The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  Miss Norton too showed some creativity in avoiding the subjects of her government job and the prominent role her mother had once played in one of Holmes’s adventures. Instead, she spoke of her education, and her plans to find adventure in life before settling down. I was able to remain truthful on most counts, except for my reasons for being on board.

  ‘Tell me, Doctor Watson, are you writing any more stories about your friend, Mr Holmes? I believe I’ve read nearly all of them, and look forward to future adventures.’

  ‘In answer to your question, Miss Storm-Fleming, since Holmes retired, I have done little writing about his adventures. From time to time I dig out my notes to a past case and prepare a manuscript. But these days, my time is mostly occupied in writing historical novels.’

  ‘Historical novels. How interesting,’ Miss Storm-Fleming said. ‘In what period?’

  ‘My latest effort takes place during the Boer War.’

  ‘I would like to read it when it is finished.’

  ‘I will send you a copy. Meanwhile, please remind me to give you one of my more recent works before we leave the ship.’

  ‘That would be most appreciated. And you will inscribe it, of course.’

  ‘If you wish.’

  She smiled, confirming her request, and turned her attention to Holmes. ‘Tell me, Commodore, have you read any of Doctor Watson’s work?’

  ‘Oh, I do quite a lot of reading when I am out at sea. I know I have read that one about the Beast of the Baskervilles. Some of the shorter stories too.’

  ‘What did you think of them?’

  ‘Well-written little yarns. Quite up to the mark.’

  ‘As a navy man, there were a couple of stories, I imagine, that were especially interesting to you. Let me think...’ Miss Storm-Fleming put her hand to her forehead. ‘You may have to help me Doctor Watson... There was The Naval Treaty, about a stolen government document, and just a few years ago there was The Bruce-Partington Plans, about some stolen submarine drawings. Did you read either of those?’

  ‘I cannot admit that I did. But I must ensure that I do before I make my next voyage.’

  Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes were fixed on Holmes. Fortunately, he had the makings of a great poker player. The mention of submarine plans did not cause him to change his expression. I wondered whether Miss Norton and I had displayed a similar lack of interest.

  When the dessert tray came by, Miss Norton and I pointed our selections out to the waiter. Holmes and Miss Storm-Fleming declined the offer of sweets and ordered coffee. We continued our conversation as the Titanic slowly made its way to Cherbourg, France, where it was due to pick up 200 to 300 additional passengers. After we had finished our dessert, Holmes pushed his chair back from the table and looked at his watch. ‘It is half past six. We appear to be dropping anchor. Would anyone care to go on deck and take a look? It is too dark to get much of a view of the coast, but we will be able to see the lights of the city.’

  As we rose, Miss Storm-Fleming pulled her watch from her handbag and double-checked the time. She then excused herself, saying she would prefer to go back to her cabin and rest.

  ‘It has been a wonderful evening,’ Miss Storm-Fleming said. ‘I have enjoyed meeting all of you... I expect we will meet later, Doctor Watson. And please do not forget that book you promised me.’

  We wished her a pleasant evening and made our way to the boat deck. This afforded us a high vantage point for watching the arrival of new passengers.

  The sun had set and the faint afterglow of daylight was fading. The Titanic was fully illuminated with electric lights, and must have made an impressive sight from shore.

  Cherbourg was a deep-water port protected by a long sea-wall. One of its most charming features was a walkway that jutted out into the harbour, leading to a small lighthouse. Unfortunately, the harbour did not have docking facilities to handle ships as large as the Titanic. Instead, two tenders were used to shuttle passengers to the ship. Nomadic, the larger of the two vessels, carried first- and second-class passengers. Third-class passengers were transported on the Traffic.

  ‘An interesting lady, your friend Miss Storm-Fleming,’ Holmes said, as we stood at the rail. ‘I hope that she does not turn out to be an agent of a foreign power.’

  In my mind, I knew that Holmes was right to raise the question. But in my heart, I resented his suggestion that Miss Storm-Fleming might be guilty of such a crime. ‘I will have to admit, that reference to submarine plans was a bit suspicious. But it could simply have been a casual comment. We were discussing your adventures.’

