“Prepare to come about!” called the Captain.
The old sailors rose and sauntered to their places.
“Ready when you are,” shouted the senator.
We were headed directly toward a gap between two massive outcrops of rock that could not have been more than thirty yards apart. I grabbed on to my jib sheet and held my breath, letting it out only after we had sailed smartly between Scylla and Charybdis as if they did not exist. As soon as they were passed, the order was given and we turned a sharp ninety degrees to the south. That was followed by another tack that sent us around an enormous boulder and then back on to our westward course. Twenty minutes and five course changes later, we were back in the open water of the English Channel and aiming for the northern edge of the Scilly Islands.
By the time we sailed past Lion Rock, the sun was low on the western horizon and the gentle constant evening breeze and the night swells had moved across the water. We would cross the Celtic Sea at night, dead reckoning our way to the southern coast of Ireland. By first light we should be somewhere near the Fastnet Rock.
Miss Molly had prepared us an excellent supper and we sat around on the deck entranced by the setting sun, the appearance of Venus, followed by the stars of the summer triangle, and the unmatched sensation of the gentle breath of Zephyr ruffling our hair and caressing our faces.
Dinner done, the bottle of rum came out.
Some men, when they start into their cups become jovial. Some become morose. Others still cease to speak and turn, taciturn, into their hidden inner souls. Sadly, there are a few who get nasty and pugnacious. The senator from California was from the last group. What had started out as an evening of utmost serenity soon gave signs of degenerating into a highly unpleasant conversation. To this day I do not know whom I should still be more angry at; the senator for ruining the atmosphere, or Sherlock Holmes for taking the bait, unable to resist the urge to show off his brilliance.
“So, Sherlock Holmes,” began the senator. “I’ve read some things about you. Quite the egghead, they say.”
“I am sure I have been called much worse,” Holmes replied.
“They say you can tell all sorts of things about a fellow just by looking at him.”
“That has been said.”
“Well then, young master Holmes, let’s see how smart you really are. How much can you tell me about me? Go ahead. Give it your best try.”
“Tom,” interrupted Dr. Jackson. “That is really not necessary.”
“It is necessary,” snapped the senator. “As far as I am concerned this bloke’s a charlatan. I’m betting all his so-called brilliance is no more than a few parlor tricks. So, c’mon master Sherlock. Tell me what you know about me. I lay down five pounds that you haven’t observed a single thing beyond what you’ve been told by Victor. Five pounds, master Sherlock. Are you game, or not?”
“Tom,” this time said by Reverend John. “That is not a good idea. You’re a bit drunk and you know how you get. Let’s not do anything you’ll regret.”
“What?” he shouted back. “Regret losing a fiver? It wouldn’t be the first time, but I’m not going to lose. I’m going to win if this Mister Detective has the spine to take me up on my wager.”
I was prepared to dig into my pocket and find a five pound note to give to Holmes with the direction that he should just hand it over to the older man, take a loss, and not make a fuss when, to my eternal dismay, Holmes rose, walked over to Senator Tom and laid a note beside his.
“I accept.”
Something was telling me that this was not a good idea. Bad things were about to happen.
“Ha!” said the senator, and he tossed back another shot of rum. “A proud young fool about to be parted from his money. I love wagers against fools. So, get on with it, young fellow. Tell me my story.”
Holmes, in what I can only admit was his insufferable arrogance, leaned back and slowly lit his pipe and gave a long slow puff, before responding.
“You are an imposter.”
Chapter Six
The Night Turns Hostile
WHAT HAD BEGUN as a delightful night on the Celtic Sea immediately changed to one of tension and hostility.
“Am I now?” said the senator. “Those are fighting words, lad, so you better back them up on the double before I come over and punch your lights out.”
Holmes took another puff and turned to Victor.
“Victor, tell the senator how old you are.”
Victor was at a loss but mumbled, “What? Thirty-two. Why?”
“And how old were you when your father and his friends came back to England from America?”
“Three. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“So that means that all of these chaps have been in England since the year 1852. That is simple arithmetic, is it not?”
No one answered. We were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“You claim, sir,” Holmes said to the senator, “to have served two terms in the state legislature of California. I am sorry to have to inform you that California was not incorporated as a state within the United States of America until 1851. There was no senate prior to that time in which you could have been a senator. Wherever you were doing the years before you came back to England, you were not in Sacramento serving in elected office.”
The light had now gone from the sky and all we had to see by was a storm lantern that hung from the boom. But in the faint light I could see an angry cloud covering the face of the senator. Fortunately, the reverend intervened.
“Ha! He got you on that one, Tom. You’re right, Mister Holmes, Tom was not a true senator. It was more like a councilor in some town along the west coast. But if a man wants a high and mighty title in the classless society of America, then senator is as good as it comes. So Tom’s our senator, aren’t you Tom? C’mon there mate, he got you on that one, so slide over the fiver.”
There was a round of claps and ha-ha’s directed by the men to the not-quite-senator and he shrugged and handed over his note to the chap next to him so that it could be passed along to Holmes.
