Between 1919, when he worked for British Intelligence, and 1928 or 1929, when his recorded adventures begin in the premises once occupied by Sherlock Holmes, we know little of Harry Dickson’s crime-fighting career. Some reports have him team up with Nick Carter, Charlie Chan and Hercule Poirot. Dickson’s assistant, young Tom Wills, hasn’t yet entered the picture. The Great Detective is alone here, as he investigates a case that looks at what truly lurks within men’s hearts...

 

Matthew Dennion: The Ultimate Evil

 

 

The train ride through the English Countryside was breathtaking. Harry Dickson stared out the window and smiled at the wonder that areas like this still remained untouched in the 20th century. A smile crept across his face until he saw the face of the man sitting across from him. While Dickson looked out of the window, his client kept his eyes focused on the floor. The man was in a deep state of depression and, given what had occurred to him and his family, Dickson would not blame him if he never smiled again. The detective took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and recalled the events that put him on the train and on what appeared to be the most heartbreaking case of his new career.

 

The man who sat across from him was a gypsy who had arrived in London yesterday. Specifically, he’d come to Baker Street looking for the legendary Sherlock Holmes. When the man knocked on Dickson’s door, he was even more saddened to hear that Holmes had retired. He was turning away when Dickson said that he, too, was a detective and would listen to his problem. The man walked slowly back to Dickson’s door, saying:

“Please, forgive me for asking, sir, but are you willing to help a gypsy? The local authorities in the Moors give little credence to our pleas for help given our origins.”

Dickson placed his arm on the man’s shoulder.

“My friend, the moment I saw you, I was able to deduce your background through your clothes, complexion and mannerisms. It makes no difference to me what race or religion you belong to. You are a human being in need of help, and while I may not be Sherlock Holmes, I am a detective offering you my assistance.”

Dickson grabbed the man’s hand and shook it.

“My name is Harry Dickson.”

The man smiled and replied:

Thank you, Mr. Dickson. My name is Gregor.”

Dickson directed him inside and asked him to relate the problem he and his people were facing.

Gregor sat down and told a tale of terror and. He belonged to a group of gypsies that consisted of roughly one hundred and sixty people. They had once been a nomadic people, like their ancestors, but had recently decided to settle down in one area in the Yorkshire Moors. They had constructed a tent settlement roughly a kilometer from the river and ten kilometers from the nearest town. They had hoped to stay outside of the town for a few years and slowly become accepted as an extended part of the community. However, since the group had decided to settle in the area, they had faced one challenge after the other. The town had tolerated them when they were but a transient group, but when they settled, the locals began to show their displeasure. Many of the store owners would turn the gypsies away from their establishments, and homes began hanging signs indicating that gypsies needed to move on.

Gregor told Dickson that, while such bigotry was disappointing, it wasn’t unexpected. They had faced hatred like this all of their lives from people who did not understand their culture. Hatred they could face, but the next two calamities to befall them were more than any people could withstand.

Shortly after the gypsies had constructed the tent settlement, a fever afflicted them. While most of them were able to fight off the disease, it hit the children the hardest.

While Gregor was telling his story, Dickson watched every movement and facial expression he made. When he reached the next phase of his story, it was the first time his face showed any sign of hope.

Gregor explained that, despite the hatred they received from the rest of the community, Dr. Jacobs, the town doctor, had taken pity on them. When he had heard about the fever, he decided risk the wrath of the town in order to help them. Dr. Jacobs had a small two-room infirmary built next to the settlement. He then moved into the infirmary and treated the children for free. It seemed as if fortune had finally smiled upon the gypsies.

Two weeks passed and the fever seemed to be slowing down, thanks to Dr. Jacobs’ efforts. Then came the morning of the first disappearance.

As dawn broke, a scream rang out. Everyone in the camp ran towards the source. It came from a tent at the edge of the settlement. Gregor was the first to arrive there. He threw the flap open and found a woman screaming hysterically while a young man knelt silently beside a crib, tears streaming down his face. The crib, which had held an infant the previous night, was now empty—with only slime covering the blankets.

The event shocked the people of the settlement. No one had heard or seen anything. The baby was there one night, gone the next. A young gypsy ran to get the police but they told him they were too busy to investigate a “gypsy problem.”