  ‘Remember,’ Miss Norton said, ‘that it was Miss Storm-Fleming who brought up the subject of your articles to begin with.’

  ‘She was simply asking me about my work. That is a perfectly reasonable topic for conversation, especially since she is obviously familiar with my writings on Holmes’s adventures.’

  ‘Her voice is clearly American,’ Holmes said. ‘I pride myself in identifying speech mannerisms. While she has an urbane quality — no doubt from her extensive travels — I found no strain of German or any other foreign tongue. She could, of course, be in the pay of some foreign power...’

  ‘All I’m suggesting, Holmes, is that we be cautious, but give the lady a chance. After all, there is no evidence as yet.’

  ‘And then there’s the matter of her watch,’ Holmes continued.

  ‘What about her watch?’

  ‘Everything she wears — her dress, her jewelry — suggests elegance. That is, except for her watch. It is of a simple design—it is not even a lady’s watch. It is, however, the product of a Swiss company that is known for making highly accurate timepieces. Now, why should a lady of leisure choose such a watch?’

  ‘Perhaps it belonged to her late husband,’ I suggested.

  ‘That’s entirely possible. Or perhaps she has a fear of missing trains. In any case, it is unusual and therefore well worth noting.’

  We looked below as passengers began to leave the Nomadic and make their way up the ramp to board the Titanic. After having been delayed by the Titanic’s late arrival, the new passengers appeared as though they might be tired, hungry and a little bit impatient.

  ‘Stay here and make sure that every bit of my baggage makes its way to my quarters,’ requested one middle-aged woman, as she led an entourage of servants across the ramp.

  ‘It appears that it will be some time before her porter gets his dinner,’ I told Holmes, with a sympathetic chuckle.

  Holmes did not reply. His eyes were fixed on the deck of the Nomadic. ‘Watson, the man in black on the deck of the tender...do you recognize him?’

  I looked into the yellow glow of the Nomadic’s deck and, after a short time, was able to pick out the man Holmes had described. ‘I am unable to see him at all well. Do you know who he is?’

  Holmes remained silent until the man made his way on to the ramp. ‘Do you see him now, Watson? Do you not recognize him? It’s Moriarty!’

  For a moment I was concerned that my dear friend, Holmes, might be losing his mind. Miss Norton, also amazed by what she had heard, nearly dropped her bag over the side.

  ‘Holmes, Professor Moriarty has been dead for more than twenty years!’ I exclaimed. ‘What in heaven’s name are you talking about?’

  ‘Not Professor James Moriarty, Watson. The man coming on board is Colonel James Moriarty — the late professor’s brother.’

  I took another look at the figure in black. He assumed an erect military posture as he walked across the ramp with the rest of the crowd. From time to time, his head shifted up and down, and from side to side, as he examined the ship and his fellow passengers.

  ‘I do believe you are right, Holmes. It is indeed the colonel. What the devil is he doing here?’

  ‘Two brothers named James?’ Miss Norton asked, in somewhat sceptical tones.

  ‘Yes,’ said Holmes. ‘It shows a sad lack of imagination on the part of their parents. I never was able to deduce how the professor
turned out to be so brilliant.’

  ‘Holmes, do you suppose he still blames you for his brother’s death. I recall the letters he wrote to the press after the Reichenbach Falls affair. They were a distortion of the facts.’

  ‘I do not know, Watson. As far as I have been able to determine, forgiveness has never been a Moriarty family trait. In any case, it appears that my modest disguise is about to be put to the test.’

  Chapter Five

  THE LATE EVENING OF WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL 1912

  The Titanic had left Cherbourg shortly after eight o’clock. Its next stop would be Queenstown, in southern Ireland, late the next morning. After that, our trans-Atlantic crossing would begin.

