The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Very little, I fear. Just as he was about to be crushed by the machine, a woman confederate of his captor opened a side door and allowed him to pass through.’

  ‘He escaped unharmed, then?’

  ‘Unfortunately, his captor cut off his thumb with a butcher’s cleaver as he made his escape through a window. But other than that, he was fine. But I suppose that does not help us much either. That is, unless one of Brandon’s henchmen decides to take pity on us.’

  ‘I do not consider that to be a possibility.’

  ‘Neither do I...’

  We stopped speaking for what could have been fifteen minutes, as each of us continued to struggle with our ropes. We tried fraying the rope that bound us together by rubbing it against the supporting post but with no success.

  ‘Watson, do you suppose there’s a trap door or anything beneath this pile of sacks? I mean, it is a possibility.’

  ‘I suppose we could move the sacks and examine the floor. Of course, bound to the post as we are, we would not be able to climb down there, even if there is a hatch.’

  ‘It could be that there’s someone below us.’

  By sliding back to the metal post, Futrelle and I were able to get to our feet. We found that the slack in the rope allowed us both to stand in a crouched position. With our feet bound, it took considerable time and effort to kick the sacks away and expose the floor beneath them. At this point, we both sat down again and felt the floor with our fingertips.

  Futrelle uttered an oath under his breath.

  ‘My dear Futrelle, what is the matter?’

  ‘I tore my trousers on a jagged piece of metal, bent up from the floor. I may have cut myself too.’

  ‘Futrelle, can you manoeuvre your hands over to the metal and cut the ropes?’

  I heard him sliding along the floor, and then stop suddenly.

  ‘Watson, could you slide towards the post? I need a little more slack.’

  I slid backwards, and soon heard a sawing sound as the edge of the metal rubbed against the rope.

  Futrelle stopped for a moment. ‘I think I have almost done it.’

  ‘Splendid! Keep going.’

  Soon, Futrelle was free from his bonds. He then caught his breath, and set to work untying me. When my hands were free, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a box of matches. Despite the dampness, I was able to light one on the first try.

  ‘Is there anything in here we can burn?’ I asked.

  ‘Perhaps one of these sacks is dry enough to make a torch.’

  ‘I do not understand why there are no electric lights. The other holds have them.’

  Futrelle looked around in the dim glow of the match. The opportunity was short, since the flame soon reached my fingers. ‘Perhaps there are lights and we just have not seen them. Even with Brandon’s lamp, it was still pretty dark in here.’

  ‘I am certain that there is no switch by the door,’ I said. ‘Where else would one be?’

  Futrelle scrambled about the floor for a while, then returned with a long, square piece of wood. ‘I found this by the crates. We could try wrapping some cloth around it.’

  I managed to remove my tweed waistcoat and, after wrapping it tightly around the end of the stick, I used the rope to secure it in place. It served well as a torch and burned brightly.

  ‘But it will not last for long,’ I said. ‘I suggest we make haste.’

  It did not take long to solve the mystery of the missing switch. I found a light fixture on one wall, with a string dangling below. One quick tug at the switch produced an even glow.

  ‘I will try to push these crates over so they do not block the light,’ said Futrelle.

  ‘No! Wait! Remember the bomb. You might set it off. We will just have to make do with the light we have now.’

  Futrelle nodded, somewhat embarrassed by his rash suggestion.

  ‘Where do you suppose the bomb is?’ Futrelle asked.

  ‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. On the night we left Cherbourg, Holmes and I were in the smoking room, listening to a conversation between a passenger and the ship’s designer, a Mr Andrews. Andrews said that the ship has sixteen watertight compartments, and that it can remain afloat with any two of them flooded — or any three of the first five flooded. I would say that the bomb is likely to be next to a bulkhead somewhere further down.’

  We faced each other for a moment, then walked to opposite corners of the hold. Futrelle was the winner.

  ‘Just our luck!’ said Futrelle. ‘Here it is, in a shadow. All I can see is a bunch of wires, some metal thing and a glass bottle all jammed together in a wooden box.’