It was a sleepless night for the settlement that evening. However, exhaustion eventually caused most of the gypsies to fall asleep early in the evening on the following night.

The next morning, it was Gregor’s wife who woke up and started screaming. He awoke to see his infant daughter missing with slime left in her crib.

As Gregor told the story, he broke down in tears. Dickson wanted to comfort him, but was at a loss as to what to say. The words did not exist that would ease the man’s suffering.

Once Gregor composed himself, he explained that he had sent his oldest son to fetch the police, but, again, they declined to lend their assistance. It was at that point that he had decided that he needed to act in order to protect his family and his people. He had heard of the great Sherlock Holmes, and hoped to ask him for his help in solving these horrible disappearances. It was at that point that he found himself at Dickson’s door.

Gregor threw himself at Dickson’s feet.

“Please Mr. Dickson, we need your help!” he sobbed. “My youngest child is lost; the rest of my family and my people are in danger!”

Dickson helped him back to his feet.

“Of course I will help. We’ll take the next train back to the Moors.”

Gregor hugged the detective.

“Thank you, Mr. Dickson.”

The detective pulled away from the broken man and went to gather his things when Gregor suddenly called to him.

“Mr. Dickson, I must warn you. As you may have heard, mysticism is part of my people’s daily lives. We use tarot cards, conduct séances, and engage in many activities which are not accepted by most Christians. There is some fear that a member of our community may have inadvertently summoned a demon into our settlement...”

 

Several hours later, Gregor and Dickson rode an open carriage into the settlement. In total, there were forty some families living in tents. To call them “tents” was accurate only to the extent that each structure had a support system with some manner of cloth draped across it. Each of them was composed of different materials; some were sewn together from old clothes, others from animals’ hides, while others were woven together from grass. They were all riddled with holes and seemed unable to keep out much rain or cold wind.

Upon entering the camp, Dickson received his first glimpse of the people living there. Most of them wore torn up rags. It seemed the best clothes had been used to construct the tents. Dickson felt for the gypsies. Life had dealt them a difficult hand, but they were trying to make the best of their situation. They knew that, in the aftermath of the Great War, their nomadic lifestyle would be nearly impossible to maintain. These brave people were attempting to leave their old ways behind, and adapt to a new way of life that would help carry their families through 20th century.

Gregor saw the look of compassion on Dickson’s face.

“We were not always in such a state, Mr. Dickson. People are more than willing to come out to a camp and spend money to have their palms read, or their fortunes told, when they thought of us merely as a traveling group who was only near their town for a short time. When they realized we were here to stay, they stopped coming to spend their money. It is difficult for us now, but we are excellent farmers, fisherman, and shepherds. In time, our community will recover from this state of poverty.”

Dickson nodded and looked at the man who had recently lost his infant daughter.

“Gregor, if your people have half of the resiliency that you do, I’m sure they will overcome their current situation. Most men I know would be broken by what has befallen you, and yet, you had the strength to reach out for someone to put an end to the horrors which have occurred here.”

Dickson attempted to smile when he noticed how the gypsies were looking at him. As he rode through the camp, people stopped what they were doing and glared at him. Dickson could feel their dislike of him. He thought that, to them, he must have looked very much like one of the townspeople who had shunned them, degraded them, and declined to help them look for their missing infants. The people from the town may have been the instigators of the current bad feelings between the two groups, but, at this point, the gypsies, too, harbored ill feelings toward the local community.

The carriage pulled to a stop and a small group of gypsies approached Dickson. An old woman stepped forward and spat on Dickson’s shoes. She glared at him.

“Go back to town! We do not want you here!”

Gregor stepped in front of Dickson.

“This man is not from the town. He came all the way from London to help us find out what happened to our children—and, God willing, help us put an end to it.”

The gypsies looked at Dickson with skeptical eyes, but, slowly, the throng broke apart. Gregor turned to face Dickson.

“I am sorry, Mr. Dickson. My people have been through much and have become untrusting of the British.”

“It is fine. Gregor. I can understand their feelings. Can you please take me to the place where the latest abduction occurred?”

Gregor motioned for Dickson to follow him through the campsite. As the detective walked through the camp, the icy stares he was receiving from the gypsies continued to haunt him. Finally, Gregor stopped at a tent on the outskirts of the settlement. His eyes began to well up with tears.

