The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes

by William Seil

  Strickley was a big man, about six feet, six inches tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His hands clenched the handle of his shovel, which he held level with his waist.

  ‘What you talkin’ about? I ain’t been near Bell since before I got these scratches early this morning.’

  ‘One of your fellow shipmates told him about them,’ I interjected. ‘Apparently he was quite concerned about your health.’

  ‘Well, I don’t need a doctor. I cleaned it up myself. I get cuts like this all the time, and none of them killed me yet. Just fell into some metal, that’s all.’

  ‘You know, there was an elderly woman in first class who said she scratched an intruder in her cabin last night, someone with a beard like yours,’ Holmes said, glaring into the man’s frightened eyes. I kept my eyes on the shovel, ready to fend off any attack against Holmes or myself.

  ‘Well, I wasn’t nowhere near first class, and old ladies cannot see in the dark!’

  ‘Who said anything about it being dark?’ said Holmes.

  ‘If you want to make any charges, go take it up with your friend, Bell! Meanwhile, stay out of my way!’ With that, Strickley stormed through a doorway towards the forward end of the ship.

  Holmes and I were the centre of attention, as we stood among the stokers, who had lost all interest in shovelling coal. ‘Well, Holmes,’ I said quietly, ‘it appears that Mr Strickley is a very likely suspect.’

  ‘Yes, I think I will ask the captain to arrange a meeting with our excitable stoker under more friendly conditions. Unless he is prepared to jump ship, there is nowhere he can hide.’

  Chapter Eleven

  LUNCHTIME ON FRIDAY 12 APRIL 1912

  ‘Most satisfactory, Miss Norton, most satisfactory.’

  These words of support from Holmes did a world of good for our young companion. For the first time since the plans were stolen, I saw her smile. The colour was returning to her face, and her enthusiasm for finding our adversaries, and the plans, was renewed.

  The three of us were sitting in the restaurant enjoying a splendid lunch. Or, should I say, I was enjoying this fine meal. I had finished my grilled mutton chops and was encouraging the last of my peas on to my fork. Holmes, during the entire meal, had been sitting back in his chair, listening intently to Miss Norton. Neither of them had touched their food.

  The restaurant was not even half full. It was a little late for lunch, and most of the passengers had already finished their meals and gone on to other leisurely pursuits. Several tables away, Mr and Mrs Futrelle were having a quiet lunch together.

  ‘I’m very glad that you found my report useful, Mr Holmes.’ She cut into her meat for the first time. ‘But you and Doctor Watson deserve the prize for the most progress. When will we have the opportunity to speak to Mr Strickley?’

  ‘I have informed the captain of our encounter this morning, and he will notify us when our secretive stoker is available for questioning. But do not underrate the information you have gathered. Strickley is just a pawn in this game. You have supplied some interesting new pieces to the puzzle.’

  Miss Norton had spent the morning casually chatting with our dinner companions from Thursday night. She was able to draw from each of them some explanation of their whereabouts at the time of the theft.

  The baron and baroness said they had returned to their cabin early. Moriarty was in the first-class smoking room, having a drink with friends. Bishop, who was off duty, said he went to his cabin to read, after taking a walk on the deck. Mr and Mrs Futrelle spent the evening in the reception room, off the first-class dining room, listening to the ship’s band. Brandon said he was having a private card game in his cabin, but would not reveal the names of the other players. Miss Storm-Fleming reported that, after a brief rest in her cabin, she attended a party in the Café Parisien on B Deck. The party, Miss Norton noted, was hosted by none other than John Jacob Astor, the wealthy American property magnate, and his young wife, Madeleine.

  ‘But Holmes, we were in the first-class smoking room last night. I did not see Moriarty.’

  ‘I did. He was sitting near the far wall, opposite the fireplace from where we sat. He was talking to two men, neither of whom I could identify.’

  ‘Then Moriarty has an alibi.’

  ‘A most convenient alibi. No, Watson, if Colonel Moriarty is anything like his late brother, he would commit the crime through his henchmen, while leaving himself in the clear. Let us not dismiss him just yet.’

