The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  ‘That should bring the captain and his men,’ Holmes shouted. ‘Would you prefer to put down your weapons now, or wait for them? It makes no difference to me.’

  ‘We will wait for a while, if you do not mind,’ Brandon replied. ‘If I were you, I would forget about us and conduct a search of this ship. As Doctor Watson may have told you, we planted two bombs. And you do not have very much time.’

  ‘Oh, the one in the post room. It is already defused, but thank you.’

  A gun fired, chipping a splinter of wood from our lifeboat. A flurry of shots followed. But they were not aimed at us. The attention of Brandon and his gang was now drawn to the captain and his men, who emerged from both forward and aft positions. As the ship’s crew began to shoot, our adversaries were caught in a crossfire. Clearly, they could not hold their position behind the lifeboat.

  Suddenly, there was a chugging, mechanical sound. The lifeboat over the water was being lowered. Swede and the wounded man jumped over the rail, but both were hit by gunfire and fell limply over the side. Moments later, the three remaining men came out of hiding, their guns blazing. Two of the men held their ground until they fell to the deck. But Brandon, after firing two shots, jumped over the rail. By this time, the lifeboat must have been half-way to the water. The gambler was taking the biggest gamble of his life.

  The captain and his men came out from their positions of cover and rushed across the deck.

  ‘Raise that lifeboat!’ the captain shouted.

  Boxhall ran to the motor and reversed its direction.

  We all gathered by the rail as the lifeboat rose from the darkness. It was empty.

  Ten minutes later, Holmes, the captain and I approached Miss Norton and Futrelle, who were standing on the starboard deck.

  ‘Do you see anything?’ I asked.

  ‘We think we see a ship’s lights about a mile out, but we are not sure,’ said Miss Norton.

  Then the five of us went to stand by the side of the rail, waiting quietly, looking out across the water. It was not long before we saw a blinker signal sending a short message.

  The captain chuckled. ‘They are signalling “WWU” — Workers of the World, Unite.’

  ‘Captain, may I use that signal lamp over there?’ Holmes asked.

  The captain nodded and, smiling curiously, switched on the device.

  ‘Holmes, I didn’t realize that you knew Morse code,’ I said.

  ‘I have learnt a few new skills over the years, Watson.’

  Holmes took the device in his hand and switched the light on and off. There was no reply from the mysterious ship.

  The captain was laughing heartily but the rest of us remained in the dark.

  ‘Holmes, whatever did you say?’

  ‘What any good Englishman would say, of course. “Rule, Britannia.”’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE MORNING OF SUNDAY 14 APRIL 1912

  Sherlock Holmes shook his head as he closed the cover of his watch.

  ‘Time, Watson. Time is running short.’

  Our deadline for recovering the plans was fast approaching. The Titanic would be docking in three days. Over the past twenty-four hours we had saved the ship from disaster and eliminated one red herring, Brandon, from our list of suspects. Still, it seemed we were no closer to succeeding in our investigation.

  Saturday night’s mêlée on the boat deck had not gone completely unnoticed. The bitter cold had discouraged most passengers from going outside. Those who tried to brave the weather were prevented by the captain’s men, who gave the explanation that emergency repairs were being made to some of the ship’s equipment. Still, a few passengers had asked about gunshots that appeared to be coming from somewhere outside. This was explained away as electrical explosions, confirming that the deck was no place to be while repairs were under way.

  Saturday night’s freak storm had left as suddenly as it had appeared. Fair weather had returned.

  The captain had invited Holmes, Miss Norton, Futrelle and me to breakfast in his sitting room. Except for Holmes, all of us had begun filling our plates with eggs and bacon, and also fruit, which had been laid out on a small table. I had not eaten dinner the previous evening, and the smell of hot food suddenly brought my appetite back.

  Our meal was interrupted by a knock at the door. ‘Come in!’ called the captain. A young officer entered. He was a man of disciplined demeanour and a hint of determination in his eyes. The captain put his breakfast aside, rose and motioned for the young man to step forward.

