Edison Effect, The: A Professor Bradshaw Mystery (The Edison Effect)

by Bernadette Pajer

  A roaring filled his ears, and as he breathed out, musical bubbling joined the roar. He had a flash of memory of another time in which he’d heard such sounds, when he’d been underwater, fighting for his life. He’d been without diving gear, wearing a wool suit purchased at the Bon Marché, in fact, tumbling in churning water. That had been Oscar Daulton’s fault, too.

  He stayed in place, gripping the ladder, trembling head to toe, until he had his thoughts back under control and could focus again. There was sufficient light to see. He was only a foot under the surface. A tug on the lifeline from Berto asked him if he were OK. He loosened the grip of one hand, groped for the lifeline, tugged his reply, then continued down.

  Then his foot groped for the next rung only to learn it was not there. He was out of rungs. It was time to let go.

  With a whispered, “Hail Mary,” he let go.

  The weight belt and lead boots pulled him down slowly and softly, and he felt the gentle, guided resistance of the lifeline, which told him Berto was controlling his descent. The noise distracted him. The roaring quality changed as he felt the pressure in his ears build. He worked his jaw and swallowed hard, trying to relieve the pressure, and just when he thought it might become painful, he heard a crack, just as the captain predicted, and his hearing cleared. Before he could blink, he touched bottom and found himself staring out his little window at Troy’s little window. Bubbles flowed up from their helmets.

  Troy waved, and Bradshaw waved.

  He could hardly believe it. He’d done it. He was down below the surface, breathing, anxious and excited, trembling with nerves, but not panicking. The air kept coming, and he kept breathing. He felt buoyant, literally and figuratively.

  Troy tugged on his own lifeline, signaling for tools to be lowered, and Bradshaw tilted back his helmeted head as best he could to gaze up through the greenish water to the light above. Down came two long prods on a rope. They each untied one, and as they planned, Bradshaw followed Troy for a stroll. Walking proved to be easy, a bouncing, almost weightless sensation. As the captain had said, the lead weights were as nothing now. Indeed, he did sense that without them, he would bob to the surface like a cork.

  The underwater world was rather murky, a grayish green, and visibility perhaps ten feet. He’d been told this would be the case diving off the dock as the water was churned by traffic and polluted by all manner of effluent best not contemplated, and he didn’t. He concentrated on moving carefully, on staying upright, and on breathing, never taking his eyes from Troy who led him on a tour. There wasn’t much to see. This portion of the waterfront had been rebuilt just last year, so the timbers were still new and bolstered by twenty to thirty feet of broken concrete, rocks, and sand. He saw not a fish or crab or even seaweed. But he was underwater, beneath Elliott Bay, a place he never believed he would ever willingly be. And he found it, as his students would say, keen. It would be inaccurate to say he felt no apprehension, or that he gave no thought to the gravity of his location and dependence on Berto and his cousins up above who faithfully pumped air to him, but the absence of panic was in itself a triumph.

  ***

  They stayed down for twenty minutes, practicing with the prods to poke through the mud and gravel. Since neither Daulton’s box nor his batteries had been found, it was likely they’d sunk beneath the mud, or slipped between rocks. An experienced diver could feel the difference between a rock and some other material, say a plank of wood, but Bradshaw knew he’d be digging up a lot of rocks.

  Troy led Bradshaw back to the ladder and together they sent up the prods. Then Bradshaw signaled with three slow tugs. The air pressure increased, puffing his suit, making him more buoyant, and the thick rope of his lifeline tightened slightly around him as Berto began to reel him in. He felt himself moving easily, slowly, upward. He reached for the ladder, and as soon as he put a foot on the rung and took over the ascent, the full burden of the lead weight resisted him. It was by far the most arduous climb he’d ever made up those few rungs, even with the lifeline pulling firmly, and he was glad of the hands that hauled him up the final steps onto the dock. The helmet and weight belt were quickly removed from him. By the time they had the lead shoes off him, Troy was up, too, and suddenly the serious crew broke out in smiles. Words of congratulations echoed. Troy and Charlie and the crewmen beamed at him, and the captain extended his hand. It felt hot in Bradshaw’s ice cold one.

  “Be here tomorrow at ten,” said the captain. “And you can go down and find your ticker.”

  “Thank you,” said Bradshaw, and the look in the captain’s eye told him the depth of those words were understood.

  “As much as you likely are in need of stiff drink now, Professor, I must warn you off. A hearty meal and a good night’s sleep are best the night before a dive.”

  The hearty meal he would be denied, it being Friday and a day of abstinence. But when he arrived home, he ate every morsel of fish and vegetables allowed him. To Mrs. Prouty’s prying questions about his exhaustion and the red rings about his wrists, he said that he’d been doing water experiments all day. He spent an hour with his son in the parlor before a warm fire, playing a game of chess, which the boy won, and at seven o’clock, announced he was turning in for the night.

  “Before me?” asked Justin.

  “Before you.”

  He hauled himself upstairs, wondering who might have witnessed him learning to dive today, and if anyone had made the connection between his diving and the wicker basket he’d tossed from the ferry into the bay. He thought of the ticking cigar box and batteries, reflecting light from their white enamel paint. Two things eased his concern: Tomorrow he and the crew of the Beverlee B would stake their claim at the dive site indicated by his ticking locator, and the Beverlee B was the only ship equipped with listening devices to hear the ticking.

  He managed his evening ablutions with great effort and crawled into bed.

  He was too tired to fear what dreams might come, and none came at all.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was in a torrential downpour that Bradshaw arrived at the office of Seattle Salvage at ten the next morning, along with Professor Taylor, who was astounded to learn about Bradshaw’s previous day’s adventure and decision to dive that day.

