William Seil - The Furt The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - The Titanic Tragedy

‘Miss Storm-Fleming, I would not expect too much from this. As the baron said, it could simply be a prank.’

My words of caution did not seem to quell her enthusiasm.

‘I suppose so. But it is an adventure, Doctor Watson. I think that is just what this trip needed — an adventure!’

I laughed. ‘All right, then. I will attempt to provide you with one. But please do not be too disappointed if I am unsuccessful.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I continued our conversation and had a most enjoyable morning. We hardly noticed as the Titanic entered St George’s Channel on its way to Queenstown. But soon the great ship made a wide port turn, slowed and came to a complete stop near another vessel.

‘Why are we stopping?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘We have not yet reached Queenstown.’

‘I believe we are just picking up the pilot to guide us into Cobh Harbour.’

We continued to travel through the harbour until the ship stopped, once again, and lowered its anchor about two miles from shore.

‘One of the crew told me that this stop is likely to take a couple of hours,’ I said. ‘Those two tenders approaching are the America and the Ireland . They’re bringing a hundred or so second- and third-class passengers on board, along with the mail.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I moved to the rail when the tenders came alongside. There were a few passengers who were making ready to leave the ship. They had experienced the thrill of Titanic ’s maiden voyage, without paying the full trans-Atlantic fare. One of the departing passengers was a young man loaded down with photography equipment. I wondered whether he was acting in a professional capacity, or was simply an amateur.

The boarding process was more leisurely than it had been at Cherbourg. There were fewer passengers arriving in the tenders, and the crew had little difficulty directing them to their quarters. And since there were so few, if any, first-class passengers boarding at this stop, there was far less baggage for each individual.

One of the newcomers, carrying his Irish pipes, made his way quickly to the aft of the ship. Soon we heard the sound of lively Irish airs.

‘Look!’ cried Miss Storm-Fleming, suddenly. She was not gazing at the tenders, but at the skies behind the ship. Other passengers also looked excitedly in that direction.

A man had climbed to the top of the aft funnel from the inside, and was now staring over the rim. His face, blackened from soot, peered out to the Irish coast. Then, after resting his chest against the rim, he gazed down upon the passenger decks.

‘Looks like one of the stokers,’ said a junior officer, who had been standing by the rail, taking notes on the loading operations. ‘Probably some Irishman wanting to look at the Emerald Isle.’

‘How did he get up there?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘Won’t he suffocate?’

‘That fourth funnel’s a dummy. There is a ladder inside that leads up from the engine room. It is a long climb, but I suppose it is worth it for a breath of fresh Irish air.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I laughed, as did the other passengers who had gathered round. That is, all but one. An old woman with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders continued to stare upwards in silence. Slowly, she made the sign of the cross across her chest.

‘Don’t worry, madam,’ said the officer. ‘He is perfectly safe. Some of the men who work below can climb better than chimpanzees.’

The woman, suddenly conscious of the attention she was receiving, nodded with a faint smile and walked away.

We returned to the rail and watched, as sacks of mail were loaded on to one of the tenders. Soon, the anchor was raised and the engines were fired up. The Titanic was ready to head for open sea.

‘I am afraid I must ask you to excuse me,’ I said. ‘I told Commodore Winter that I would meet him for lunch.’

‘Back to the musketeers? Well, just remember, I will be looking for opportunities to steal you away!’

‘I will look forward to seeing you again,’ I responded.

I walked down the stairway and found Holmes waiting on the promenade near the restaurant. He was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.

‘Ah, Watson, good, you made it! Let us get a table. There is much I would like to accomplish this afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon, Holmes. And how have you been spending your time on board this beautiful ship?’

‘It is a wonderful vessel indeed, Watson. I was just down in one of the boiler rooms. Do you know, with a little experimentation I believe I could develop a method to identify where a sample of coal was mined, simply by running a chemical test on its ash. You see, while all coal ash may look the same, there are certain trace elements...’

I rather boldly interrupted my friend. ‘I need to tell you about a most interesting conversation I just had with a Baron Hans Von Stern. It seems his wife just received a blackmail note, and he asked me to look into the matter.’ I handed Holmes the note. ‘I declined at first, but he was very insistent. I told him I would give it some thought. Do you make anything of it?’

‘It is difficult to tell, but I would judge by the individual printing of the baroness’s name that the writer was a woman.’ Holmes removed a jack-knife from his pocket and carefully removed the word ‘Pay’ from the note. ‘And if I am not mistaken, the reverse side of this scrap of paper shows a portion of the cover of the most recent Strand Magazine . I believe an article of yours ran in that issue.’

‘It does appear to come from the Strand ... Do you think the baroness is in any danger?’

‘It is curious that the baron and his wife should receive a blackmail note after they have just boarded a ship bound for America. Why not deliver it while they are in their home country, near a bank where they keep their money. Still, it could be a genuine blackmail attempt. In any case, there is little we can do at present. Speak to the baroness and keep me informed of any new developments, and it might be wise to suggest to the baron that he contact the captain.’

‘I already have, and he declined. As far as I know, he has only told Miss Storm-Fleming and me.’

Holmes smiled. ‘I am glad to see that you are enjoying this trip so much, old friend. Well, Watson, it appears that we have made a number of other new friends on this cruise. It only seems proper that we invite them to dinner. The conversation could be very revealing. I think I will have a word with the captain about issuing some invitations. Perhaps we should meet Colonel Moriarty and Mr Bishop as well.’

‘Holmes?’

‘Six o’clock, Watson. And it will be black tie.’

Chapter Eight

THE EVENING OF THURSDAY 11 APRIL 1912

The ship’s bugler sounded a cheerful notice that only one hour remained to dress for dinner. First-class passengers began scurrying to their cabins. Those without personal maids or valets recruited stewardesses or stewards to help them through the ritual of formal dress. I had come prepared with formal attire and was just adjusting my waistcoat when Holmes knocked at my cabin door. Upon opening it, I saw Miss Norton, looking most delightful in her black evening dress, standing next to Holmes. True to form as Commodore Giles Winter, Holmes was in full dress naval uniform. Standing with calm, naval poise, he was a far cry from the energetic, often impatient master of detection I had known for so many years. But I knew that beneath the beard and uniform, the Holmes I knew was still eager to attack a new puzzle.