Murder on the Titanic

by Evelyn Weiss

London before.”

  I look at the professor in mild surprise. “Do you really go around taking note of people’s boot soles?”

  “I do indeed. Miss Agnes, you may know that although I am qualified as a doctor, I specialized from very early on in psychiatry – the unseen workings of the human mind. But my chair at the University of Dresden is as Professor of Forensics: the science of evidence, of criminal investigation. I have developed my Hypnotic-Forensic Method through working with many police forces across Europe. And in doing so, I have picked up much expertise regarding physical forensic evidence – ‘clues’ as they are popularly called. This boot sole stitching, it is like a fingerprint. We find the man with these boots, we find our kidnapper.”

  Chisholm looks down at the paper in my hands. “What about the letter, Axelson?”

  “Yes. Again, the science of the mind connects to many things. A person’s character – it can be shown in their handwriting. To me, a piece of writing is like your English phrase ‘an open book’. Let me look at this letter.”

  I put the paper down on the table: the three of us stand round and peer at it. But after two minutes, Chisholm curses softly. “God damn it, where are the police? They should be here by now.”

  “Don’t worry, Chisholm.” Axelson’s voice remains low and calm. “Only twenty-five minutes have in fact passed since Miss Agnes found that Miss Kitty was gone. Let’s do what we can do: concentrate on this letter.”

  The scrawl is extraordinary. I can make out no words whatsoever, and despite Professor Axelson’s boasts about handwriting, he says nothing more, and I conclude that he is at a loss too. I look again at the signature.

  “After Black – is that a V?”

  “I think you are right, Miss Agnes.” Axelson looks closely. “I think, in fact, this signature, it is not any name we would recognize. It is a code name. Two colors – ‘Black Violet’.”

  I look at the second word. It doesn’t really look like Violet.

  “It is unusual, don’t you think, Chisholm? I have never seen a letter or a note like it. Because the worst-written part of any letter – always, it is the signature. In most letters, the signature is a scrawl, almost a throw of the pen. But here, the letter is unreadable, even to me – but the signature is moderately clear.”

  “Which means?...”

  “I don’t know what it means. Very, very unusual. Anyway, we will give it to the police.” He suddenly picks up the letter and, to my surprise, folds it and puts it in his inside breast pocket, then carries on speaking. “We will also, of course, show the police the boot print, and point out the triple stitching to them. Clues for them to follow.”

  5.An inspector calls

  We wait for the police in the drawing-room. Chisholm glances at his watch, but Axelson seems curiously relaxed. After a few moments, he smiles at me.

  “Miss Agnes, I will take the opportunity to explain to you what I have discovered, since I left Nova Scotia. Because as you know, the Percy Spence case is now in newspapers across the world – because of the Titanic disaster, because of the fame of the victim, and, if I may say so, because of the fame of the investigator.”

  The professor pauses for a moment, but I prompt him to continue. “So how did you begin your enquiries, Professor?”

  “I traveled from Nova Scotia to New York, and my first action there was to find you, Sir Chisholm. At the end of our first meeting, you generously offered your support. I have been fortunate indeed that your military and government experience has equipped you so well to assist me. And you have given financial support to the enquiry. I could not have had a better supporter – and friend – in undertaking this most baffling of all my investigations.”

  “That’s appreciated. And I must admit, I am intrigued by your methods, Axelson. Your ‘Hypnotic-Forensic’ technique is extraordinary: the hypnotized subject seems to be re-live, through all their senses, the exact experiences they had – for example, aboard the Titanic.”

  “Thank you, Chisholm. I have refined the Method through my investigations of crimes across Europe over the last ten years. Police forces across the continent have benefited from my unique approach.”

  I interrupt the professor. “But I don’t quite understand, Professor. Of all the survivors of the Titanic, what made you seek out Chisholm?”

  “Percy Spence was poisoned, we know, in his cabin aboard the Titanic. So Sir Chisholm was a natural first choice to interview. Because the quarters occupied by the Strathfarrar family, Miss Kitty and yourself, Miss Agnes, were next door to those of the Viscount.”

  I look at the professor, my eyes wide. He smiles at me.