Holmes should have stopped there. He did not.
“Thank you, sir,” he said to Reverend John. “I would say ‘thank you, reverend’ except for the fact that you are likewise an imposter and are not nor have ever been a member of the Methodist clergy.”
“Really,” bellowed Tom, now becoming belligerent. “You’re insulting my friend, Holmes. Now you better take back those words and apologize if you know what’s good for you.”
“What would be good,” said Holmes, “is that a Methodist minister would have a least a passing knowledge of the great hymns of his church. On several occasions, I have whistled the hymns of Charles Wesley within earshot of our supposed clergyman and there was not the least flash of recognition. You may, sir,” he said, now to Mr. John, “have darkened the door of a church from time to time, but you have never been a man of the cloth. And sir, I would wager a fiver on that one.”
John Wesley Jefferson leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.
“You have me as well, young man. But, I must say, this is getting interesting. Why don’t you keep going on the rest of us?”
Holmes took the bait yet again and turned to Dr. Jackson Harrison.
“Sir, you are posing as a learned man, a doctor of philosophy. Yet on Tuesday I raised a toast to you, uttered a well-known Latin phrase, and you responded with a smile and wished me the same.”
“I remember so doing.”
“What I said to you, sir, might be best translated as ‘go to hell’ and you were not in the least offended. That would lead me to believe that either you are a most tolerant gentleman with an uncanny knowledge of the coast of southwest England, or that you are someone else entirely and do not know a single word of the classical language.”
Without giving the chap a chance to reply, he then turned to Sir Monroe.
“Sir Monroe, when agreeing to come on board this b
oat I pledged to you the service and loyalty of Suleiman. Anyone who is truly a Knight of Malta knows that Suleiman the Magnificent was not your friend. The Turk was your sworn enemy and almost eliminated your order from the earth during the Great Siege of Malta. And yet you smiled and thanked me.”
Finally, he turned to the Captain.
“Captain Trentacost, you are the father of my friend and have generously extended your hospitality to me in the past, for which I thank you. I will refrain from any unmasking if you so desire.”
“You’ve come too far, Sherlock,” Captain Trentacost replied. “You may as well keep going. The truth will out soon enough after what you have already said. My son is now a full-grown man and it’s about time he learned the truth of his father’s early life. So proceed.”
Holmes turned to Victor with a questioning look. Victor shrugged his shoulders and nodded.
“May as well.”
“Very well, then. Victor informed me that your occasionally odd way of pronouncing your words was a result of your living in Brooklyn whilst serving as a captain in America’s merchant marine. That, sir, is not likely the case. Your accent and syntax betray a boyhood spent not in England but in Italy; most likely in Sicily. Unlike your friends, you have not adopted a name composed of one borrowed from American presidents or famous clergy. You have kept your own and anglicized it. Trentacosta is a common family name in Sicily. Trentacost is not an English name at all and there is no family history of that name in any part of Norfolk. You clearly have excellent navigational skills to the point of expert knowledge of the shoals, reefs, and rocks off of England’s coast. I suspect strongly that it is there that you acquired your sailing experience and not on the east coast of America.”
Holmes now leaned back, looking quite smug and self-satisfied.
“Do you, Captain, or any of you wish to contradict me? No? I rather thought so. And would you like me to continue?”
Nothing was said. His question met with glares of animosity.
“Very well, then. I will take your silence as consent and continue. It is a common practice amongst navy men to put a tattoo of the first ship on which they served on their upper arms. When you removed your shirts and took a swim, I could see that those of you in the water had such tattoos. However, on the underside of all your wrists is a smaller tattoo, again of a ship, a schooner. I had glimpses of this ship on all of you and most clearly whilst you were swimming. The ribbon under the ship reads Glorious. According to Jane’s, there has never been a ship of the line, or a supply ship, or a vessel in the English merchant marine by that name.
“On the other hand, there was a schooner called Glorious that sailed off the southwest coast of England during the years of 1840 to 1845. The annals of crime record that it carried out numerous highly successful pirate attacks on merchant boats and private yachts for several years. The press called the villains the gentlemen pirates because of their practice of never harming the crews or passengers of the boats they apprehended or doing any damage to the vessels. Possibly that was a result of the pirates all having soft hearts and the crews’ claiming to be orphans, but more likely it was good business practice, knowing that if you were able to capture a boat once, you could capture it again the following year, and there are reports of one boat having been taken three times.”
“Four,” came the sharp comment from Sir Monroe.
“I stand corrected, sir,” said Holmes. “Truly, these pirates were astute businessmen. Unfortunately, Lloyds became tired of paying for the losses and demanded that the Royal Navy put an end to this nonsense. Whereupon, the pirates wisely sailed across the Atlantic and began to ply their trade in the waters off New England and all the way south to Virginia. They became increasingly specialized in their craft. They ignored large American vessels that might have armed militia on board and concentrated on the yachts of the rich and shameless, of whom there are many on the east coast of America. Rich bankers, industrialists, and occasional politicians were kidnapped and held for ransom. They were surprisingly easy targets and the amount demanded for their safe return was always within the reach of their bank accounts. It proved to be highly successful venture and some in the press who covered the crimes claimed that in excess of one million dollars was extracted over a five-year period.”