“Forgive me Mr. Dickson, but this was my family’s tent. We have since moved out, as we could not bear to live in it after what has occurred. It has not been disturbed since our daughter was taken. Please look around and discover what you can, but I cannot bear to enter it again. Excuse me, I will return shortly.”

Gregor turned, began crying, and wandered off into the settlement. Dickson sighed, and focused his mind on the task at hand. He entered the tent and, immediately, noticed a terrible odor. The smell was stagnant and reminded Dickson of the sewers. He surveyed the tent and found that all of the family’s meager possessions seemed undisturbed. It was clear that whoever or whatever had taken the infant had come solely for that purpose.

Dickson knelt down next to the crib which had held the missing infant a few days before. It was covered in a dried green crust, which Dickson surmised must have been the remains of the slime Gregor had described. The detective grabbed a small sample of the substance and looked at it closely. He then ran it between his fingers and watched it crumble into dust. Dickson had his suspicions about what the substance was, but he knew from experience that it was better to test one’s theories rather than simply make educated guesses. He took another sample of the substance and placed it in a leather pouch. He thought that the doctor stationed outside of the settlement might have some of the tools he would need to positively identify the green dust.

Dickson then began crawling around the interior of the tent and examined every centimeter of the dwelling. He noted that, while the walls were flimsy, they were set tightly to the ground. When he had finished the examination, the only spot in the tent where he’d found a green crust matching that found in the crib was at the base of the wall where it had been resting. There were no other traces of the substance on any other walls or, more importantly, near the entrance to the tent.

Dickson sat in the middle of the tent and reviewed what he had discovered thus far. It was clear that, whatever had taken the infant, had managed come in under the walls of the tent, exactly where the child had been sleeping, take it, and exit in the same manner.

While Dickson was certain of this, he could not fathom what manner of creature could have accomplished it. The walls of the tent were so tight to the ground that nothing larger than a field mouse could have pushed through the base of the tent without causing the entire structure to collapse.

Dickson stood up and clenched his fist around the pouch in his hand. He thought that it was time see if the Dr. Jacobs Gregor spoke so highly of would be able to help him.

 

Dr. Jacobs’ infirmary was visible from anywhere in the camp. The building was only a floor high and was composed of no more than two rooms; but compared to the rest of the tents, it looked like Buckingham Palace.

Dickson approached it just as a young woman was exiting through the front door. Her back was to the detective as she spoke to someone inside of the building

“Thank you Dr. Jacobs. Thank you so much. You have saved my baby. Without your help, I don’t know how much longer he could have endured that terrible fever.”

The woman added a few blessing as she left the infirmary and headed back into the campsite.

Dickson entered the building and was hit by a terrible smell as he walked through the doorway. He began coughing when he saw a middle aged man, with a small build, scrubbing his hands in a wash bin.

“Excuse me,” he called out, “but I am looking for Dr. Jacobs.”

The man turned away from the wash bin.

“I am Dr. Jacobs. How can I help you?”

Dickson walked forward with his hand extended.

“My name is Harry Dickson. I am a private detective who is investigating the recent infants’ disappearances.”

Jacobs shook his hand and sighed.

“A terrible tragedy. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

Dickson looked around the infirmary.

“Actually, it looks like you may have exactly what I am looking for.” (He pointed to the microscope on the doctor’s examination table.) “May I use your microscope for a moment?”

“Of course, please be my guest.”

The two men walked over to the microscope and Dickson removed the leather pouch in which he had placed the substance he had removed from the crib. He placed it under the microscope and began adjusting the view. Jacobs leaned in close to Dickson, and said:

“Do you know that the gypsies think that it is some kind of demon that was summoned which first brought the fever, and then started taking their children?”

Dickson continued to examine the substance.

“What do you think of those claims doctor?”

“I don’t know much about demons or gypsy magic,” shrugged Jacobs, “but I know that the fever is caused by a virus. As far as a curse goes, it would be a poor one for any demon to inflict. While the effects of this particular fever range from unpleasant to painful, it is only fatal to a small number of infants. I supposed, in some sense, the treatment for the fever could be looked at as a mild curse as well. The infants are treated with this topical solution, which reduces their body temperature. The terrible odor that permeates this place comes from that solution. Although I suspect to the infants and their parents, a few days of smelling terrible is better than several days of pain.”