  ‘Gentlemen, Miss Norton, I don’t believe I have introduced you to Mr Charles Lightoller, my second officer,’ said the captain. ‘He is one of my most trusted and valued men. No doubt you have seen him attending to his duties over the past few days.’

  I expected a round of introductions. Instead, the captain folded his arms and got right to the point. ‘I have taken the liberty of divulging your mission and Mr Holmes’s identity to Mr Lightoller. He will be available to assist you when I am otherwise occupied.’

  Holmes responded calmly to this surprise announcement.

  ‘We must surely be taking up too much of your valuable time, Captain. Mr Lightoller, we are very pleased to have your assistance in solving our little puzzle.’

  ‘I must say, Mr Holmes, I was quite amazed when the captain told me who you really are. I am at your service.’

  The captain introduced the rest of us and invited Lightoller to join us for breakfast. He then returned to his easy chair and picked up his plate of bacon and eggs, which he had barely had a chance to touch.

  ‘I fear that I have another puzzle for you to work on, Mr Holmes,’ said the captain, beginning his breakfast at last.

  There was a knock at the door, which Holmes answered. It was Bride.

  ‘A message for the captain, sir.’ Bride tipped his hat to the rest of us and left.

  The captain again set his plate aside, rose and unfolded the wireless form. ‘Well, well, more good news,’ he said, a tone of sarcasm in his voice. Listen to this: “Captain Titanic — Westbound steamers report bergs, growlers and field ice in forty-two degrees north, from forty-nine degrees to fifty-one degrees west, 12 April. Compliments, Barr.’

  ‘Who is Barr?’ asked Miss Norton.

  ‘He is the captain of the Caronia.’ The captain folded the message and appeared lost in thought.

  Encouraging some eggs on to my fork, I inquired, ‘Are we going to be passing through that area?’

  ‘We are heading in that general direction. But nothing to worry about. I will inform the officers and we will keep watch for any signs of ice.’ The captain put the message in his coat pocket.

  ‘Captain, you were saying something about a puzzle,’ said Holmes.

  ‘Oh, yes. It seems that our stoker friend, Mr Strickley, has disappeared.’

  ‘What!’ I said. ‘I thought he was confined to quarters.’

  ‘He was, but apparently he did not take my orders too seriously. When we find him, he will go straight to the brig. But so far, no luck.’

  ‘Have you begun a search?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘Every available man. With all the intrigue lately aboard this ship, my men are becoming quite experienced at conducting searches.’

  The captain looked each of us in the eye, then returned to his easy chair and his breakfast.

  ‘Do you have evidence that he escaped on his own?’ Holmes inquired.

  The captain dropped his knife and fork on his plate, showing signs of a man whose patience was wearing thin.

  ‘You suspect foul play, Mr Holmes? At last, I thought, I could get back to the serious business of running a pleasure cruise... I swear, sir, if I did not know better, I would say this ship was under the curse of Jonah.’

  Miss Norton poured the captain another cup of tea. ‘Now, Captain, your breakfast is getting cold.’

  Taking a deep breath, the captain forced a smile and picked up his knife and fork, slowly lifting a slice of melon to his mouth.
>
  ‘Rest assured, Miss Norton. This captain is always in control. But Mr Holmes, why the concern?’

  ‘I believe Mr Holmes might be referring to Bishop,’ said Futrelle, who had already devoured his breakfast. ‘We still do not know who killed him. If, in fact, someone shot Bishop to keep him silent...’

  ‘Exactly, Futrelle,’ said Holmes. ‘Captain, I would like to inspect Strickley’s quarters immediately. I may be able to determine whether we have another murder on our hands, or if Mr Strickley is simply absent without leave.’

  ‘Very well. Mr Lightoller, would you assist Mr Holmes?’

  ‘Yes, sir, a pleasure... Mr Holmes, do you suspect that Strickley’s disappearance could be related to the theft of the documents?’

  ‘It is possible. We also have few clues as to their whereabouts. Strickley’s disappearance may serve to enlighten us.’

