The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  ‘I hope we do not disturb you, but I told Tommy earlier that I would introduce him to you, and this seemed as good a time as any.’

  With a burst of energy, Tommy suddenly chose that moment to overcome his shyness.

  ‘Doctor Watson, I have read everything you have written about Mr Holmes! I brought this book, hoping you would sign it for me. My mother said I should not bother you, but...’

  ‘No bother at all, Tommy. How old are you?’

  ‘I’m ten now, eleven next month.’ He hesitated for a moment, looking down at his book, and then up at me. ‘Do you suppose Mr Holmes would let me join his Baker Street Irregulars? I’m really observant and he wouldn’t even have to pay me...’

  ‘I am afraid all those adventures happened a long time ago, Tommy. All of the Irregulars are grown up now. One even works for Scotland Yard.’

  Tommy’s excitement crumbled as he listened to the bad news.

  ‘But I am sure that if Mr Holmes ever decides to recruit a new team of Irregulars, he would be proud to include a fine young man like you. I will mention your name to him.’

  ‘My surname is Roberts. I live in London with my parents when I am not at school.’ He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a wrinkled business card. ‘This is my father’s card, from where he works. If you contact him, he will give me the message. He reads your books too.’

  ‘Cox & Co., a very fine bank. I go there myself... Let us see, what have you here?’ I took the book he was holding and walked over to the dressing table. The Hound of the Baskervilles, I remember that case very well. Have you read it?’

  ‘Twice, I’m on my third time now.’

  I opened the book to the title page and began to write. ‘Three times! I am flattered. How do you find time to play with your friends, with all this reading?’

  ‘On this trip, he has been standing by the rail most of the time, watching the children play down on the third-class deck,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming.

  ‘A little bored, Tommy?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, me too sometimes.’ After completing the inscription, I returned the book to him. ‘There you are, young man, and I will let you know if Mr Holmes needs any help.’

  ‘Why don’t you run along now, Tommy,’ said Miss Storm-Fleming. ‘I need to speak to Doctor Watson. And don’t forget to say, “Thank you”.’

  ‘Thank you, very much, Doctor Watson.’

  ‘My pleasure, Tommy.’

  The boy turned and walked towards the door.

  ‘Oh, Tommy, before you leave, what is the number on the outside of my cabin door...without looking, now?’

  ‘Why, C28, sir.’

  ‘Excellent! You are a very observant young man. You will make a fine detective.’

  The boy grinned from ear to ear, grasped his book tightly and skipped out of the door.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Storm-Fleming, for that introduction. I approve of your taste in friends. Shall we walk towards the hall?’

  ‘I made friends with you, did I not?’ She smiled, but her face lacked the energy and spirit that I had seen so often over the past few days. I could tell that at this particular moment, she was very much in need of a friend.

  ‘I understand that you and Murdoch found one of the rounds fired from your gun. Did you have any luck in finding the other?’

  ‘No, but they are still looking.’

  ‘Do not be concerned — I think the captain believes you. He is suspicious, though, that you may not be telling him everything.’

  ‘And what is your opinion, Doctor Watson?’

  ‘I must confess, I sense there is something more.’

  Miss Storm-Fleming lowered her eyes and then folded her arms, as if feeling a chill in the air. After a moment’s contemplation she began walking faster along the hall. ‘If there is something more, do you trust me enough to remain my friend?’

  ‘Indeed, Miss Storm-Fleming. I would also like to think that you trust me enough to confide in me.’

  ‘And is there anything you would like to tell me, Doctor Watson?’

  We turned to each other and smiled.

  ‘Whatever your deep, dark secret, take care,’ I said. ‘You have had more than enough adventure for one voyage. Try to be a typical passenger, for a change.’

  ‘Why, Doctor Watson, I would never dream of being typical,’ she replied, as she hastened her step away from me.

