by William Seil
Mr J Bruce Ismay occupied a suite of cabins on the port side. Combined, cabins B52, B54 and B56 formed a spacious ‘home away from home’. There was even a front porch — a private promenade overlooking the liner’s imposing hull.
At the time Captain Smith called over the ship’s telephone system, Mr Ismay was not in his cabin. His manservant, Mr Richard Fry, had answered, saying Mr Ismay was out having dinner but was expected back soon. He invited us to sit in Mr Ismay’s suite while awaiting his return.
I had lost track of time. So much had happened in the past few hours. When we left the captain’s cabin, we found that it was turning dark. Tired, I was invigorated by inhaling the fresh sea air. As we walked down to B Deck, I thought of Miss Storm-Fleming, walking with Murdoch in the ship’s enormous hold, attempting to locate the shots she had fired earlier in the day.
The captain’s knock on the door was answered by a slender, well-groomed man of medium height. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie.
‘Captain Smith, gentlemen, madam, would you come in, please?’
We passed into a magnificent sitting room. Not, mind you, the luxury you would find in a fine country house. But still, by far the best stateroom I had seen during my six decades on this earth.
‘Mr Fry, this is Commodore Giles Winter, Doctor John Watson and Miss Christine Norton. As I mentioned on the telephone, we have a matter of some delicacy to discuss with Mr Ismay.’
‘Yes, of course. Mr Ismay is due back shortly. May I get you something to drink while you are waiting?’ The captain nodded.
Mr Fry noticed Miss Norton’s eyes, bright with wonder, as she looked about the room.
‘Mr Ismay is quite proud of these suites. They are the best you will find on any liner.’
Indeed, our surroundings were most impressive. The sitting room was decorated in what Mr Fry described as Louis XVI style, with oak panelled walls. There was a large, round oak table at the centre of the room, surrounded by four thickly cushioned chairs, upholstered in a muted floral pattern. In addition, there was a corner writing table with a chair, and two other chairs. The light from a chandelier reflected off the large white moulded squares that covered the tall ceiling. It brought out the colour and intricate detail of the thick red and white carpet.
Mr Fry had removed a tray from a large cabinet and set it on an octagonal coffee table next to the sideboard. It held a flask of sherry and several fine crystal glasses. He filled four of them and handed one to each of us.
‘Perhaps you would feel more comfortable seated next to the fireplace? Or, if you would prefer, I could show you the rest of the suite?’
Miss Norton accepted Mr Fry’s offer of a tour, while Holmes, the captain and I adjourned to the private promenade running alongside the suite. The promenade was enclosed, with large screened windows that were open to the outside air. We looked out across the sea as the waves sparkled in the waning moments of twilight.
‘What sort of man is Mr Ismay?’ I asked, taking a sip of my sherry.
‘Likeable, but a perfectionist,’ said the captain. ‘He wants every last detail to be perfect and he expects everyone who works for him to feel the same way. I respect that in him, although I find it a little trying from time to time. To his credit, he respects my position as captain and does not try to run the ship. He has hardly been to the bridge at all.’
‘But can he be trusted with highly confidential information?’ asked Holmes, turning from the window and looking the captain in the eyes.
Captain Smith had just lit a cigar, and was in the process of building a cloud of blue smoke about his head. Despite the light sea breeze passing through the promenade, the cloud remained in place.
‘God knows Mr Ismay has kept enough business secrets in his time. Still, I will, as you asked, withhold particulars about the stolen documents. And, at least for the moment, I see no reason to reveal your true identity, Mr Holmes.’
‘Thank you, Captain. That will reduce the possibility of complications occurring in the future.’
We were interrupted as Mr Fry walked through the door, carrying the sherry tray. Miss Norton followed. There was a cheerful look on her face as she glanced about the promenade.
After placing the tray on a small square table, Mr Fry approached the captain.
‘Sir, if you do not require anything further, I will attend to my duties. I will, of course, tell Mr Ismay that you are here, as soon as he arrives.’