  ‘Perhaps we should try moving it into the light?’

  ‘We could set it off,’ Futrelle cautioned. ‘First let us see if there is a way out. If Brandon was telling the truth about it going off at one o’clock, we still have lots of time left. What time is it, by the way?’

  ‘Half past seven.’

  We decided to leave the bomb alone for the moment, and spend some time examining possible escape routes. Our findings were far from promising.

  As we expected, the door to the next hold was held firmly in place by the chain. On the opposite wall, the cover to the chain locker was fastened by some very large bolts. We could reach the cargo hatch above by climbing on top of the crates but the metal cover would not move an inch. We tried moving crates to reach the hatch cover on the floor but they were too heavy for the two of us to handle. If we had a crowbar or some other means of prying them open, we could perhaps unpack them until they were light enough to move. But that might take hours, and the prospects of escaping by that route were not that good, even if the crates were removed. My previous study of the ship showed that that there was another hold below us, and there was no indication of whether we could move freely to the next compartment.

  ‘Perhaps we could short the electric lights,’ Futrelle offered. ‘If that blacked out other parts of the ship, they might send an electrician down to find the trouble.’

  ‘And if it does not, or if they decide to leave the problem until morning, we will be left in the dark. We would have virtually no chance of defusing the bomb. Not that either of us knows anything about defusing a bomb.’

  ‘I suppose... I wish we could ring for room service. I am extremely hungry.’

  I smiled and nodded in agreement.

  ‘Futrelle,’ I said. ‘There may be another way.’ I was surprised to hear my voice cracking. ‘It would not save us, but it may save the other passengers.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We could try to defuse the bomb. If we succeed, then well and good. If we fail, and the bomb goes off, it will only flood two of the holds.’

  ‘And kill us.’

  ‘And, as you say, kill us. But the ship will not sink, at least until the second bomb goes off at 1 am. And the threat of two flooded holds might cause the captain to abandon ship.’

  ‘But there are not enough lifeboats.’

  ‘Some would be saved. And if the captain calls for help early enough, another ship might come before the Titanic goes down.’

  ‘I consider our duty is clear.’

  We carefully moved the box containing the bomb to the opposite wall, under the electric light. For some time, we kneeled next to it, examining the complex network of wires and components.

  ‘The bottle of nitroglycerine is down underneath all this other apparatus,’ I said. ‘If only we could just remove it, that would make the whole process simple.’

  I tugged gently at the spool-like piece of metal above the bottle, but it held firmly in place.

  ‘We could try pulling some of the wires,’ Futrelle said.

  ‘That might trigger it, but then again, perhaps not.’

  I tried tugging at another component, which caused a brief whirring sound that made me think twice about continuing that particular approach.

  ‘If we had a straw and could remove the
stopper on the bottle, we could siphon the nitroglycerine out of the bottle and into another container. Then the bomb would be harmless.’

  I wiped the sweat off my brow. ‘Not the most helpful suggestion, Futrelle.’

  ‘Do you have a better idea?’

  ‘Confound it, Futrelle, I am a doctor, not an explosives expert!’

  ‘Apologies, old fellow. An unusual situation for both of us.’

  ‘There is a wire here that is lightly soldered into place,’ I said, pointing to a thin strand covered in red insulation. ‘I am going to give it a tug.’

  ‘I am with you, Watson. Proceed...but gently, if you please.’

  I took a deep breath, then gently placed my fingertips on either side of the wire, down near the connection. I placed the forefinger of my other hand on the component just below the connection, and began to work the wire back and forth.

  ‘What the devil is that!’ I gasped, backing my hands away from the device.

  Someone was rattling the chain outside the door. I looked up at Futrelle and he looked back at me with an expression of utter delight.

  ‘We’re saved!’ he said. ‘The ship is saved!’

  ‘Unless it is Brandon coming back to check up on our ropes,’ I said, keeping my voice down. ‘Quickly, to the door! We will need to grab whoever it is when he comes in.’