  Then she was gone, leaving only the scent of perfume and the warmth of her smile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE MORNING OF SATURDAY 13 APRIL 1912

  Oatmeal porridge, vegetable stew, fried tripe and onions, Swedish bread and marmalade and, of course, tea. The third-class dining room offered a hearty breakfast and delightful conversation. Futrelle and I had seated ourselves at a long table, next to a Scandinavian family. Jan and Lise Svensson, their son and two daughters were on their way to Massachusetts, where Jan had a position assured on his brother Sven’s fishing boat. Both Jan and Lise were fluent in English and their children were rapidly developing a basic knowledge of the language. In their early thirties, the couple had mixed feelings about leaving their home and loved ones. But Sven’s letters had gone into detail about how living in America had offered opportunities for his own children, and how happy his family was. And, above all else, Jan and Lise wanted a better life for their children.

  The Svenssons said they were finding their first trans-Atlantic crossing to be the thrill of a lifetime. They occupied a four-berth cabin at the ship’s stern on F Deck. This afforded them easy access to the dining room, where they also ate lunch and dinner. The dining room was bright and cheerful, with white enamelled walls. The long tables were tastefully decorated and the wooden chairs, though uncushioned, were quite comfortable.

  Futrelle told the Svenssons that he was preparing a newspaper article on the Titanic and, consequently, he was gathering information on each class of service. They were more than happy to offer their own evaluation of steerage and its facilities — information that proved useful to Futrelle and me as we planned our day’s activities.

  Mrs Svensson said the General Room was comfortable, though not well equipped with recreational opportunities for the children. Fortunately, the Svensson children had found playmates and, for the most part, they had improvised games and activities to occupy their time. She noted, however, that the General Room did have a fine piano, and some of the passengers whiled away the hours playing some enjoyable tunes.

  Mr Svensson said he had spent little time in the two bars but he did enjoy an occasional trip to the smoking room, where he could light up his pipe and play a recreational game of cards with the other men. When he grew tired of cards, he tried chess, draughts and dominoes. Most of all, he enjoyed meeting other passengers, and discovering where they had been and where they were going.

  Mrs Svensson said she had been concerned about the hundreds of men who, travelling alone, were berthed in the forward end of the ship. Some were in six- or eight-berth cabins, while others, mostly immigrants, shared dormitory-like areas on G Deck. While families and single women were berthed far away, in the aft end of the ship, all steerage passengers shared decks and public rooms during the day. She admitted that she had no reason to believe that any of these men were dangerous. Still, she kept a careful eye on her children.

  Though not sharing his wife’s concerns, Mr Svensson did say that there were a few troublemakers on board. The steerage bar on the forward end of E Deck seemed to be a gathering point. Word had already spread about a shouting match that had erupted the night before, when the crew attempted to close the bar for the night. A group of gamblers, who had been drinking whisky much of the evening, had objected to the game being interrupted. They then apparently moved the late-night session into one of the cabins.

  After finishing our tea and wishing the Svenssons good luck in America, Futrelle and I continued on to the bar at the forward end of the ship. We had little to go on, so seeking out troub
le seemed to be as good an idea as any.

  We made our way up to E Deck, and travelled along a corridor that connected the forward and aft steerage accommodation. It was called ‘Park Lane’ by the officers and ‘Scotland Road’ by the crew. The sound of our footsteps echoed down the steel-walled hallway as we walked along the linoleum-tiled floors. This was a far cry from the regal pathways of first class.

  As we walked along the corridor, Futrelle and I poked our heads into some of the open doorways. This area was largely taken up by quarters for cooks, stewards and waiters. There was a good deal of running about, as these industrious crew members travelled to and from their duties. A few, who were having a rest or were off duty, relaxed in their bunks or sat in chairs reading. After passing through the crew area, we found ourselves in a short section of corridor with third-class cabins on either side. Not much activity here. The passengers were away enjoying the various entertainments provided.

  At the forward end of the corridor, we rounded the corner and found ourselves at the entrance to the saloon. The room was open, although alcoholic refreshments were not yet being served.

