Michael Kurland - Professor Moriarty Omnibus

"Well, Professor," Holmes said, as they scrambled back from examining the inside of a closed boathouse through a window overhanging the water, "at least this had the negative virtue of eliminating most of the inner harbor. When we get back to the pub, we'll know hundreds of places where the craft is not."

"Perhaps our companions had better luck," Moriarty suggested. "It's about time to head back now, anyway."

"Right," Holmes said. Then he grabbed Moriarty's arm and pointed. There, in the sky in front of them, the great bulk of a tethered hydrogen balloon slowly filled the sky as the device rose higher and higher at the end of its cable.

"Interesting," Moriarty said. "Note the unusual ratio of the height of the balloon to the chord of the diameter. I would think it would cause a loss of stability, but perhaps not. I'll have to speak to Mr. Miro about that."

"That's the wave of the future, Moriarty," Holmes said, staring up at the balloon with an intent expression on his face.

"If so, it's taking a long time waving," Moriarty said dryly. "The Montgolfier brothers made the first balloon ascent one hundred and two years ago, on June fifth, seventeen eighty-three."

"Someday," Holmes said, "passenger-carrying balloons will be crossing the oceans at unheard-of speeds, linking the peoples of the world into one great hegemony, led by a just and powerful nation that flies a flag quartering the Union Jack with the Stars and Stripes."

"Why, Holmes," Moriarty said, tapping him gently on the back, "that's almost poetic."

"Come," Holmes said, "we'd better get back to the public house."

-

Twenty minutes later, they arrived back at the Royal Standard to find Barnett and Dr. Watson waiting for them. Over a hasty but excellent lunch, washed down by a fine cider, Barnett told the tale of the unsuccessful search to the south. "No submersibles," he said, "no Russians, no inaccessible areas on the dock; nothing but a lot of people enjoying the spectacle of hundreds of sails crisscrossing the bay."

"We've been going about this wrong," Holmes said. "How's that?" Moriarty asked.

"We've been on land trying to search the sea. We should be on the sea. We should hire a boat. A steam-launch."

"Excellent, Holmes!" Moriarty said. He thumped on the table. "Landlord! I say, landlord!"

The portly proprietor of the Royal Standard hurried over. "Is something the matter, gentlemen?" he asked, drying his hands on the towel tied around his ample waist.

"Not at all," Moriarty said. "A fine establishment you have here. Excellent food."

"Why, thank you, sir. Food is important to me, so I always assume it's important to my customers, too."

"And right you are," Moriarty assured him. "Now tell me something, sir; I'm sure you know what goes on in these parts better than anyone. Where could we hire a steam-launch at this particular time?"

"That's a hard one, sir," the proprietor said, screwing his face up into an attitude of concentration. "Captain Peterson's rig has been let to a party of journalists. Lowery's is still in repair; busted boiler, it has. The Blue Carbuncle is over in Cowes for the day. Hired out to a photographer, I believe. The Water Witch —why, that's right! Captain Coster was in here this morning. He's the skipper of the Water Witch. Complaining, he was, that his party what chartered the boat for the day had as of yet not shown up. That was some hours ago, but if they've not appeared yet, I'm sure he'd take you out. Are you gentlemen from a newspaper?"

"You might say," Barnett said.

"Could you direct us to this Captain Coster?" Moriarty asked.

"Nothing easier," the landlord said. "To the left as you leave and then to the right at the second crossing. The Water Witch is white with black trim and a broad red stripe on the funnel. You can't miss her."

"Thank you, sir," Moriarty said, rising from the table. "Come, gentlemen; this might be just what we need."

As they left the inn, Moriarty gave Barnett his new task. "Miro is expecting you," he said. "Try to make yourself useful to him, but not at the expense of failing to search for the submersible. Take signal rockets up with you, and make sure you have an igniter. If you sight the craft, set off a rocket. Use different colors for different directions. Let us say red, white, blue, and green for north, east, south, and west."

"Yes, sir," Barnett said. "I'll keep a careful lookout. Is the direction to be from the balloon or from the Water Witch?"

"What an excellent thought," Moriarty said. "You'll be able to keep us in sight, of course. From the Water Witch, then."

"You'd better stay with us," Holmes said, "until we're sure we get the craft."

The Water Witch was still at its mooring, and Captain Coster was only too happy to take them out. "Want to go out and watch the regatta, do you?" he asked. "I can get you in a good position for that, although I daren't get too close. They'll have my license for sure if I interfere with the race."

"We just want to stay in the harbor for now," Moriarty told him. "There's a particular boat we're looking for and we want to cruise around and see if we can find her." He swung around to Barnett. "We're settled here. You'd better go off to Miro. We'll be looking for your signal."

"Okay," Barnett said. He trotted off down the wharf.

Captain Coster built up a head of steam in the Water Witch and they headed across the harbor toward Gosport Town on the far side. There they gradually made their way around the curve of the shore, pulling alongside every wharf and jetty to peer into boathouses, hulks, sheltered moorings, and anything else that looked like a possible hiding-place for the forty-foot steel cigar.

After two hours' futile searching, they crossed back and resumed the hunt on the Portsmouth side. Dr. Watson kept his eyes on the tethered balloon, as they worked their way toward it and again away from it. Captain Coster pulled the Water Witch as close as he could to the various objects they wanted to examine, and Holmes and Moriarty took turns leaping aboard a variety of boats, barges, and assorted flotsam that graced the harbor and could provide shelter, however unlikely, for the Garrett-Harris. What Captain Coster thought of this, he didn't say. He was obviously used to the odd requests of his paying passengers.

It was five o'clock when the Victoria and Albert steamed into the harbor and stopped at its spot at one end of the finish line. Several small Navy steam cutters took positions around the Royal Yacht, presumably to fend off overenthusiastic sightseers. On the upper deck, a stout somber woman dressed in black sat alone under a canopy and wrote in her diary.

There was no sign of the submersible.

TWENTY-TWO — EARTH, AIR, FIRE, AND WATER

Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing.

— Harold Edwin Boulton

Disgraceful," Captain Coster said, puffing away on the thin black rope he called a cigar.

"What's that?" Moriarty asked.

"Them barge captains. They have no regard for any of the rest of us. They're so used to being pushed about they can't even take the responsibility of properly mooring their barges. Look at that one now, come adrift. I'll have to notify the port director when we dock, and he'll have to send a tug to pick her up."

"Does it happen often?" Moriarty asked, staring speculatively at the drifting barge.

"All too," Captain Coster said. "Although usually only when the beggars are empty. This one has a full load of coal, I notice. Some colliery is going to be delighted if she smashes up on the Head or beaches herself."

Holmes, who had been considering the barge carefully, came over to Moriarty. "Look closely at that craft," he said. "Does anything strike you?"