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

Mr Fry noticed Miss Norton’s eyes, bright with wonder, as she looked about the room.

‘Mr Ismay is quite proud of these suites. They are the best you will find on any liner.’

Indeed, our surroundings were most impressive. The sitting room was decorated in what Mr Fry described as Louis XVI style, with oak panelled walls. There was a large, round oak table at the centre of the room, surrounded by four thickly cushioned chairs, upholstered in a muted floral pattern. In addition, there was a corner writing table with a chair, and two other chairs. The light from a chandelier reflected off the large white moulded squares that covered the tall ceiling. It brought out the colour and intricate detail of the thick red and white carpet.

Mr Fry had removed a tray from a large cabinet and set it on an octagonal coffee table next to the sideboard. It held a flask of sherry and several fine crystal glasses. He filled four of them and handed one to each of us.

‘Perhaps you would feel more comfortable seated next to the fireplace? Or, if you would prefer, I could show you the rest of the suite?’

Miss Norton accepted Mr Fry’s offer of a tour, while Holmes, the captain and I adjourned to the private promenade running alongside the suite. The promenade was enclosed, with large screened windows that were open to the outside air. We looked out across the sea as the waves sparkled in the waning moments of twilight.

‘What sort of man is Mr Ismay?’ I asked, taking a sip of my sherry.

‘Likeable, but a perfectionist,’ said the captain. ‘He wants every last detail to be perfect and he expects everyone who works for him to feel the same way. I respect that in him, although I find it a little trying from time to time. To his credit, he respects my position as captain and does not try to run the ship. He has hardly been to the bridge at all.’

‘But can he be trusted with highly confidential information?’ asked Holmes, turning from the window and looking the captain in the eyes.

Captain Smith had just lit a cigar, and was in the process of building a cloud of blue smoke about his head. Despite the light sea breeze passing through the promenade, the cloud remained in place.

‘God knows Mr Ismay has kept enough business secrets in his time. Still, I will, as you asked, withhold particulars about the stolen documents. And, at least for the moment, I see no reason to reveal your true identity, Mr Holmes.’

‘Thank you, Captain. That will reduce the possibility of complications occurring in the future.’

We were interrupted as Mr Fry walked through the door, carrying the sherry tray. Miss Norton followed. There was a cheerful look on her face as she glanced about the promenade.

After placing the tray on a small square table, Mr Fry approached the captain.

‘Sir, if you do not require anything further, I will attend to my duties. I will, of course, tell Mr Ismay that you are here, as soon as he arrives.’

‘Thank you, Mr Fry.’ The efficient manservant made one last offer of hospitality to the rest of us, then departed.

‘Well, Miss Norton, did we miss anything?’ I asked.

‘Indeed you did,’ she said, with some satisfaction. ‘It is a huge suite. There are two bedrooms, two dressing rooms and a bathroom. It is all so beautifully decorated. And he has it all to himself, for his family saw him off when he boarded but are not travelling with him.’

Miss Norton and I sat on the settee, while Holmes and the captain settled into round-backed chairs on either side. I refilled my sherry glass, as well as those of my companions. Captain Smith, his glass still half full, declined. We sat quietly, listening to the sound of the Titanic cutting through the waves. There was little to be said. It was a time for contemplating the day’s events.

It was not long before a slender man of average height stepped through the doorway. As I had noticed from a distance in the dining hall, he was not a young man. Still, he was younger than one might expect, considering his high position. His dark moustache turned upwards as he greeted us with a smile. We rose to shake his hand.

‘Mr Ismay,’ said the captain, ‘this is Commodore Giles Winter, Doctor John Watson and Miss Norton.’

‘Yes, Commodore, it is a pleasure. I heard you were on board examining our ship for military potential in the event of war. Forgive me if I do not turn her into a troop transporter just yet. We’d like to enjoy her a little longer in her present condition.’

Holmes responded with a hearty chuckle. ‘Oh, I doubt that we would ever use her for that. There is far too much luxury here for military purposes.’

Mr Ismay smiled politely, and then turned his attention to me. ‘And Doctor Watson, I must say, I have always wanted to meet you and your associate, Mr Holmes. I sent him an invitation to a party once but I never received a reply.’

‘I must apologize for my friend. He is a very private individual, and answering letters was never his forte.’

‘In any case, I am very pleased to meet you. I have enjoyed your stories for years... And Miss Norton, I hear you liked the tour of my little cabin. This place will fetch a good price on future runs, but I felt I needed to try it out first before I recommended it to future passengers.’

‘That is indeed the only way to make sure none of the doors squeak.’

‘And, as a matter of fact, Miss Norton, none of them do.’

Mr Ismay reached down and filled a glass with sherry. Captain Smith, with introductions out of the way, got down to the matter in hand.

‘Mr Ismay, I asked Commodore Winter...’

‘I received your report about poor Bishop. What is going on on board my ship?’

The captain summarized what had happened thus far up to the questioning and release of Miss Storm-Fleming.

‘And you are sure that this woman, Miss Storm-Fleming, had nothing to do with it?’

‘We do not think she committed the murder, but she may know more than she has told us. That is why I invited the Commodore, Doctor Watson and Miss Norton here. They were assigned by the British government to transfer some highly confidential documents to the American authorities. Those papers were stolen from Miss Norton’s cabin last night.’

Mr Ismay stood there in silence, his lips parted.

‘The commodore believes that there may be some connection between Bishop’s death and the theft of the documents,’ said the captain. ‘We have no direct evidence of this but the coincidence is worth investigating.’

‘Captain, do you mean to say that there may be spies on board this ship who are running about shooting people? Do you suspect that Bishop may have been involved in all this?’

‘Nothing is certain at this point, Mr Ismay, but we are looking into all possibilities,’ said Holmes. ‘Our immediate purpose, in addition to finding Mr Bishop’s killer, is to recover the documents.’

‘And what is the nature of these papers, Commodore?’

‘I fear that I am not at liberty to go into details, Mr Ismay. But it is vital that they do not fall into the hands of a foreign power.’

Mr Ismay shook his head. ‘In the forty-five years since my father founded this company, there has never been such a scandal aboard a White Star ship... We will, of course, provide every assistance to you in recovering the documents. But I must ask you to help us in return by doing your work as discreetly as possible. I will not have the passengers on this ship alarmed. Is that understood?’

‘We will do our best, Mr Ismay,’ said Holmes. ‘The captain felt it was necessary for us to take you into our confidence at this point. And that was a reasonable request. Rest assured, we are just as concerned as you are to prevent rumours from spreading around the ship.’