hurry after him.

In the end, the two of them took a hired carriage to the Thames near Waterloo Bridge. They did not fish there immediately, however. Under Holmes’s direction, they first surveyed both banks with the naked eye, then quickly selected the riverbank nearer the railway station and found a secluded spot nearby.

Some sections of the Thames were undergoing renovation. It was a government project intended to beautify the riverbanks by replacing the weed-choked, muddy shores with stone embankments. That way, Londoners could spend their leisure time strolling along the river and admiring the scenery.

Of course, the upper reaches were still pleasant enough to look at. Downstream, where the pollution was severe, one could consider oneself lucky merely to escape without being driven away by the stench.

The embankments were not being built solely for aesthetic reasons, either. Various chaotic lines and pipes were being gathered and laid beneath them. Billy had heard all this from people in the lower districts. They scoffed at notions of beauty, but the construction work required laborers, and they had made certain to find out exactly what the work involved.

The section near Waterloo Bridge had only been half completed. Billy did not know whether something had gone wrong with the construction crew, but one part was finished while the other had been left untouched.

As a result, weeds and construction debris lay side by side, creating a relatively concealed area.

That was where Holmes and Billy now found themselves. The thick weeds attracted an extraordinary number of mosquitoes. Even dressed in long sleeves and trousers, Billy was bitten several times.

Added to the bites he had suffered while fishing the day before—and London’s abysmal sanitary conditions—Billy began to worry that he might contract some mosquito-borne disease.

Holmes used his cane to push aside the weeds and rubbish around them, searching for traces of evidence.

Judging from his expression, however, he had probably found nothing.

“Even in such a remote place, people still come here to fish, catch fish from boats, or perhaps arrange secret trysts for a little excitement?” Holmes remarked sarcastically.

Billy looked at the many footprints scattered around them, but he could not make anything of them. He did notice the unmistakable impression of a woman’s shoe, standing beside the much larger print of a man’s shoe. They certainly appeared to belong to a pair.

Billy, however, was more inclined to think it was not a romantic meeting at all, but merely an unfortunate woman paired with a man looking for amusement.

“All right, Billy. Fortunately, I brought mosquito repellent. Open the case and spray yourself. Otherwise, I fear the mosquitoes will defeat you before you even catch a fish.”

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Watching Holmes stand at the riverbank, gazing happily at the water, Billy had the feeling that the man had anticipated everything.

Still, he followed Holmes’s instructions and opened the case he was carrying. He sprayed himself first, then Holmes. He could clearly feel the number of mosquitoes hovering around them diminish.

Billy was just about to put the spray away when Holmes had already taken a folding chair from the case and set it up. He expertly assembled the fishing rod and handed it to Billy.

Billy: …

It felt as though Holmes had stolen his job. Then again, Holmes had deliberately made him conduct all those investigations before, so he had technically been doing Holmes’s work. Holmes helping him now did not seem unreasonable …

What was he thinking? He was Holmes’s assistant now. Investigating cases was his duty!

Billy shook off his jumbled thoughts, accepted the rod, and sat down. Holmes said, “I’m going to investigate nearby and see whether anyone remembers a Mr. Boff. You fish here, Billy. Let us hope you retain yesterday’s luck. You may have made it possible for Watson to marry a wealthy widow.”

The last remark was plainly a joke. Billy said helplessly, “Mr. Holmes, I doubt that. I think Watson will simply have to continue making his own way.”

Although his memories of the Sign of Four case had grown rather hazy, Billy still remembered that Miss Mary Morstan had felt no particular regret at failing to obtain the enormous fortune. Instead, Watson’s indifference to money had been what drew her to him.

Billy wondered how Miss Morstan would react when Watson brought her the good news that the treasure had not been lost after all. Judging from what Billy remembered of her character, however, she probably would not keep treasure stained with the blood of her father and countless others for herself.

“An excellent deduction. Watson will probably be even more delighted because of it.” Holmes showed no surprise at Billy’s words. He merely waved his cane and strode away.

Billy took the bait from the case, attached it to the hook, and casually cast the line into the Thames.