‘Thank you, Mr Fry.’ The efficient manservant made one last offer of hospitality to the rest of us, then departed.
‘Well, Miss Norton, did we miss anything?’ I asked.
‘Indeed you did,’ she said, with some satisfaction. ‘It is a huge suite. There are two bedrooms, two dressing rooms and a bathroom. It is all so beautifully decorated. And he has it all to himself, for his family saw him off when he boarded but are not travelling with him.’
Miss Norton and I sat on the settee, while Holmes and the captain settled into round-backed chairs on either side. I refilled my sherry glass, as well as those of my companions. Captain Smith, his glass still half full, declined. We sat quietly, listening to the sound of the Titanic cutting through the waves. There was little to be said. It was a time for contemplating the day’s events.
It was not long before a slender man of average height stepped through the doorway. As I had noticed from a distance in the dining hall, he was not a young man. Still, he was younger than one might expect, considering his high position. His dark moustache turned upwards as he greeted us with a smile. We rose to shake his hand.
‘Mr Ismay,’ said the captain, ‘this is Commodore Giles Winter, Doctor John Watson and Miss Norton.’
‘Yes, Commodore, it is a pleasure. I heard you were on board examining our ship for military potential in the event of war. Forgive me if I do not turn her into a troop transporter just yet. We’d like to enjoy her a little longer in her present condition.’
Holmes responded with a hearty chuckle. ‘Oh, I doubt that we would ever use her for that. There is far too much luxury here for military purposes.’
Mr Ismay smiled politely, and then turned his attention to me. ‘And Doctor Watson, I must say, I have always wanted to meet you and your associate, Mr Holmes. I sent him an invitation to a party once but I never received a reply.’
‘I must apologize for my friend. He is a very private individual, and answering letters was never his forte.’
‘In any case, I am very pleased to meet you. I have enjoyed your stories for years... And Miss Norton, I hear you liked the tour of my little cabin. This place will fetch a good price on future runs, but I felt I needed to try it out first before I recommended it to future passengers.’
‘That is indeed the only way to make sure none of the doors squeak.’
‘And, as a matter of fact, Miss Norton, none of them do.’
Mr Ismay reached down and filled a glass with sherry. Captain Smith, with introductions out of the way, got down to the matter in hand.
‘Mr Ismay, I asked Commodore Winter...’
‘I received your report about poor Bishop. What is going on on board my ship?’
The captain summarized what had happened thus far up to the questioning and release of Miss Storm-Fleming.
‘And you are sure that this woman, Miss Storm-Fleming, had nothing to do with it?’
‘We do not think she committed the murder, but she may know more than she has told us. That is why I invited the Commodore, Doctor Watson and Miss Norton here. They were assigned by the British government to transfer some highly confidential documents to the American authorities. Those papers were stolen from Miss Norton’s cabin last night.’
Mr Ismay stood there in silence, his lips parted.
‘The commodore believes that there may be some connection between Bishop’s death and the theft of the documents,’ said the captain. ‘We have no direct evidence of this but the coincidence is worth investigating.’
‘Captain, do you mean to say
that there may be spies on board this ship who are running about shooting people? Do you suspect that Bishop may have been involved in all this?’
‘Nothing is certain at this point, Mr Ismay, but we are looking into all possibilities,’ said Holmes. ‘Our immediate purpose, in addition to finding Mr Bishop’s killer, is to recover the documents.’
‘And what is the nature of these papers, Commodore?’
‘I fear that I am not at liberty to go into details, Mr Ismay. But it is vital that they do not fall into the hands of a foreign power.’
Mr Ismay shook his head. ‘In the forty-five years since my father founded this company, there has never been such a scandal aboard a White Star ship... We will, of course, provide every assistance to you in recovering the documents. But I must ask you to help us in return by doing your work as discreetly as possible. I will not have the passengers on this ship alarmed. Is that understood?’
