Michael Kurland - Victorian Villainy

There were no hurried footsteps up the ladder, no whispered voices from downstairs, so after a few moments we relaxed and looked around. An oil lamp on gimbals mounted to the ceiling cast a dull light around the room. It appeared to be the wheelhouse of a large vessel, with the forward windows covered with heavy drapes. There was an oversized ship’s wheel in the center, with calling pipes, and a ship’s telegraph, a chart cabinet and chart table to the rear, and various bits of nautical equipment affixed here and there throughout the room. A captain’s chair was bolted to the deck on the left, excuse me, port side, and a ship’s compass squatted alongside. A metal-strapped leather chest big enough to hold a fair sized man doubled over sat on the other side of the chair.

“A wheelhouse for a barge,” Holmes whispered. “How odd.”

“It does have an engine,” I said.

“Yes, but I doubt if it can attain a speed of greater than three or four knots. One would think that a tiller would suffice.” He took the oil lamp off its mount and began a slow inspection of the room, bending, sniffing, peering and probing at the walls, floor, and bits of apparatus scattered about. The chest was securely locked, and there seemed to be nothing else of interest in the room. After a few minutes he stood erect and put the lantern on the chart table. “This is very peculiar,” he said.

“It is indeed,” I agreed. “This is not the wheelhouse of a scow-this is the command bridge of a naval ship.”

“Say, rather, a mockup or model of it,” Holmes said. “The chart cabinet is devoid of charts, and the chart that’s pinned to this table is a Royal Navy chart of the Bay of Naples.

“Perhaps,” I suggested, “we have found the fabled Swiss navy.”

“I think not,” Holmes said. “I found this.” He held out a blue cap for my perusal. It was a British Navy seaman’s cap, and on the side the words “ H.M.S. Royal Edgar ” were embroidered in gold thread.

“The Royal Edgar is a destroyer,” I told Holmes. “ Royal Henry class. Four funnels. Six torpedo tubes. Two four-inch and eight two-inch guns. Top speed a hair under thirty knots.”

“How do you happen to know that?” Holmes asked, an undercurrent of suspicion creeping into his voice.

“I have recently done some work for the admiralty,” I explained. “I, of course, made it a point to learn the names and ratings of all of Her Majesty’s ships currently in service.”

He shook the cap in my face. “You mean they trust you to-” he paused and took a deep breath. “Never mind,” he finished. He pointed across the room. “That chest may hold something of import, but the rest of the room is devoid of interest.

“Except for the hat,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “That is very interesting.”

“I didn’t bring my lockpicks,” I said, “and if we break the chest open, we will be announcing our presence.”

“Interesting conundrum,” Holmes allowed.

It was one we never got the chance to resolve. There was a rumbling and a thudding and a screeching and the sound of voices from below. No-from the deck outside. Holmes closed the lantern and we pulled one of the curtains aside to see what was happening.

The steam launch had returned and was now tied up alongside. If the men now embarking from it saw our rowboat tied up at the stern life would get interesting over the next few minutes. But the rowboat had swung back around out of sight, and it would be an unlucky accident if they were to see it.

There was a barking of orders-in German, I noted-and the eight or ten men who had come aboard scurried about to do whatever they had come aboard to do. Three of them headed to the door in the aft deckhouse below us, and the two men inside had opened the door to greet them.

“If they come up here…,” Holmes said.

“Yes,” I said, remembering the layout of the darkened room. “There is no place to conceal ourselves.”

“Behind these curtains is the only possibility,” Holmes whispered. “And that’s not a good one.”

“Well,” I said, hearing the tramp of boots on the ladder,” it will have to do.”

We retreated to the far side of the curtains and twitched them closed scant seconds before I heard the door being opened and two-no, three-sets of footsteps entering the room.

“The lamp must have gone out,” one of them said in German. “I’ll light it.”

“No need,” another replied in the same language, the sound of authority in his voice. “All we need from here is the chest. Shine your light over there-there. Yes, there it is. You two, pick it up.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Take it down and onto the launch right away,” the imperious voice said. “This must accompany us on the train to Trieste.”

“Right away, Your Grace.” And, with a minor cacophony of thumps, bumps and groans, the chest was lifted and carried out the door. After a few seconds it was clear that His Grace had left with the chest, and we were once again alone in the room.

“Well,” I said, stepping out from behind the curtain. “Trieste. Now if we only knew-”

Holmes held his hand up to silence me. He was peering out of the window with a concentrated fury, glaring down at our recent guests as they went on deck through the downstairs door.

“What is it?” I asked.

“One moment,” he said.

For a second “his grace” turned his head, and his profile was illuminated by the lantern carried by one of the crew. Holmes staggered backward and clapped his hand to his forehead. “I was not wrong!” he said. “I knew I recognized that voice!”

“Who, His Grace?” I asked.

“He!” he said. “It is he!”

“Whom?”

“His name is Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein,” Holmes told me. “Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein and Hereditary King of Bohemia.”

“Is he indeed?” I asked. “And how do you know His Grace?”

“He employed me once,” Holmes said. “I will not speak of it further.”

“The case had nothing to do with our current, er, problem?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he assured me.

“Then I, also, shall not speak of it again.” Whatever it was, it must have affected Holmes greatly, but now was not the time to pick at old wounds. “I take it he has little use for the English?” I asked.

“He has little regard for anything British,” Holmes affirmed. “And I believe that he has no fondness for anyone except himself, and possibly members of his immediate family.”

“Truly a prince,” I said.

The last of our visitors boarded the steam launch, and it cast off and pulled away from the barge. “I wonder what prompted the midnight visit,” I said.

“Nothing good,” Holmes opined.

There was a crumping sound, as of a distant belching beneath the water, and then another, and the barge listed toward the starboard side with a great creaking and a series of snaps.

“There’s your answer,” Holmes said, as we both grabbed for the nearest support in order to remain upright. “Those were explosions. They’re scuttling this craft. She’ll be under in ten minutes, unless she breaks apart first, and then it will be faster. Much faster.”

“Perhaps we should make our exit,” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” he agreed.

We hurried down the ladder and onto the deck.

“Hilfe! Hilfen sie mir, bitte!”

The faint cry for help came from somewhere forward. “We’re coming!” I called into the dark. “Wir kommen! Wo sind Sie?”

“Ich weiss nicht. In einem dunklen Raum,” came the reply.

“‘In a dark room’ doesn’t help,” Holmes groused. “It couldn’t be any darker than it is out here.”

The barge picked that moment to lurch and sag further to starboard.