Dickson picked his head up from the microscope and looked at the bucket containing the solution the doctor had described. The detective winced as the odor reached his nose. He took a shallow breath and tried to learn more about his host.

“Doctor, please excuse me for asking, but I was led to understand that the majority of the people from the community you come from have decided that they would rather not have the gypsies living outside their town, and yet, for a nonfatal virus, you have decided to not only to help them, but to live amongst them?”

Jacobs placed his bucket on the floor and glared at the detective.

“There is a problem here, Mr. Dickson. As a man of principles, I am obligated to assist in solving it.”

Dickson nodded silently. He had respect for a man who was willing to risk ridicule from his peers in order to assist his fellow man. He gestured toward the microscope.

“Well then, doctor, I would like your assistance with this particular problem. Would you please look into the microscope and tell me what you make of this substance?”

Jacobs leaned into the microscope for a moment and, without taking his eyes away from the device, gave his assessment.

“I am not a botanist by trade, but if I had to guess. I would say that this is a sample of dried algae.”

“That is what I thought as well,” nodded the detective.

At that moment, another gypsy woman walked into the infirmary with an infant in her arms and hope in her eyes. Dr. Jacobs turned toward the woman and smiled.

“Mr. Dickson, if you would excuse me, I have one more patient to see.”

Dickson shook the doctor’s hand.

“Of course, and thank you for your help.”

He stepped out of the infirmary, rubbed some of the dried algae between his fingers, and looked in the direction of the nearby river. This particular form of algae grew mainly in slow moving or stagnate water.

The detective grabbed his bag and headed toward the water resigning himself to a long trek around the river bank.

 

Dickson walked the shoreline looking for an area of the river thick in algae. Shortly after nightfall, he came across a bend in the river nearly four hundred meters in length. He crouched down, took out his flashlight, and surveyed the soft mud. His eyes opened wide as he found a set of odd-looking footprints. He guessed that whatever had left them was a large quadruped. Dickson estimated the creature to be roughly two and half meters in length. The footprints had the distinct imprint of toes connected by a thin membrane. The detective had suspected that the monster behind these attacks was amphibious and the footprints confirmed that his hunch was correct. The bend in the river was the closet concentration of algae that he had come across so far. He was confident that whatever was behind the missing infants would emerge from this area of the river. The only question was, how long he would have to wait before the creature revealed itself?

 

Dickson kept his vigil throughout the night when, suddenly, a loud splashing in the river caught his attention. Reflexively, he grabbed his revolver. He could soon tell from the splashing that whatever was making the noise was not swimming across the river, but rather up it. In the pitch black of night, his eyes could barely register some large, flat shape moving through the water. The splashing was heading upstream, towards the campsite.

Dickson began running along the shoreline. He could hear the splashing change direction roughly a hundred meters in front of him. The creature was heading for the river’s edge. The detective raced forward. By the time he reached the point where the sound had stopped, whatever had come ashore had already gone into the Moors and was out of sight.

Dickson quickly examined the area where the monster had come ashore. One look at the footprints told him that he was not chasing one monster, but two. Their tracks also indicated that they were heading directly for the campsite. With the lives of more infants at stake, Dickson ran faster than he had ever done in his life toward the settlement.

The first small ray of light heralding the dawn was just penetrating into the camp. The gypsy families slept in their tents. From the edge of the forest, two massive and slime-ridden heads appeared from behind the tree line. The two beasts slithered into the campsite. Their soft rubbery bodies made no sounds as they slid into the camp, nor did these voiceless amphibians utter the merest whimper. The monsters swayed their heads from side to side as they entered the settlement.

Dickson ran across the Moors, and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes confirmed what his mind could not believe. Two massive salamanders, each well over two meters long and weighing over one hundred kilograms, had entered the campsite and were approaching one of the tents. He watched as their soaking bodies, lubricated by algae, flattened out and slid under the tightly lashed walls of the tent.

Dickson raced toward the tent, drawing his knife and switching it out with his gun. In the confines of the camp, he did not want an errant bullet to hit one of the gypsies.