“Nonsense!” snapped Sir Monroe. All heads turned and looked at him. He ran his hand across his bald head and grinned. “It was more than two million.” His colleagues chuckled and nodded.
“Again, sir, I stand corrected,” said Holmes. “Allow me to continue. In the fall of 1851 there was a hurricane off the Atlantic coast and many ships and lives were lost. The wreck of the Glorious washed up on the Chesapeake shore and it was concluded that all on board had perished at sea. There were, although, persistent rumors that the crew had escaped, and sightings of them were reported first in Ocean City and later in Baltimore. And then all trace of them vanished.
“If my memory serves me correctly,” Homes went on, “the names of the gentlemen pirates were …” Here he paused, closed his eyes and joined his hands in front of his chin, with the fingertips pressed together. “Ah, yes. I believe that they were Samuel White, Henry Longbough, Fredrick Yeats, Hyman Whitley, and Victor Emmanuel Trentacosta. Other than the Captain, I do not know which of you is which, but you might wish to introduce yourselves.”
He was positively grinning and turned and faced each of the men in the order that they were seated on the deck. For several minutes, there was no reply. We sailed on in silence. Finally, Reverend John spoke.
“Young man,” he said, “you are too clever by half for your own good. You have unmasked us and uncovered a secret that we have carefully guarded for three decades. In doing so, you have become a threat to the continued enjoyment of our pleasant lives. When you boarded this boat, you did so as our friend. I fear you have now become our enemy and we shall have to decide amongst ourselves what to do with you.”
From his pocket, he withdrew a revolver and pointed it at Holmes. Sir Munroe and Senator Tom also pulled out guns and waved them in Holmes’s direction.
Holmes was unflappable. “Permit me, sir to correct you. I may be your best friend in the world at this moment. Your true enemies will be waiting for you on the dock in Plymouth when you complete the race, ready to arrest you, transport you back to America and send you to one of their federal prisons if not the gallows.”
He paused, enjoying the dramatic effect his words had had.
“The careful efforts you claim to have made to keep your secret were not sufficient. You have, in fact, been rather careless. So much so that rumors of your pleasant life here in England have continued to float back to America. Three months ago, as I am sure you are aware, Lloyds and The Hartford combined their forces and issued a reward for information leading to your arrest. Bringing you to justice even after so many years will have a deterrent effect on any who have thoughts of repeating your success. You all now have a price on your heads. You do know that, do you not?”
Heads nodded in silence. Holmes carried on.
“And I also assume that you are familiar with the Pinkerton Detective Agency?”
That question brought attention looks of apprehension.
“The three American gentlemen who were staying at the same inn as we are did not once this past week get on a boat. They were busy all week chatting with people. By Saturday they were watching the group of you very closely. On Saturday evening, they met with your local crew and I assure you that it was not to hire them as sailors. I strongly suspect that it was to warn them that on Sunday morning they would be arresting you and impounding this boat and that your crew should best not be anywhere nearby or have any further connection to any of you if they knew what was good for them. What those American chaps did not expect was that you would Shanghai the three of us and push off into the water at such an early hour.
“I will wager any one of you,” Holmes now announced, “a fiver each, that those Pinkertons will be standing on the
pier in Plymouth, accompanied likely by Scotland Yard, and will escort you to your fate as soon as you step off this boat.”
Not one of them took up his offer. After several moments of silence, Senator Tom spoke quietly.
“Mr. Holmes, it would be good if you, the doctor, Victor and Miss Molly retreated down into the cabin for an hour or so. My friends and I need to have a meeting and I do not think you should be part of it.”
The night under the moon and stars, with the warm sea breeze wafting over me was as close to paradise as can be found anywhere in England, and I did not relish the prospect of spending the next hour or several hours cooped up in a stuffy cabin. I was about to voice my objection when Holmes, to my surprise, rose and descended the stairs. Victor followed him and so did the young cook. I was not in a good humor as I joined the three of them.
Chapter Seven
Confined Below the Deck
“WELL, HOLMES,” I said after the cabin door closed behind us. “This is a fine mess you got us in to. If you hadn’t been so eager to show off, we might still be out there and no one the wiser.”
Holmes was about to reply to my obvious anger when Victor put his hand on Holmes’s arm, indicating his request for Holmes to remain silent.
“John,” said Victor, “he did it for me.”
“What do you mean?” I demanded.
“I have known for many years that there was some dark secret in my father’s past. I would have died of shame and humiliation had he been arrested, tried in court and then hanged for his crimes of decades ago. Now he has an opportunity to escape and disappear. I know it seems like an unnecessary display of Sherlock’s brilliance, but I assure you, I am humbly grateful.”
He then turned to Holmes and quietly said, “Thank you, my friend.”
Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Five: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition Page 14