  ‘It appears that all the rest of our dinner guests were alone for at least part of the evening, except for the Futrelles — and Brandon, who would not provide the names of his companions,’ I noted. ‘I suppose even Miss Storm-Fleming could have done it, since she left the party early and returned to her cabin. But remember, Mrs Applegate heard two male voices in her room.’

  ‘She heard only a few words,’ Miss Norton said gently. ‘Just like Moriarty, Doctor Watson, Miss Storm-Fleming may not have been in the cabin, but she could have been involved behind the scenes.’

  ‘I am afraid the only members of our dinner party who are in the clear are the Futrelles,’ said Holmes, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket. ‘After we returned from our tour of the ship, I received this wireless message from Mycroft. It is marked “confidential”, so Mr Phillips had it delivered to me immediately.’

  My dear Commodore,

  Am conducting the inquiries you requested. Mr and Mrs F have solid reputations. In fact, Americans say F has assisted them previously. All others have unknown or suspicious pasts... In response to your second message, no success in tracking down Mr Basil. Will continue inquiries into both matters.

  Regards,

  Mycroft.

  ‘My brother has never been as energetic as me, but he has investigative talents that I have long envied. Still, I have never considered accepting his invitations to work for the government. As you know, Watson, I prefer...’

  ‘Good afternoon, Commodore.’ Jacques Futrelle, appearing somewhat nervous, was standing next to our table. His wife remained seated across the room. ‘Doctor Watson, Miss Norton, I hope I am not disturbing you.’

  ‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘Please, do be seated. Would your wife care to join us?’

  ‘I wonder if you would be so good as to allow me a few private words for a moment?’ Futrelle paused, choosing his next words very carefully. ‘I have a matter of a personal nature to discuss. Miss Norton, perhaps you would care to join my wife for a moment.’

  ‘Mr Futrelle, I can assure you that Miss Norton will hold whatever you have to say in complete confidence. Please, tell us what is on your mind.’

  ‘Very well... Commodore, I have noticed some things since we met and I have come to some conclusions as a result of those observations. I wondered if I might discuss these with you.’

  ‘Please proceed.’ Holmes’s eyes were fixed solidly on Futrelle’s.

  ‘First of all, I must mention that I have never met Doctor Watson’s friend, Sherlock Holmes. But I have long admired him, and have looked on him as a model for my own amateur interest in detective work. But to get to the point, Commodore, I have noticed that you too have strong observational and analytical skills.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. My friend’s expression did not change. But there was perhaps just a hint of a smile.

  ‘I’ve also noticed that you, like Mr Holmes, must be a bee enthusiast. I see the marks of no less than fourteen bee stings on your hands.’

  ‘Go on, Mr Futrelle.’

  Futrelle’s look of discomfort became even more apparent. He looked at Miss Norton and me, perhaps hoping that one of us would say something. Neither of us did.

  ‘Well, Doctor, you and the commodore appear to be firm friends. That is also very interesting, since you told me earlier that the two of you met for the first time on this cruise.’

  ‘You’ve stated your observations,’ said Holmes. ‘Pray tell us what conclusions you have drawn.’

  Futrel
le leaned forward in his chair, looking squarely into Holmes’s eyes. ‘My conclusion is that Commodore Giles Winter does not exist, or is a borrowed identity. I believe that you are, in reality, none other than Mr Sherlock Holmes, the noted detective.’

  Holmes studied Futrelle for a moment, and then let loose a hearty laugh. ‘Mr Futrelle,’ he said, reaching out to shake the writer’s hand, ‘my congratulations. You have indeed lived up to the reputation of your fictional creation, Professor Van Dusen. Sherlock Holmes, at your service.’

  Futrelle displayed both surprise and relief at the detective’s reaction. ‘Mr Holmes, I apologize if I have intruded on your privacy. Either you are working on a case that requires this disguise, or perhaps you are using anonymity to allow a quiet holiday at sea. In either case...’

  ‘No trouble at all. Although I am a little disappointed that this disguise was not more successful. Doctor Watson saw through it immediately — but now, a perfect stranger.’