‘We will do our best, Mr Ismay,’ said Holmes. ‘The captain felt it was necessary for us to take you into our confidence at this point. And that was a reasonable request. Rest assured, we are just as concerned as you are to prevent rumours from spreading around the ship.’
‘Yes, of course... Well, keep me informed, Captain. And give the commodore our complete support... By the way, how long have you known about this?’
‘I was told by British authorities just before our departure.’
‘Then proper protocol was followed. You have acted correctly, Captain. I appreciate your coming to me now.’
‘Thank you, Mr Ismay.’
The meeting with Mr Ismay was less difficult than I had expected. We received his cooperation, without having to share too much confidential information. We could proceed with confidence, knowing that we could act with the authority of the captain and the White Star Line.
It was getting late. All of us were hungry, but also very tired. The captain invited Holmes, Miss Norton and me to join us in his cabin for a light dinner. Before we left Mr Ismay’s cabin, he made a telephone call and placed an order for dinner for four.
Shortly after we arrived in the captain’s sitting room, the food arrived. The steward uncovered a large tray filled with hot and cold meat, along with fruit, vegetables and cheese. It was accompanied by warm bread and a pot of tea.
We each helped ourselves substantially — that is, except for Holmes, who nibbled at a little beef, then poured a cup of tea and placed some cheese on the saucer. Few words were exchanged as we ate. The captain and I took second helpings. Holmes stood quietly, sipping his tea and staring out of a porthole.
I was concluding my meal when there was a knock at the door.
‘Yes, Phillips. What is it?’ said the captain.
‘Excuse me, sir, but I have two important messages. One is for you, and the other is for the Commodore. I was about to look for him but I see that he is here.’
‘Thank you, Phillips.’ The captain took the envelopes and handed one to Holmes.
Phillips was about to leave, when he turned and fished a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.
‘Oh, and one of the crewmen asked me to deliver this to you. Mr Murdoch sent it up from the hold.’
‘Mr Phillips, you are a wealth of information today,’ said the captain. ‘Have you and Bride been getting any rest?’
‘Some, sir. There are quite a lot of messages from the passengers. My finger is quite painful from tapping the key.’
‘See to it that you and your finger get some rest. The same goes for Mr Bride.’
‘Yes, sir. We will attempt to.’
Phillips left, after nodding to the rest of us, and adding an extra smile for Miss Norton.
The captain unfolded Murdoch’s note first.
‘It seems that Mr Murdoch and Miss Storm-Fleming have recovered one of her bullets. It was embedded in a wooden pallet that was propped up against a wall — just about where she said it would be. They are still looking for the other one.’
‘That is good news for Miss Storm-Fleming,’ I noted.
‘Indeed,’ said the captain, using a table knife to open the envelope of his wireless message.
‘This is from our London office,’ he said. ‘I did some checking of my own in relation to Miss Storm-Fleming. I asked our people at White Star to make some inquiries.’ Captain Smith studied the note. ‘Let us see...thirty-four years old...middle name Janet...no police record... periodic mentions in the social pages of the newspapers...a frequent international traveller. I am afraid this is not very helpful... What about your message, Mr Holmes? Does it shed any light on this matter?’
Holmes, who had returned to staring out of the porthole, paused for a moment, and then turned to rejoin the conversation. ‘No, I’m afraid not. Just a word of encouragement. He unfolded the note, which he had been holding in his hand, and began to read.
My dear Commodore,
I do not have to remind you how imperative it is that the documents in question be recovered immediately. We are all depending on the efforts of you and your companions. In my opinion, the matter could not be in better hands. Good luck!
Sincerely,
WC.
‘Holmes, who is this WC?’ I asked. ‘Does he work for your brother, Mycroft?’
‘More the other way around,’ he said. ‘Mycroft and I agreed on a few coded terms before I left, including the use of initials instead of names. This particular message is signed by Mr Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty.’