  Miss Norton returned to her cabin, while Holmes and I walked down to the smoking room on promenade deck A. It was a pleasant room in which to end the evening. The walls were panelled in mahogany, with mother-of-pearl inlay. There were stained-glass windows along most of the outer wall, and a large, open fireplace, with a painting hanging over the mantel. A cloud of smoke filled the room, mingling the aroma of various fine blends of tobacco. While women were not strictly forbidden from entering the smoking room, it was respected by the ladies as a retreat for gentlemen.

  The room was crowded with men, still in evening attire, sipping drinks and engaged in casual conversation. Some were not so casual, as they sat around tables, intently looking at the playing cards that were fanned out in their hands. At least one of the games appeared to be for high stakes.

  I had read the notice about professional gamblers, which had been circulated with the passenger list. Card-sharps were common on trans-Atlantic liners. Passengers with a lot of money and little to do could easily be lured into a game. The steamship companies discouraged these high-stake games, but did not prohibit them. They did not want to get involved in policing gambling on their ships.

  Holmes and I stood beside one of the tables for a few moments, watching the four men play their hands. The centre of the table was filled with chips, indicating that the hand was well under way. Holmes tapped me on the shoulder and motioned to a tall man with a thin moustache. As we walked away from the table, my friend said quietly, ‘That man is cheating.’

  I looked back in astonishment. ‘What! How do you know? I saw nothing unusual.’

  ‘He clearly has more cards in his sleeve than he does in his hands.’ Indeed, the man, who later that evening was identified to me as Hugo Brandon, appeared to be winning handsomely.

  ‘Holmes, we must report this at once!’

  ‘No, Watson. There is more at stake on this voyage than the gambling losses of a few men. We dare not draw attention to ourselves. However, I will alert Captain Smith to the situation when we meet him tomorrow.’

  ‘We’ll be meeting the captain?’

  ‘Yes, more of a courtesy than anything else. He’s been more than helpful in assisting Miss Norton. And as captain, he is responsible for the safety of this ship. He would like to be kept informed on what is happening and who is involved. Mycroft has assured me that the captain is a man of the highest character and can be trusted.’

  We walked to the fireplace, where a group of men, some seated and some standing, were involved in a conversation. The fire was crackling, causing the brandy glasses resting on the centre of the table to sparkle. From this closer vantage point, I was able to read the inscription on the painting, Plymouth Harbour.

  A young man with a boyish face and an old man with a fluffy white beard were the centre of attention. They were engaged in a lively debate, and the contrast in their styles was striking. The younger man was somewhat formal — forceful in making his point, but careful not to offend. The bearded man was stronger, and much more colourful in his language. By questioning the passenger next to me, I learned that the young man was Thomas Andrews, managing director of Harland & Wolff, the giant ship-building company. Andrews was one of the main designers of the Titanic. He was debating with a very formidable opponent — William Thomas Stead, a journalist and editor, who was travelling to America to address a peace conference at the request of President William Howard Taft.

  I was familiar with Stead’s illustrious career. For many years, he had been a crusader for various causes. Perhaps my memory was jogged by our ocean voyage, but I particularly remembered a story he had written about a fictional voyage to the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893. It took place during a trans-Atlantic crossing on the White Star liner Majestic. In it, a clairvoyant passenger had visions of survivors from the wreck of another vessel, which had foundered after striking an iceberg. It concluded with the Majestic rescuing the survivors. Stead had a reputation for investigating psychic phenomena and consulting mediums.

  ‘Twenty-five years ago — twenty-five years ago, Mr Andrews — I was warning the public about the shortage of lifeboats on these liners,’ Stead said, waving his arms for emphasis. ‘If anything, the problem has become worse, not better. The ships have grown larger and larger, but the number of lifeboats has remained the same. What do you have to say to that?’

  Andrews leaned forward and chose his words with deliberation. ‘I would say, Mr Stead, that you have overlooked the enormous progress that has been made in the engineering of large ships, and the important safety features that have been incorporated into the newer vessels, like the Titanic.’

  ‘Are you saying it is unsinkable, then? I have read about all the boasting that has been going on.’