  ‘It is Sunday, and I am expected in the dining room at 10.30 to conduct Divine Service. Would any of the rest of you care to join me? A prayer would be helpful to all of us,’ said the captain.

  ‘My wife and I were already planning to attend,’ said Futrelle. The writer looked at his watch. ‘Doctor Watson, Miss Norton, shall we meet there in an hour?’

  ‘I must accompany Holmes. Perhaps Miss Norton...’ I responded.

  With a firmness of tone that reminded me of my late wife, Miss Norton said, ‘You have had quite enough adventures yesterday. You will take a turn on the deck with me, then we will go to the service.’

  Holmes chuckled and walked over to the table of food.

  ‘I must agree, my dear Watson. You are officially off duty until after church.’

  Miss Norton grabbed my arm and began to lead me to the door.

  ‘She Who Must be Obeyed,’ I said, resignedly, waving goodbye to the others.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  THE LATE MORNING OF SUNDAY 14 APRIL 1912

  The morning was bright and clear, and a number of passengers were enjoying the opportunity to take a pleasant stroll on deck.

  As Miss Norton and I ambled along the boat deck, I took particular pleasure in watching the children play.

  ‘Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three...’ said one young girl as she faced the deckhouse, her hands covering her eyes. Her companions were scurrying to find a place to hide. One ambitious young man was nervously inspecting a lifeboat, trying to find a way inside.

  As we continued, I spotted a familiar face. The boy was sitting next to a deckchair, playing with some toys.

  ‘Well, well,’ I said. ‘If it isn’t our young detective, Tommy Roberts. And how are you this fine day?’

  ‘Doctor Watson! Would you like to play? I am pretending that...’ Tommy stopped and stared at my companion.

  ‘Oh, Tommy. I would like to introduce you to my friend, Miss Norton.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Tommy. What is that you are playing with?’

  Tommy smiled, thrilled by this interest in his new game. ‘Found these in the wastepaper basket...little tables and chairs, cabinets, even some little people.’

  ‘What fun,’ said Miss Norton. ‘I once had a doll’s house with pieces like that...’

  ‘I am using them to make Mr Holmes’s sitting room, just like you described it in your books, Doctor Watson.’

  ‘I am most impressed, Tommy. That is a very good representation.’

  ‘I just wish I had some more pieces. There’s a lot missing.’

  ‘Just use your imagination. Remember, Mr Holmes uses his imagination, along with deductive reasoning, to solve crimes.’

  Tommy paused for a moment to consider this.

  ‘Tommy, have you seen Miss Storm-Fleming lately?’ I asked.

  ‘Not since yesterday. She was talking to that man, the German.’

  Miss Norton and I exchanged glances. ‘When was this?’

  ‘Just before dinner, I think. They were in the library. I went there with Mother, so she could get a book.’

  ‘Thank you, Tommy. I have been looking for her. Perhaps we will see her at the church service.’

  ‘Church! Oh my gosh! I told Mother and Father that I would be back to get dressed... Excuse me.’ The young man abruptly got to his feet and ran down the deck, leaving his toys behind.

  Miss Norton laughed. ‘I hope he is not in too much trouble.’

  I stooped down and scooped up Tommy’s toys. ‘I am sure he will want these. I will return them to him at church... I wonder if Holmes knows that our sitting room has become the latest vogue among children.’

  My companion smiled. ‘Fame can affect judgement, Doctor.’

  ‘A point well taken, Miss Norton.’ I grinned. ‘But rest assured, the fresh sea air and a rousing sermon from the captain will soon restore my humility.’

  Miss Norton took my arm. ‘Lead the way, Doctor Watson.’

  We arrived well before the service was due to begin. I was surprised to see that a large congregation had already assembled. Many viewed this as a fine opportunity for conversation and meeting new people. It was a family occasion, and the only one that brought together passengers from first, second and third class.

  It was a special treat for steerage passengers. They were staring wide-eyed at their luxurious surroundings, while chatting quietly and pointing about the room.