As he watched the rippling water, Billy sighed inwardly. He had no idea what he would fish up today. At any rate, he currently had only a twenty percent chance of success, and even if he really did catch something, he would have to wait half a day.

Sure enough, the first four casts yielded nothing. As Billy threw out the fifth line, he muttered to himself, This time, I ought to catch something, right?

But what would it be? Going by the pattern, he had fished for so long yesterday without catching a single fish. Surely he would not catch an actual fish today either. Perhaps it would be some piece of jewelry someone had thrown into the river?

After all, everything he had caught yesterday had been jewelry of one kind or another, whether the gemstones that were obviously worth a fortune or the pendant box.

Maybe he would haul up another piece of jewelry this time.

Just as Billy was muttering to himself, he heard footsteps behind him.

Who would come to such a remote place? Perhaps one of the people Holmes had mentioned who came here to fish from boats—or someone looking for a secluded place for a rendezvous?

He had just begun to turn his head when the fishing rod in his hands suddenly sank.

Something had taken the bait—and it was not some light object. This was clearly something extremely heavy. Billy was caught off guard, and the rod nearly slipped from his hands into the river.

He hurriedly tightened his grip and pulled the rod upward, refusing to let his catch escape with it.

At that moment, a pair of large, strongly jointed hands suddenly appeared and seized the fishing rod, helping Billy pull backward.

“It is I. Concentrate on fishing.”

It was Holmes’s familiar voice. Billy finally breathed a sigh of relief and focused all his attention on the rod in his hands.

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With so much effort required, could he really have caught a huge fish?

The thought that, after obtaining this strange gift, he might finally have caught an actual fish filled Billy with excitement.

Following some fishing knowledge he vaguely remembered seeing somewhere in his previous life, he first let the line run and tired the fish out. Then, once it had weakened, he tightened the line. He repeated the process several times before finally glimpsing a dark shadow beneath the surface, along with splashes thrown up by the thrashing of its tail.

At last, his fish had taken the bait! He was no longer a fellow who always fished up bizarre odds and ends!

Billy was so thrilled that he felt the soreness in his arms vanish entirely.

“Concentrate. You have not brought it all the way up yet, Billy.” Holmes’s voice beside him brought Billy back to his senses.

Holmes was right. If he accidentally let such a huge fish escape, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Billy wiped the smile from his face and gripped the fishing rod tightly together with Holmes.

Once more, he tightened the line. At last, he saw what lay beneath the surface.

A gigantic fish of unknown species suddenly leaped out of the water. Its ordinary gray scales reflected the sunlight with dazzling brilliance. Then it twisted its body and plunged back into the river, vanishing from Billy’s sight in the blink of an eye.

Billy: …………

Wait—the fish had gotten away? No!

Only then did Billy realize what was wrong. He had not hooked the enormous gray fish at all. He had hooked the object clamped in its jaws!

It was a large, obviously heavy suitcase. The case was not shut properly; a sizable gap remained, from which some unidentifiable crumbs drifted out. Several fish swam around the fragments, pecking at them.

Billy suddenly developed a terrible premonition. His scalp was already beginning to prickle, but Holmes’s increasingly firm grip and his excited breathing left Billy no chance to stop.

As the suitcase drew nearer and nearer to the bank, a thought suddenly occurred to Billy: wherever Holmes had bought this fishing line, it was astonishingly strong. It had not snapped even while hauling such a heavy suitcase.

Perhaps that was because of his strange gift as well?

Billy tried desperately to distract himself, but as soon as the suitcase reached the bank, Holmes released the fishing rod and dashed straight toward the gravelly shore. With astonishing ease, he lifted the heavy case and came toward Billy, his face alight with excitement.

Billy, however, had already caught the indescribable smell.

It was a scent both familiar and strange from some distant memory. The moment he smelled it, he knew what was inside the case.

A corpse.

Whether human or animal, Billy was certain that it was a corpse.

The thought that the fish had just been feeding on it—and that it was quite possibly human—made Billy feel violently ill.

Most of the fish he usually ate had been pulled from the Thames.

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