The tails of the beasts disappeared into the tent as he reached it. Dickson plunged his knife into the fabric and sliced it open in order to enter. To his horror, one the monsters had a half-swallowed infant in its mouth. Dickson used his left hand to pull the infant out of the creature’s mouth by its legs and his right hand to drive his knife deep into the pulpy shoulder of the beast. With his foot, he kicked the other salamander, sending it scurrying out of the tent.

The child’s parents awoke and began screaming in terror at the nightmare that they beheld. Dickson held the infant near his chest, wincing at the odor that the screaming infant was giving off. For an instant, he thought the smell was familiar, but his thought was cut short as the injured salamander threw its entire weight onto him, knocking him to the ground.

Dickson shifted his head from side to side, attempting to prevent the creature from biting off his face, until he realized the loathsome beast was not trying to bite him, but was still attempting to swallow the screaming infant.

“Quickly get this child to safety!” he screamed at the parents.

The fear-stricken gypsies overcome their dread, grabbed their child, and ran out of the tent. The salamander moved to follow them. Dickson tried to grab the beast, but its slippery body slid right out of his grasp. The salamander crept out of the tent as Dickson jumped onto its back. He then began stabbing the creature repeatedly until his knife finally struck an organ in the soft body of the animal.

Dickson pulled his slime-covered body to his feet and stood up. At this point, the entire settlement was awake and watching the ghastly scene. Dickson grabbed his revolver and turned his gaze toward the second salamander as it slithered through the tents. Two of the gypsies started toward it but Dickson called out to them.

“It’s not headed for the river or the Moors. Let it go for a while, and we’ll see where it’s headed.”

The entire town followed the detective as he stalked the salamander through the maze of tents. They followed the creature until it crept up to the door of Dr. Jacobs’ infirmary. Dickson took note of how the animal rubbed its slimly paws over the door trying to gain entrance to the building. Slowly lifting his revolver, he aimed at the creature. Three shots echoed through the Moors, as the weapon tore the soft body of the creature in two.

Dickson stepped through the remains of the creature and entered the infirmary. As he walked through the building, the horrible smell of the solution used to treat the infants assaulted his nostrils. The odor and the fear of stepping over what they thought might be a demon kept the rest of the gypsies away from the door.

The detective stormed through the building and kicked in the door to the second room of the infirmary. He shook his head in disappointment at the sight before him. Doctor Jacobs stood over a large tub of water with the bucket in which he kept the solution for treating the fever. He was dropping bits of mush from the bucket into the tub. Inside the tub, Dickson saw creatures resembling massive tadpoles.

The detective’s eyes met Doctor Jacobs’s. No words were exchanged. They each knew what the other was thinking. Jacobs hand went for the revolver at his hip; but before he could reach it, Dickson hurled his knife and buried it in the doctor’s shoulder. Doctor Jacobs screamed in pain as Dickson ran across the room and placed his hand over the doctor’s mouth muffling his cries.

“Don’t make too much noise doctor. We don’t want the people outside to find out what’s really been going on in here, or they might conjure a real demon to claim you.”

Dickson then struck Jacobs in the temple with the butt of his revolver, knocking him unconscious. He turned and walked back out of the front door to see the entire settlement waiting for him to say something. He wanted to be done with this entire event. The horror that had occurred here was too much to comprehend.

The detective considered inviting the people into the cabin, explaining to them what was going on, and leaving the doctor in their hands, but that was something he couldn’t do. It wasn’t that the doctor didn’t deserve the worst fate possible; it was that these people deserved better.

Dickson looked at the gathered group which, only a day before, had treated him like a biblical leper. They shunned and mocked him, but now he was their savior, and had a chance to make a difference in these people’s lives. He knew that losing several infants would hurt them deeply, but that losing hope would crush them entirely. To learn that the man who had been playing the part of the caring doctor was actually responsible for the horror they had endured would forever crush any hope that they might have had of living in peace with the townspeople of England. The detective took a deep breath and said:

“A third monster attacked Doctor Jacobs. I’ve killed the monster, but the doctor is badly hurt and unconscious. I’ll have to get him to the hospital several towns over.”

A mother holding a baby in her arms spoke up:

“What shall we do if more of those monsters come back?”

“I’ve tracked the others back to their lair and killed the whole group of them. They are all dead.”

Gregor stepped forward from the crowed and grabbed Dickson’s hand.