  The saloon was small, compared to those in first class. The oak-panelled walls and teak tables and chairs created an atmosphere that was simple, but cheerful. Cheerful, that is, except for the dreary-looking souls who were seated around two tables joined together at the rear of the room. Their faces were unshaven and their clothing was unkempt. They appeared to be very tired, but still they went through the motions of a poker game.

  One man was clearly winning. A mound of red, white and blue chips lay on the table before him. Unlike his companions, he was fresh and neatly dressed. His grey tweed suit was crisply pressed, and he wore a newly cut carnation in his lapel. This dapper card player, much to my surprise, was Hugo Brandon.

  ‘Why Doctor Watson, Mr Futrelle, whatever are you doing down here?’ Brandon rose and beckoned us over. His companions remained seated and eyed us suspiciously. ‘Are things getting a little dull in first class?’

  Futrelle replied. ‘No, no, not at all. I am writing an article on the maiden voyage of the Titanic, and the captain has given me permission to roam about. Doctor Watson very kindly offered to accompany me. But what about you? Surely you are not preparing a travel review.’

  Brandon laughed. ‘Writing is not my forte. But I do enjoy a good game of cards. And while the games in first class are for far higher stakes, I find them a little tame. Playing with my friends here helps to sharpen my skills for bigger games.’

  The men at the table continued to stare at Futrelle and me. Aside from Brandon, this was not a congenial group.

  ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, allow me to introduce you to my companions.’ Brandon grabbed his walking stick from the table and used it as a pointer. ‘The gentleman to my left is Charlie, and there is Kurt, Willy and Swede. Swede, incidentally, does some wonderful card tricks. Perhaps we can persuade him to show you some, after he has finished his coffee.’

  Swede said nothing. Instead, he picked up the coffee pot at the centre of the table and poured a half cup. He then reached inside his coat and pulled out a dull, metal flask. However, the motion of his arm was interrupted when the tip of Brandon’s walking stick tapped the side of the flask.

  ‘Now, Swede, as a friend, I cannot allow you to overdo it on the spirits. Remember, you have a busy day planned today, and it is still only mid-morning.’

  Swede begrudgingly put the flask back inside his pocket.

  ‘I only wanted a touch to get my blood moving.’

  ‘Then try a little more of this excellent coffee,’ replied Brandon, filling Swede’s cup to the top. ‘That’ll bring you to life.’

  My attention was fixed, not on Swede’s problem, but on a small bottle containing a clear liquid. It was on the table next to Kurt, resting on a folded handkerchief. Brandon looked at me, and then at the bottle.

  ‘Oh dear, what have we here?’ said Brandon. ‘More spirits? Gentlemen, if you are going to insist on drinking, I may have to step away from the game. And I know you would all like the chance to win your money back.’

  ‘I understood that there was some trouble last night,’ I said. ‘Do you happen to know what it was all about?’

  Brandon, his temperance speech interrupted, stroked his chin, as if trying to recall anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, he smiled and pointed his finger in my general direction.

  ‘I think I know what you are referring to. These gentlemen and I were in this room just before ten last night, when the barman announced that he would be closing down soon. Naturally, it was thought that this was a little early and some raised objections. There was a minor confrontation that eventually involved some of the crew. After a time, I was able to convince them all that we could continue the game just as comfortably in their cabin. And that is all there was to it... My word, has that story spread all over the ship?’

  ‘Oh, no, indeed not. A man in the dining room happened to mention it.’

  ‘Good, you know that these stories can get out of hand.’

  ‘Well, Mr Brandon, gentlemen, we must be getting on,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we will meet you again later.’

  ‘Nice to see you, Doctor, Mr Futrelle. I would invite you to join in the game but, as you can see, everyone is eager to win their money back. You are most welcome to stay and watch.’

  ‘Thank you, but, as I said, we must be on our way. Mr Futrelle has a good deal of research to do for his article.’

  We shook hands with Brandon, and exchanged nods with his companions.