  The Futrelles had already arrived and were engaged in a conversation with Baron Von Stern. Moriarty was standing in a cluster of well-dressed people, some of whom I recognized as being among the first-class passengers.

  Miss Storm-Fleming had just paid her respects to the captain and was circulating through the crowd. I waved and she returned my gesture with a broad smile, walking briskly in our direction.

  ‘Doctor Watson, I have been looking everywhere for you!’ She spoke warmly.

  Somewhat overcome by this greeting, I muttered a less than satisfactory reply.

  ‘I was rather involved in a matter that took some time...’

  ‘And what kind of business would keep you so busy in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing of any consequence... Just helping Futrelle with research for an article he is writing on the Titanic’s maiden voyage.’

  Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes remained warm and bright but there was a momentary change in her expression that indicated she was not fully pleased with my explanation.

  ‘And how are you, Miss Norton? Are you enjoying the trip? Quite exciting, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, very much so,’ Miss Norton replied. ‘I am happy to see that you are enjoying it too...after everything that happened.’

  ‘I have always had a talent for springing back from adversity. Hardships along the way are part of life’s great adventure.’

  ‘Have they made any progress in finding Bishop’s killer?’ Miss Norton asked.

  ‘I do not believe so. I was just talking to the captain and he did not volunteer any information. Have either of you heard anything?’

  ‘Not a word,’ I replied. ‘If only Holmes were on board. This is the kind of mystery he thrives on.’

  ‘Yes, if only he were.’ Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes were fixed on mine. ‘Doctor Watson, people are taking their seats.’

  ‘Please do join us.’

  ‘Thank you, but please do not say anything about my singing, Doctor. I am very sensitive on that point.’

  The captain led the service from the White Star Line’s own prayer book, and the music was provided by the ship’s orchestra. The opening hymn was familiar, but one I had not heard in some time. Miss Storm-Fleming’s voice was clearly distinguishable from my neighbouring worshippers.

  Eternal Father strong to save,

  Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

  Who bids the mighty ocean deep

  Its own appointed limits keep:

  O hear us when we cry to Thee

  For those in peril on the sea.

  I adhered to Miss Storm-Fleming’s request not to comment on her singing.

  The service was s
trangely moving. As I glanced about the room, I sensed a unity among the ship’s passengers. There was a common bond, perhaps brought on by this reminder that we all came from the same Maker.

  Captain Smith led the formal service. He gave a respectable reading of various prayers and Bible passages. It ended promptly on time with the hymn, ‘O God, Our Help in Ages Past’. Miss Storm-Fleming, again, sang with enthusiasm:

  O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast,

  And our eternal home.

  Following the benediction, the band played a festive recessional. Conversation grew louder as friends gradually made their way to the reception room, outside the dining room. As we continued towards the big open doors, Miss Storm-Fleming took my arm and pulled me to one side, away from the path of the moving crowd. Miss Norton, who had moved slightly ahead, soon noticed that we had paused and she waited for us.

  ‘Doctor Watson, I know how much you enjoy the company of your fellow musketeers, but would you join me for dinner tonight?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked, hesitantly. There was an uneasy timbre to her voice. ‘As you know...this has been a difficult journey for me...and what must you think of me...? An opportunity for quiet conversation would greatly restore me.’

  ‘Miss Storm-Fleming, it would be a great pleasure. Shall we say 7.30 in the restaurant?’

  She nodded her acceptance and, seconds later, was on her way.

  I watched as she left the room. Miss Norton joined me.

  ‘What did she want?’ Acting as both a friend and a professional, she had easily overcome the urge not to pry.

  ‘Dinner,’ I replied. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat.

  ‘Doctor Watson,’ said the captain, coming up behind us. ‘How did you like the service?’

  ‘It was very pleasant. I had no idea that you were such a good preacher.’

  ‘A captain has to be a jack of all trades.’ He pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘I have just been handed a note. It is addressed to you.’

  I ripped it open. I had noticed immediately from the handwriting on the envelope that it was from Holmes. The note contained a most curious request.