  Futrelle and I stood on either side of the door, our backs to the wall. Suddenly, I remembered something and ran back to switch off the light.

  The door opened before I could return to my position. I saw the silhouette of a stooped man. He had a full, fluffy beard and mumbled to himself as he peered through the doorway. It was clearly not Brandon, but I wondered whether it might be one of his henchmen.

  He slowly lifted a lamp from the floor, and pointed it directly at me. He suddenly backed away in surprise but then braced himself on the door frame and moved forward cautiously.

  ‘’Ere now, who is that lurkin’ about in the dark? Come out in the light now, yer ’ear?’

  Futrelle took no chances. He lunged at the stooped figure as he stepped into the room. Both fell to the floor with a thud. I turned the light back on and studied the features of our visitor, who was now lying flat on his back, with Futrelle on top of him. He was an elderly man with a weathered face and a bushy beard and eyebrows. The white hair behind his receding brow was long and uncombed. The man’s grey, battered coat did not appear to be that of one of the crew. But then, he did not appear to be a passenger either, since his clothing contained a layer of soot.

  ‘Futrelle, I suggest that you help our visitor up to his feet to allow him to explain who he is and what his business is down in the cargo hold.’

  Futrelle helped the man to his feet. Our visitor showed little gratitude. Instead, he brushed himself down and scrutinized each of us from head to toe.

  ‘What I am doin’ ’ere is no concern of yours,’ he said, continuing to brush dust from his sleeves. ‘And what do you mean by jumpin’ on me like that? Seems to me I did you gents a favour by lettin’ you out of ’ere.’

  I was beginning to feel a little guilty. While we were justified in being cautious, he had indeed done us and everyone on board a great favour. ‘My apologies but we had to make sure that you were not in league with the man who locked us in here. But what are you doing down here yourself?’

  The man grinned wryly, stood up straight, and used both hands to pull the beard from his face.

  ‘My dear Watson, I was simply looking for you.’

  ‘Holmes!’

  ‘Indeed it is. And I am most relieved to find that I have not lost my touch with disguises. You must admit, this one had you completely fooled.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE LATE EVENING OF SATURDAY 13 APRIL 1912

  ‘Holmes, you amaze me! After all these years, you still surprise me. How on earth did you find us down here?’

  ‘When you failed to return, I went down to third class to find you. I could not locate you in any of the public areas, so I decided that my best course of action was to follow our mysterious gambler friend, Mr Brandon. I found him in the bar.’

  ‘But why the disguise?’ asked Futrelle, nervously dividing his attention between Holmes and the bomb.

  Holmes looked curiously at Futrelle, and then back at me.

  ‘My dear fellow, what do you have back there?’

  ‘It is a bomb...but it is not set to go off until one o’clock.’

  Holmes folded his arms, nodded and stared at me with calm resignation. He made me feel like a schoolboy causing mischief in the teacher’s absence. After scratching his chin, he walked to the corner of the room and glanced down at the bomb.

  ‘One o’clock, you say?’

  ‘Yes, Brandon plans to sink the ship,’ I replied. ‘He thinks, somehow, that this will further the cause of Marxism. He does not seem to know anything about the stolen documents.’

  ‘I see... Well, this adds a new dimension to our mystery. I suggest that we go on deck and report to the captain.’

  We debated, for a moment, whether one of us should stay behind to stand guard over the bomb. We decided that it was well enough hidden to avoid notice during the short time we were gone.

  On the way up to the captain’s cabin, Holmes continued his account of how he had located us in the cargo hold. I was surprised to hear that he had resorted to a talent he had picked up years ago from London’s criminal element.

  ‘When I entered the bar, Brandon was seated at a table with his companions. He was pointing out something on a large sheet of paper, which was unfolded and spread across the table. I moved in more closely and discovered that it was a set of deck plans for the ship — the same kind that the captain gave to us. From time to time, he would take the pencil he was using as a pointer, and mark something on the map.

