Michael Kurland - Victorian Villainy

“Hilfe!”

We struggled our way to the forward deckhouse. The cry for help was coming from somewhere to the left of the door. I felt my way along the wall until I came to a porthole. “Hello!” I called inside, knocking on the glass.

“Oh, thank God,” cried the man in German. “You have found me! You must, for the love of God, untie me before this wretched vessel sinks.”

Holmes and I went in through the door and down a short length of corridor until we came to a left-hand turn.

“Ow!” said Holmes.

“What?”

I heard a scraping sound. “Wait a second,” Holmes said. “I’ve just banged my head.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“No need,” he told me. “I’ve just banged my head on a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Give me a second and I’ll have it lit.”

He took a small waterproof case of wax matches from his pocket, and in a few seconds had the lantern glowing. “Onward!” he said.

Opening the third door along the corridor revealed a short, portly man in a white shirt and dark, striped trousers and vest, tied to a large wooden chair. His exertions in trying to escape had covered his face with bands of sweat and pulled much of his shirt loose from his waistband, but his thin black tie was still properly and severely in place. “Light!” the man said. “Oh, bless you my friends, whoever you are.”

We worked at untying him as quickly as possible as the barge gave a series of alarming jerks and kicks under us and tilted ever more drastically. Now, in addition to its list to the starboard, there was a decided tilt aft.

“Thank you, thank you,” said the plump man as the rope came off his legs. “They left me here to die. And for what?”

“For what, indeed?” I replied.

“It all started…”

“Let’s wait until we’re off this vessel,” Holmes interjected, “or in a very few moments we’ll be talking under water.”

We helped our rotund comrade up, although our feet were not much steadier than his, and with much slipping and sliding we made our way along the deck. An alarming shudder ran through the vessel as we reached the stern, and we quickly lowered our new friend into the rowboat and followed him down. Holmes and I manned the oars and energetically propelled ourselves away from the sinking barge, but we had gone no more than fifteen or twenty yards when the craft gave a mighty gurgle and descended beneath the water, creating a wave that pulled us back to the center of a great vortex, and then threw us up into the air like a chip of wood in a waterfall. In a trice we were drenched and our flimsy craft was waterlogged, but by some miracle we were still in the rowboat and it was still afloat. Holmes began bailing with his cap, and our guest with his right shoe, while I continued the effort to propel us away from the area.

I oriented myself by the ever-dependable North Star, and headed toward the south east. In a little while Holmes added his efforts to my own, and we were rowing across the dark waters with reasonable speed despite our craft still being half-full of water. Our plump shipmate kept bailing until he was exhausted, then spent a few minutes panting, and commenced bailing again.

It was perhaps half an hour before we spied lights in the distance indicating that the shore was somewhere ahead of us. Half an hour more and we had nosed into a beach. A small, steep, rocky beach, but nonetheless a bit of dry land, and we were grateful. The three of us climbed out of the rowboat and fell as one onto the rough sand, where we lay exhausted and immobile. I must have slept, but I have no idea of how long. When next I opened my eyes dawn had risen, and Holmes was up and doing exercises by the water’s edge.

“Come, arise my friend,” he said-he must have been drunk with exercise to address me thus-“we must make our preparations and be on our way.”

I sat up. “Where are we off to?” I asked.

“Surely it should be obvious,” Holmes replied.

“Humor me,” I said.

“Trieste,” said Holmes. “Wherever Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein goes, there we shall go. For whatever is happening, he is the leader or one of the leaders.”

“Is it your dislike of him that speaks?” I asked. “For you have often said the same of me, and seldom was it so.”

“Ah, but on occasion…,” Holmes said. “But in this case it is my knowledge of the man. He would not be a member of any organization that did not let him be its leader, or at least believe that he is the leader, for he is vain and would be easily led himself.”

Our rotund friend sat up. “Is that English which you speak?” he asked in German.

“ Ja,” I said, switching to that language. “It is of no importance.”

“That is what those swine that abducted me spoke when they did not want me to understand,” he said, laboriously raising himself to his knees and then to his feet. “But they kept forgetting-and I understood much.”

“Good!” I said. “We will all find dry clothing for ourselves, and you shall tell us all about it.”

He stood up and offered me his hand. “I am Herr Paulus Hansel, and I thank you and your companion for saving my life.”

“On behalf of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and myself, Professor James Moriarty, I accept your thanks,” I told him, taking the offered hand and giving it a firm shake.

“I have clothing at my-oh-I don’t dare go back to my hotel.” our friend’s hands flew to his mouth. “Supposing they are there waiting for me?”

“Come now,” Holmes said. “They believe you are dead.”

“I would not disabuse them of this notion,” he said.

We walked the three or so miles back to our hotel, booked a room for Herr Hansel, and set about our ablutions and a change of clothes. We gave the concierge the task of supplying suitable garb for our rotund friend, and he treated it as though guests of the Hotel Athenes returned water soaked and bedraggled every day of the year. Perhaps they did.

It was a little after 8:00 when we met at the hotel’s restaurant for breakfast. “Now,” Holmes said, spreading orange marmalade on his croissant and turning to Herr Hansel, “I have restrained my curiosity long enough, and you may well be possessed of information useful to us. Start with what you were doing on that barge, if you don’t mind.”

Herr Hansel drained his oversized cup of hot chocolate, put the cup down with a satisfied sigh, and wiped his mustache. “That is simple,” he said, refilling the cup from the large pitcher on the table. “I was preparing to die. And were you gentlemen not on board, I most assuredly would have done so.”

“What caused your companions to treat you in so unfriendly a manner?” I asked.

“They were no companions of mine,” he replied. “I am the proprietor of the Hansel and Hansel Costume Company.” he tapped himself on the chest. “I am the second Hansel, you understand. The first Hansel, my father, retired from the business some years ago and devotes himself to apiculture.”

“Really?” asked Holmes. “I would like to meet him.”

“Certainly,” Hansel agreed. “I am sure he would like to thank the man who saved his son’s life.”

“Yes, there is that,” Holmes agreed. “Go on with your story.”

“Yes. I delivered yesterday a large order of costumes to a certain Count von Kramm at the Adlerhof.”

“Hah!” Holmes interjected. We looked at him, but he merely leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed across his chest and murmured, “continue!”

“Yes,” said Hansel. “Well, they were naval costumes. Officers and ordinary seamen’s uniforms. From shoes to caps, with insignia and ribbons and everything.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “British Royal Navy uniforms, no doubt.”