  ‘If I may be so bold, Mr Holmes, why are you in disguise? Are you working on a case? Of course, you understand, I’m not asking for details. It is not any of my business, really...’

  Holmes was sitting back in his chair, with his fingers raised to his lips. He turned his attention from Futrelle and looked at Miss Norton, and then at me, with a questioning gaze. After a moment’s contemplation, he leaned forward and put his hand on Mr Futrelle’s forearm.

  ‘Mr Futrelle, I need your assurance that you will treat this entire matter, including my own identity, in the strictest of confidence.’

  ‘Of course. I have only spoken to my wife of my observations and I will ask her to keep them to herself.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Holmes. My friend glanced about the room and continued to speak in a low voice. ‘Now, you asked whether I was working on a case. In fact, Miss Norton, Doctor Watson and I are engaged in a matter of some importance and delicacy. It concerns certain documents that were stolen from Miss Norton’s cabin last night.’

  ‘May I ask, what is the nature of these documents?’

  Holmes paused. We had every indication that Futrelle could be trusted. And given how little time we had left to recover the plans, his assistance could be valuable. But still, confiding in him would involve some risk.

  ‘Miss Norton works for the British government,’ Holmes said. ‘She was acting as a courier to deliver the documents to representatives of the American government. I can say nothing beyond that, except that it is vital that we recover the papers.’

  ‘I see... Well, I appreciate your trust and you have my word that none of this will go any further.’ Futrelle began to rise, but then, on second thoughts, he sat back down on his chair and spoke slowly, searching for just the right words. ‘Mr Holmes, I am only a writer, but my experience as a journalist has led me to develop some skills of detection over the years. If you find you need assistance during the remainder of this cruise, please let me know. I would consider it an honour and a pleasure to work with you.’

  Holmes smiled. ‘The thought had occurred to me too. I understand that you once did some work for the American government of a similar nature.’

  Futrelle was clearly taken aback by this statement.

  ‘However did you know that? I have never told a soul about that assignment.’

  ‘I have a small confession to make,’ said Holmes, taking pleasure in this opportunity to turn the tables on Futrelle. ‘I took advantage of the ship’s excellent wireless facilities to contact Miss Norton’s employers and check the backgrounds of several people on board — yourself included. They, in turn, contacted the Americans, who mentioned this little detail.’

  Futrelle chuckled heartily. ‘For a moment I thought you were going to say you deduced that fact simply by observing mud splashed on my trousers or callouses on my hands.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have withheld the explanation and allowed you to maintain your high estimation of my abilities.’

  We all laughed, relieving the tension that had developed since Futrelle came over to join us. This seemed like a good time to satisfy my curiosity.

  ‘Futrelle, could you tell us specifically what your involvement was with the American government?’

  ‘I am afraid, Doctor, that that was another case where I pledged myself to secrecy. I can only reveal that I was asked to help with one case only, and that involved locating a missing person.’

  ‘And did you find him?’ asked Miss Norton.

  ‘It was a woman, and yes, we did.’

  ‘This has proved to be a useful conversation for all of us,’ said Holmes. ‘Mr Futrelle, if we find that we need the assistance of an observant pair of eyes, we will be in touch. Meanwhile, we would appreciate your discretion.’

  ‘You shall have it, Mr Holmes... Oh, excuse me, Commodore.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, I am afraid I must leave you. My wife just glanced at her watch, which means she is anxious to begin our walk around the deck. Please would you excuse me?’

  ‘We look forward to seeing you later,’ said Holmes, rising and shaking the writer’s hand. Futrelle said goodbye to Miss Norton and me, and rejoined his wife. After exchanging a few words, they left the restaurant, Futrelle waving to us as he passed through the door.

  ‘Well, Holmes, it appears that we have some unexpected assistance in our investigation.’

  ‘Yes, I would have preferred to retain my anonymity but perhaps this will work out for the best.’

  ‘Do you really plan to include him in our investigation?’ Miss Norton asked.