Chapter Fifteen
THE EARLY MORNING OF SATURDAY 13 APRIL 1912
Those of you who have read my work know that I am a man of few complaints. Indeed, I considered myself to be most fortunate to take part in the maiden voyage of this magnificent liner. But I must say that sea travel holds little appeal for me. I missed the comfort of my home in London and the company of my books. Perhaps even more, I missed long walks down London streets, watching people from all walks of life going about their daily routines. And, of course, there were the street urchins, those delightful little adventurers who were so full of energy and dreams, despite their poverty and limited prospects for the future.
I particularly remember the day I caught one of these enterprising tykes, all of eight years old, attempting to pick my pocket. I told him that I would not send him off to jail if he would accompany me to visit a friend. The friend in question was Inspector Wiggins of Scotland Yard, who was once himself a child of the streets. It just so happened that when the attempted theft occurred, I was on my way to have tea with the inspector.
We met at a small café along the Victoria Embankment. Wiggins was not in uniform, but the boy was quite skilled at identifying police officers. I thought for a moment that the young man was about to bolt. But a smile from Wiggins and the offer of a custard pastry encouraged him to give us a little more time from his busy day.
After tea, and second helpings of pastry, Wiggins took the boy for a walk along the Embankment. I do not know what was said during that conversation but I do know that the boy has stayed out of trouble. I know this because Wiggins looks in on him from time to time.
These things occurred to me as I stood in my cabin, preparing to meet Futrelle for breakfast. At Holmes’s suggestion, I had knocked on the writer’s door before retiring for the evening. He gladly accepted my invitation to assist in the investigation. His wife, after three full days of activity, had expressed a desire to sit quietly, reading. She willingly gave him permission to play the detective, provided he returned in time to dress for dinner.
Futrelle and I were to spend the day in the second- and third-class sections of the ship, making discreet inquiries. Our orders from Holmes were simply to ‘go everywhere, see everything, and overhear everyone’. Admittedly, our prospects for gleaning useful information were limited. But then, where better to hide the documents than a place far removed from the area where they were stolen? There was also Futrelle’s earlier sighting of Brandon unlocking a gate and entering the third-class section. The
captain had said this was completely unauthorized and threatened to place Brandon under arrest. But at Holmes’s request, he agreed simply to assign a crew member to keep Brandon under observation.
Miss Norton’s assignment was to work with the captain and crew in conducting the investigation into Bishop’s death. That included the continued interrogation of the stoker, Strickley, who had thus far refused to divulge any information. He continued to insist that he had nothing to do with the break-in.
Holmes declined to discuss the details of how he planned to spend his day. But he did say that he had several lines of inquiry to follow involving our suspects. His most telling comment was that Miss Norton and I should not expect to see Commodore Winter until evening. From this I deduced that Holmes was about to abandon temporarily his disguise as the crusty commodore, and assume some new and less conspicuous identity.
At half past eight, I had just adjusted my tie and was brushing the jacket of my oldest brown suit, when I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised to find Miss Storm-Fleming outside, looking warm and comfortable in her golden brown dress and yellow woollen shawl.
‘Good morning, Doctor Watson. I would like to talk to you for a few minutes, if I may.’
‘Miss Storm-Fleming, please forgive me but I was just leaving for a meeting. Perhaps you would care to join me on deck for a moment, before my appointment?’
She answered my invitation with a mischievous smile. ‘I brought a visitor,’ she said.
‘A visitor? I don’t...’
She looked down the corridor to her right and beckoned to her guest. A moment later, a small boy came forward and stood by her side. He was dressed in a dark blue suit with a matching blue cap.
‘This is my friend, Tommy,’ Miss Storm-Fleming said. ‘Tommy, meet Doctor Watson.’
Attempting to conceal my puzzlement, I extended my hand to the short, young gentleman. ‘How do you do, young man?’
He looked at me, wide-eyed, and then back at Miss Storm-Fleming. Then, after placing the book he was carrying under his arm, he reached out and shook my hand.