  When we were back in the corridor, I placed my hand on Futrelle’s shoulder and looked back towards the door to the bar.

  ‘What did you think of the bottle, the one on the table?’ I asked.

  ‘Very unusual. It seemed as though the handkerchief was being used to pad the bottle from the surface of the wood.’

  ‘That is exactly what I thought. Let us proceed on deck to tell the captain.’ I reached into my pocket and pulled out a deck map that the captain had given us before we began our tour. It was at that moment that Brandon and Swede chose to step through the door from the bar. Brandon was carrying the coffee pot.

  ‘Lost?’ said Brandon. ‘Swede and I were just about to get more coffee. Perhaps we can help you.’

  ‘We can manage. But thank you for the offer.’

  ‘No trouble at all. In fact, I know a short cut. It is around the corner, to the right. Just follow me.’

  Futrelle and I exchanged glances, then followed Brandon’s lead. Swede, instead of accompanying his companion, followed behind us. The journey was only a short one. Soon after we rounded the corner, we approached a stairwell.

  Brandon hurried on ahead, stepping down the stairway instead of up. ‘We will have to go down a couple of decks first,’ he said. ‘This stairway only goes up one more deck. But if we go down to G Deck, we will reach a corridor that will take us back to the lifts.’

  I smiled, looking back briefly to determine Swede’s location. ‘On second thoughts, I think we will go back the way we came. Futrelle and I want to speak to some of the crew on our way out.’

  Brandon appeared disappointed that his offer of help was rejected. ‘Are you sure? There are some interesting crew areas here as well.’

  ‘Quite sure.’ I changed my direction. ‘Thank you, very much.’ After a few steps, Futrelle and I stopped short. Swede was holding a shiny revolver. It was pointed directly at me.

  ‘I got ’em, Mr Brandon.’

  Futrelle turned his head back towards Brandon, who was climbing back up the stairs. ‘I say, Brandon, does your friend always carry a gun when he gets coffee?’

  Brandon laughed. ‘Sometimes the kitchen is reluctant to fill the pot.’

  Brandon too was carrying a revolver, somewhat smaller than Swede’s military issue. He motioned for me to walk down the stairs.

  ‘We will be putting our weapons away, gentlemen. We do not want to disturb the passengers and crew. But just remembe
r, we are still holding them in our pockets. And we have nothing to lose if you force us to use them. But we cannot allow you to report us to the captain.’

  We continued down the stairs, with Swede close behind us and Brandon leading the way. As we made our way down one deck, and then another, we crossed paths with a young steward who was scurrying up the stairs with a tray full of dirty dishes. It occurred to me that bumping the tray out of his hands might create a sufficient distraction to allow us to overcome our captors. But I decided that such a move would place this innocent passerby at too great a risk.

  The stairway ended at G Deck, where Brandon motioned for us to continue down a dark corridor. At the end of that hallway we found a hatch in the floor, with the doorway open.

  ‘Down the ladder, gentlemen,’ said Brandon. ‘And please mind your step.’

  Swede was the first to descend, and I followed. The chamber was dark but there was enough light for me to see that I was in a familiar area. It was the cargo hold where the motorcars were stored, where Miss Storm-Fleming had her unfortunate meeting with Bishop. My mind raced through the possibilities. If I could somehow break free, this cavern provided ample opportunities to hide. I would, of course, be apprehended in time — unless I was able to make my way into the adjoining luggage or post rooms. My prospects for finding help in those areas were not great but the next section was the forward boiler room, where I was likely to find some very strong and hearty members of the crew. Then there was Futrelle to consider. What if he was not able to break free? I decided that he would be no worse off, and perhaps even safer if Brandon knew I was on my way to find help.

  Swede was well below me, and about to step off the ladder onto the floor. I was not a young man, but I had always made time to exercise and keep healthy. After glancing upwards and seeing Futrelle in the hatchway, I let go of the ladder and jumped directly on top of Swede. He let out a startled cry and fell to the floor. I could hear the sound of his gun clanking on to the deck.