  ‘At the conclusion of this discussion, Brandon folded the map and put it into his coat pocket. He then stood up, picked up his empty beer glass and walked to the bar. I followed him and, in fact, was able to begin a casual conversation with him. He did not recognize me, of course, since I was no longer in the guise of Commodore Winter.’

  ‘But again, I must ask you, Mr Holmes, why the new disguise?’ asked Futrelle, as we hastily made our way past the post office and up the stairway that bordered the squash-rackets court.

  ‘I started the day by making enquiries in areas of the ship where passengers and crew might have been intimidated by the sight of an officer in uniform. I decided, for a time, to take on a less assuming civilian identity.’

  ‘How did you find us?’ I asked. ‘Were you able to deduce something from your encounter with Brandon?’

  ‘Not exactly... I picked Brandon’s pocket,’ said Holmes, taking some satisfaction in this feat. ‘And I must say, his set of deck plans was most helpful. The hold where he had imprisoned you, and hidden the bomb, was circled.’

  ‘Outstanding, Holmes! You may not only have saved our lives but also the ship.’

  ‘I fear, Watson, that I may also have given the game away. Brandon will undoubtedly become suspicious when he notices that his deck plans are missing. All the more reason to make haste in reaching the captain.’

  We found the captain on the bridge, going over nautical charts with the officer of the watch. When he saw us at the doorway, he seemed somewhat irritated. I suspect our appearance may have had something to do with it. After our ordeal in the hold, Futrelle and I were badly in need of a bath and fresh clothing. And then there was Holmes...

  ‘I will be with you in a moment, gentlemen. Please step into my sitting room.’

  ‘I think, Captain, that we should talk to you at once,’ said Holmes.

  The captain peered at Holmes over his reading glasses and then, without saying a word, he followed us into the adjoining room and closed the door.

  ‘Still masquerading in that outfit, Mr Holmes? You look like a character out of Dickens.’

  ‘Captain, listen carefully,’ said Holmes. ‘There is
a bomb in the forward cargo hold of the orlop deck. It is set to go off at one o’clock.’

  ‘A bomb! What the devil are you talking about? Who put it there?’

  ‘Brandon. He and a small group of anarchists plan to sink this ship. They also plan to steal a lifeboat and row for a waiting ship around midnight.’

  ‘Anarchists! From what country? What do they want?’ The captain was clearly rattled by the news, but I sensed no panic or hesitation in his voice.

  ‘There is no time to discuss that now. Do you have anyone on board who can defuse a bomb? It is attached to a bottle of nitroglycerine.’

  The captain thought for a moment. ‘So far as I know, there are no experts on board... I seem to recall Hanson, one of our electricians, saying that he used to set munitions charges when he was in the navy.’

  ‘Then I suggest, Captain, that we find him and ask him to inspect the device.’

  The captain reached for the telephone. ‘Mr Boxhall, please come into my sitting room immediately.’

  ‘There is no great danger, Mr Holmes. A bomb can damage the ship, but it cannot sink her. Several holds would have to be flooded and...’

  ‘There are two bombs.’

  ‘What! Where is the second?’

  ‘As yet, we do not know.’

  ‘Good God, man! What has been going on here? Does this have something to do with those stolen documents of yours?’

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ said Holmes, folding his arms and looking the captain squarely in the eye. ‘In fact, if it hadn’t been for our investigation, you would never have known about the bombs until one o’clock, when they explode.’

  ‘Both at one o’clock.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Holmes, reaching into his coat pocket. ‘I have Brandon’s copy of the deck plans here.’ Holmes laid them out flat on the table. ‘This may help us to locate the second device.’ Holmes looked at the plans for a moment, then pointed. ‘Here is the location of the first bomb. If it goes off, it will flood these two holds.’

  The captain studied the plans, stroking his beard with one hand, and using the other to point to various positions on the paper. ‘If those two holds are flooded, all he has to do is flood two more in the forward section of the ship. That will sink us. Or he could hit one or two holds in the rear — I would have to consult Mr Andrews about that.’