  ‘No, of course not. No ship is unsinkable. But I’d go so far as to say that this ship is as close to being unsinkable as any vessel can be.’ Andrews looked at the passengers who were gathered around, wondering perhaps whether they were being shaken by this discussion. Their expressions ranged from interest to outright amusement.

  Andrews continued. ‘Let me explain. This ship has sixteen watertight compartments down below — all with doors that can be closed from the bridge. It can remain afloat with any two of the compartments flooded, or any three of the first five flooded. Even in the unlikely event we had a head-on collision and flooded the first four compartments, we still would not sink.’

  ‘But you did not answer my question,’ said Stead, his voice filled with challenge and impatience. ‘What if one of these big liners does go down, and there are not enough lifeboats for everyone on board. What do you do then?’

  ‘Well, to begin with, all our liners have a sufficient number of lifeboats to meet Board of Trade...’

  ‘Board of Trade! Those regulations are archaic. Besides, the Board of Trade is in the pocket of the ship owners.’

  ‘And even if a serious accident did happen, a modern ship could remain afloat for many hours — perhaps even days — before it went down. In these busy shipping lanes, that is plenty of time to signal another vessel and ferry the passengers over in lifeboats.’

  This seemed to reassure the passengers who were listening to the debate, but not Stead.

  ‘Competition,’ Stead said. ‘That is all it is, competition between the lines. You do not want to take up room on deck with lifeboats, when you can fill it with walkways and amusements for passengers. All you people care about is packing these things with paying customers.’

  Andrews rose from his chair, showing anger for the first time. Still, he retained his composure as he spoke.

  ‘Mr Stead, let me assure you that safety is — and always has been — the first concern of Harland & Wolff. If I were not fully convinced of that, I would not be working for them. Now you may think what you like, but I must ask you not to spread unnecessary fears among the passengers. Wait until you are ashore, then you can write whatever you like in the newspapers. But please do not spend this entire voyage disturbing our guests with your stories.’

  Stead took a deep breath and turned away. Andrews, realizing that he would not be getting a reply, wished the others good night and departed.

  Stead chuckled and looked to the men who remained gathered around the fire. Some appeared as though they were about to make a graceful exit. ‘You kno
w, I’ve always enjoyed a good argument,’ Stead said. ‘But I keep forgetting that some people do not. I hope he did not take it personally. Well, I will make sure I buy him a friendly drink before we reach New York...unless, of course, the ship sinks first.’

  Everyone laughed and was put back at ease. Stead went on to tell a most fascinating fable about an Egyptian mummy, which carried a curse that brought sickness, death and destruction to anyone who possessed it. The Egyptian, Stead postulated, must have suffered greatly before his death, because his image on the sarcophagus carried a look of fear and anguish. The curse continued to this day, despite efforts over the years to exorcize the evil spirit lingering in the Egyptian’s remains.

  There was a short silence after Stead finished his story. It was broken by lighthearted comments. Some suggested relatives or business competitors to whom they would like to send the mummy.

  Holmes was standing quietly, staring into the fire. I nudged him with my elbow and said, ‘A remarkable story, do you not agree?’

  ‘Yes, Watson, very enjoyable... Well, my old friend, may I buy you a brandy? We could sit back and discuss old times.’

  ‘Holmes, you’ve never shown an interest in reminiscing before.’

  ‘Then, perhaps, it is time that I did. What do you say?’

  Holmes was in a rare mood. I could not recall the last time I had seen him so sombre. He was not the type to take ghost stories seriously.

  ‘I would be delighted. Lead the way, Commodore.’

  We sat there for some time and had a most enjoyable conversation — one that brought back many happy memories.

  Chapter Six

  THE MORNING OF THURSDAY 11 APRIL 1912

  Captain Edward John Smith was affectionately referred to as ‘E J’ by regulars on White Star’s trans-Atlantic runs. He was a big man with a grey beard and a firm, autocratic disposition. While strict with his crew, he was considered fair and was well liked. In addition to being an experienced seaman, he was a good host. His hospitality and congenial, soft-spoken manner had drawn a loyal following of regular passengers over the years.