  “You knew that, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I shudder inside, thinking back to that night, and I see our rooms in my mind’s eye. Our ‘Parlor’ cabin was opulently furnished – ‘Louis XIV style’ we were told – but cramped. I’d have liked a little less rococo decoration and a little more space. But then, it was hardly my choice. The cabin was designed for two first-class travelers with up to four servants. Blanche had the double bed in the main cabin, an extravagantly carved four-poster, and there were two bare, tiny cell-like rooms, designed for the first-class passengers’ male and female servants. Kitty and I had bunks in one of them, Chisholm used one of the bunks in the other. In addition to the sleeping accommodation, there was a bathroom, next to the door onto the corridor. The main cabin held not only Blanche’s bed but the sitting-area: Chisholm and I would play chess at the little table there, in the later part of the evenings after dinner, when Blanche would habitually complain of sea-sickness or headache and retire to rest, drawing the drapes around the bed. And I remember the carafes, exactly as Kitty described: one of water, one of wine. So, I think: that night, Chisholm and I were playing chess, just a few feet away from a murder.

  But also, there’s another incident which now comes alive in my memory. Early in the voyage, I opened our cabin door, stepped out into the corridor, and bumped bodily into the man from the next room. It was only a moment – but I saw the confident eyes, the fine lines of his nose and his brows. An aristocratic face, refined yet bold. I’m no follower of fashion, but the fine quality and cut of his clothes were evident at a glance: he was a man of taste and discrimination, a man who cared about his appearance. I saw the amusement in his face as I backed away from him, embarrassed. I blurted clumsily at him.

  “Excuse me, sir. I didn’t look where I was going.”

  “Consider yourself very much excused, madam. Charmed to meet you, even if by means of collision rather than formal introduction.”

  So that was him: Viscount Percy Spence. The man in the next cabin. He had a cheerful lightness of manner: his smile seemed to dissolve my embarrassment. I recall his exact words – “I hope, madam, that we ‘bump’ into each other again on this voyage. And if I don’t see you again, have a pleasant journey.” But he didn’t ask to be introduced, or tell me his name. He simply raised his top hat and walked away. The only time that I saw him.

  The professor continues his story. “When Chisholm and I first met at the Hotel Metropole in New York, I learned from him that he was engaged in a search for an employee of his, Kitty Murray, who had disappeared when the Titanic sank. Chisholm had already begun his enquiries, and he told me that he had heard of a young woman among the Titanic survivors who had disembarked alone from the RMS Carpathia at Chelsea Piers in Manhattan. Officials at the Piers had noticed that she seemed ill and mentally confused, and they had called for medical assistance. It was believed that this woman had been taken to one of the charity medical facilities in New York. By the time that I met Chisholm for a second time in New York, he had found Miss Kitty.”

  “Yes – I tracked her down to the Harlem Hospital in Manhattan. The hospital staff told me that she was in tolerable physical health, but that she was suffering from recurring screaming fits. Because of that, they had strongly sedated her.”

  “Indeed. When you first took me to the hospital to meet her, Chishol
m, she was able to stand and walk. But, Miss Agnes, she had the appearance of what the voodoo people of Latin America and the Caribbean call a Zombie. She had no speech, stared blankly ahead and appeared not to notice other people. All her actions, her movement, appeared automatic, not controlled by any conscious mind. She did not recognize Chisholm, and was unable to respond to human voices.”

  “It was awful to see her there, Agnes. But although she did not recognize me, and was unable to hold a conversation, she was still my employee. I decided there and then to take her along with the rest of us back to London. My business in the United States was finished, Blanche was eager to return home, and you, Agnes, had concluded your family visit to Connecticut.”

  “Yes, Chisholm – back in Connecticut, it was good to see my family again, but I had no real capacity to enjoy anything. I found it hard to answer my parents’ questions about our ordeal. I wanted to talk to them about normal things, enjoy the time with them, but I felt like I was struck dumb. My young brother Abe, he’s only sixteen, but he understood somehow, he asked me no questions. I was grateful for that. But nothing felt quite right – I felt like I wanted to start my whole visit to them all over again, maybe in a few months’ time after I could put the Titanic behind me. It was almost a relief to get