  ‘He has a keen mind, and we do have more suspects than the three of us can keep an eye on at any one time. It is at times like this that I wish I had Wiggins and my Baker Street Irregulars available.’ He smiled. ‘Terribly inconsiderate of them all to grow into manhood.’

  ‘Well, with just the three of us at the moment, how should we proceed?’ Holmes, who had just begun to poke at his mutton chops, replied to my question by issuing instructions.

  ‘Watson, perhaps you would pay your respects to the baron and baroness. Learn as much about them as possible.’

  ‘Miss Norton, please talk to Miss Storm-Fleming. I find it curious that this young widow spends so much time travelling. Is there more to her holidays than she admits.’

  ‘Holmes, do you not think it would be better if I questioned Miss Storm-Fleming?’ I asked. ‘After all, she and I have already become acquainted...’

  ‘No, Watson, I think you are in a better position to question the Von Sterns. They came to you asking for help with the anonymous notes they claim to be receiving. Take advantage of that... Besides, old fellow, I would not want you to jeopardize your friendship with someone who may prove to be a fine woman.’

  I nodded in agreement. ‘Yes, Holmes, of course, very wise.’

  ‘Time to begin, I believe,’ said Holmes, just before he manoeuvred a large slice of mutton onto his fork. ‘There are several matters I must look into, including the activities of our bearded stoker.’

  We rose and began to make our way to the door. But before we could travel half way through the obstacle course of tables and chairs, we were spotted by a boy in uniform, who had just darted through the doorway.

  ‘Commodore!’ he called out, somewhat out of breath. He scurried past amused diners and stopped short when he reached us. ‘The captain wants to see you in his cabin right away. He said the man you wanted to meet has arrived.’

  ‘Excellent! That would be Mr Strickley,’ said Holmes, clearly pleased that the investigation was once again moving forward. ‘Let us not keep the captain waiting.’

  When we arrived at the captain’s sitting room, we found Strickley seated on a wooden chair, somewhat more subdued than when we last encountered him in the boiler room. Two muscular seaman stood like bookends on either side of him. Apart from these three men, there was no one else in the cabin. I was about to inquire as to the captain’s whereabouts, when Captain E J Smith stepped through the doorway.

  �
�Gentlemen, Miss Norton, thank you for coming so promptly.’

  ‘Captain, would it be possible for these two gentlemen to wait outside?’

  ‘I suppose the four of us can handle our guest. Bates, Johnson, wait outside the door, please.’

  After the two crewmen left, the captain went to his desk and sat back in his big leather chair.

  ‘Mr Strickley, the commodore tells me that you were impolite to him down in the boiler room. Do you have anything to say to that?’

  The stoker was hunched forward in his chair. His posture suggested submission, but his eyes were filled with defiance.

  ‘I wasn’t rude to nobody. I just don’t like a lot of accusations being thrown at me. I’m an honest working man, just trying to do his job.’

  ‘Well then, how did you get those scratches on your face?’ asked the captain, his voice firm, but calm.

  ‘Like I told the officer here this morning, I fell into some scrap metal. That ain’t no crime.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ I said, causing Strickley to sit up suddenly in his chair and look in my direction. ‘I am a doctor and I have treated many injuries. Those scratches were not made by scrap metal. I would give ten-to-one odds that they were made by a hand.’

  ‘All right. All right. It was a woman who scratched me. But it wasn’t what you’re thinking. I had a get-together last night with a young lady in steerage, that’s all. I got a little too romantic for her, so she slapped me and ran off.’

  ‘Did anyone see you with this young lady?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘No, we weren’t exactly in a public place.’

  ‘And do you recall her name?’

  ‘No, I didn’t even ask it. What for? We were just having a little fun together.’

  ‘Captain, did you search the pockets of this fine example of English chivalry?’

  ‘Yes, but we did not find anything — just a wallet, a comb and a few coins. There is nothing in his wallet except for a small amount of money and some personal papers. It is all over on the map table, if you would care to look.’

  Holmes, who had been standing by the porthole, moved over to the table and examined the stoker’s belongings. The contents of the wallet were arranged neatly on top of a nautical map.