“God bless you, Mister Dickson, and God Bless Doctor Jacobs.”

The rest of the town repeated the cheer in unison. Dickson held up his hand and added:

“Thank you, but Doctor Jacobs is the real hero here! He not only faced these monsters, but overcame the prejudice of the local people. If you want to thank him for his efforts, work with the people of this town to heal the wounds between you. There are good people, just like Doctor Jacobs, in this town, just as there are good people here. Find them and, with their help, put an end to the animosity between you. Forgiveness will have to come from you, more than from them, but be patient and stay the course. When I first met Doctor Jacobs yesterday, he spoke of why it meant so much for him to treat the infants of this settlement. He told me that, while he felt the people of this generation could make strides in bridging the gap between townfolk and gypsies, it would be the next generation that would finally end the mutual prejudices between you. Please take his message and teach it to your children.”

Dickson took another deep breath and continued:

“Doctor Jacobs also found what was causing the fever. He’s got the virus isolated here in the cabin, so we’ll have to burn it down.”

Dickson entered the cabin, brought out the unconscious doctor, and threw him on the ground. He then went back into the cabin, grabbed an oil lamp, walked to the tub with the tadpoles in it, and kicked it over. As the tadpoles wriggled on the floor, he smashed the lamp sending oil all over the cabin. With disdain on his face, he lit a match and threw it onto the oil creating a fire which quickly spread.

The detective then exited, scooped up Jacobs, placed him in Gregor’s cart, and asked the gypsy to take him to the train station.

 

Several hours later, Doctor Jacobs awoke to find himself tied to a chair in Harry Dickson’s chambers in Baker Street. Dickson was seated across from the doctor. Next to the detective was a man who appeared to be of European descent, but who was dressed in the clothes of a Hindu mystic.

Jacobs turned his head to see that his knife wound had been treated.

“From what I have deduced,” began Dickson, “you raised a pair of those monsters and let them loose in the river. Then, you treated the babies with the solution which, in fact, was not a fever remedy but a food source for those creatures. How am I doing so far?”

 “The monsters,” sneered Jacobs, “as you call them, are Chinese Salamanders. At considerable expense, I was able to purchase two tadpoles from a Chinese trapper who was selling rare animals in London. It was easy to raise them and place them in the river. When that fever began working its way through the camp, I used the opportunity to cover the infants in the food source for the salamanders. Those fool gypsies thought that awful smelling stuff was going to cure them!” the doctor laughed.

“But why?” growled the detective. “Why would you do something like that to babies, for God’s sake?”

The doctor’s tone became defiant.

“Because they are vermin! We couldn’t have things like them living near our town! Who knows what they would have done? Soon, they may have moved into the town itself! Imagine how disgusting it would be to have them living with us, as if they were people!” Jacobs snarled. “They needed to leave, but they refused to. We couldn’t just kill them, so we had to come up with some way to get rid of them quietly. That part was easy. To get rid of the whole lot of them, we had to get rid of the babies and they would just go away or die off.”

The snarl became a laugh again.

“When I came across that Chinaman and his rare animals, the entire plan quickly came together. Do you know they don’t chew their food? They just swallow it whole, and they barely make a sound. All I had to do was treat a few infants every day before nightfall; and the next morning, one or two of them would be gone without a sound, and no trace but a wet spot. Once I had their trust, I planted the idea of a demon. Their superstitious minds did the rest! You know, Dickson, all you have to do to get rid of vermin is to get a bigger animal to remove them for you!”

Dickson lit his pipe and leaned back in his chair.

“In all of my life, I have never wanted to kill a man as much as I wanted to kill you in that infirmary. Luckily for you, the thought occurred to me that hatred had prevailed for long enough in that settlement, so I chose an alternative fate for you.”

Dickson nodded to the man seated next to him.

“This man is my associate, Sâr Dubnotal. He has a secluded island where people like you are given the opportunity to reform themselves and atone for their crimes...”

The Sâr stood up and stared at Jacobs with fire in his gaze.

“You will reform yourself and atone for these atrocities by applying your medical skills to save the lives of others, or the horror which those infants endured in the stomachs of those beasts will seem like paradise compared to the punishment you will experience!”

Doctor Jacobs shrank under the gaze of the Great Psychagogue and tears of fear now filled his eyes.