  “I’m simply flabbergasted. I’m speechless. I never in a million years would have gambled you’d make the attempt.”

  “When have you ever been speechless?”

  “I am now. I don’t know what to say.” But he continued on saying, nonetheless, until Bradshaw introduced him to Captain Donovan.

  “I appreciate your letting me come along, although I’m not sure I’m needed. Professor Bradshaw’s ticking device sounds as if it will lead you directly to the spot. I’ve brought my own calculations, and I’m curious if they match up with the actual location. I used tide and current charts of two years past, so if there’s any discrepancy, perhaps that will help find the treasure we seek.”

  The downpour continued, thundering on the roof and against the windows.

  “If this keeps up, will we postpone the search?” Bradshaw asked.

  Captain Donovan grinned. “Not lost your newly found nerve, have you, Professor? No, the rain will let up, and there’s not much wind predicted. The search is still on.”

  The door opened and Troy Ruzauskas entered, draped in a dripping black slicker.

  “Cats and dogs!” he said cheerfully. “Morning, Captain, Professor, and—”

  Bradshaw said, “Professor Joseph Marion Taylor, this is Troy Ruzauskas, the window dresser from the Bon.”

  Troy hung his slicker on the coat rack with the others then shook Taylor’s hand.

  “You’re the astronomer and mathematician?”

  “Indeed, and you are the talented artist.”

  Troy shrugged but looked pleased. He turned to Bradshaw, “Professor, could I have a word?”


  “Certainly.”

  Taylor politely invited the captain to look over his calculations, and Bradshaw stepped aside with Troy, who said in a low voice, “Professor, Jake Galloway lost his contract with Edison.”

  “When did you hear this?”

  “Just now. Up on Jackson Street, at Gorham-Revere. They sell diving equipment. I wanted a pair of gloves for today. Charlie told me about them yesterday. Oh, say, I got you a pair, too.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a new pair of black rubber gloves with wrist straps. “They’re felt-lined.”

  “Thank you.” Bradshaw knew that the professionals preferred to go barehanded since so often they worked in the dark and found their way around wrecks by touch. But he was no professional and the gloves looked warm.

  “Galloway was there. Edison is sending up a submarine from California. The outfit has its own expert divers, so they don’t need him. There’s a sunken ship in the strait that’s got thirty thousand in copper ore no one’s yet found that he’s asked about, too. Edison, I mean. I think he figures he can pay for the hunt for Daulton’s invention and make a big profit to boot.”

  “Jake must be none too happy.”

  “No, but he’s feeling less angry than vengeful. Other than actual expenses, Maddock paid him nothing. He was supposed to get five grand for searching, and another five if he found the box.”

  “Sounds like Mr. Maddock is doing business as usual.”

  “Do you suppose Maddock has heard about you tossing the ticker box in the bay? He might be afraid we’ll beat him to Daulton’s box.”

  “That could be what motivated the change.”

  Troy bit his lip. “Now that Jake is free, Professor, you really should think about hiring him. He’s the best around and you’ll have better luck with him than with me. Charlie’s experienced, but you could swap me out with Jake. You won’t be hurting my feelings if you decide to go with him instead.”

  “I’ve hired the crew I want, and the divers. I trust you, Troy.” As he spoke, he realized how very much he meant what he said. He did trust this young man. When he thought of abandoning him, and Captain Donovan, Berto and the others, for Jake Galloway, his gut gave a small clutch of protest. Jake did have the reputation and experience in his favor, but there was something calculating about him that Bradshaw didn’t like. It was probably the fact that Galloway’s search for Daulton’s box was purely for profit, while Troy seemed to understand the true importance of the invention and the conflicting emotional connection Bradshaw had with it.

  “Yes,” he said, and repeated, because Troy looked doubtful, “You’ll keep me safe, we’ll find the treasure we seek, and then you’ll paint a stunning depiction of our adventure.”

  Troy laughed and said he’d be sure of the first, pray for the second, and hope his artistic skills were up to the third. “But if we don’t have luck, know my feelings won’t be hurt if you later hire Galloway.”

  As suddenly as the downpour hit earlier, it now ceased, and a streak of sunlight pierced the windows, bringing dancing rainbows. Some might have interpreted the phenomenon as an omen. Bradshaw felt it as a kick to his belly for it meant the weather was clearing as the captain predicted and he would not be given a chance to delay.

  They left the office and headed up the soaking pier to the Beverlee B, glistening in shifting sunlight. They were greeted by Berto and his cousins with hearty hails in two languages, and Bradshaw hoped they didn’t feel that yesterday had rid him entirely of his fears for he knew he’d need slow handling again today. With each step toward the ship, he recalled the feeling of being trapped in the helmet, and he imagined himself down not forty feet but sixty, or more, in a place not barren of life but teeming with it. What would he do if he saw a shark?

  “Professor!” Bradshaw turned to find Jake Galloway sauntering down the dock, looking hale and hearty. Dressed in black from head to toe, a black wool cap and turtleneck sweater, his skin white in stark contrast. The cold had put color at the tip of his nose.

  “Good morning, Mr. Galloway.”

  “It’s Jake, Professor.”

  The crew on deck turned to look and to lift hands in greeting, calling out, “Hey, Jake!” Their admiration of Galloway was evident. He gave them a smiling wave, like a celebrity in their midst.

  “Trying to steal our customer, Jake?” called out Captain Donovan. His tone was good-natured, but with an edge.

  “No, no. I won’t cheat you of a day’s pay, Donovan. I’m simply letting the Professor know I’m available, if he has no luck today.”

  “We might not have your fancy new gear, but we’ll get the job done, and we’ll get the Professor to within an inch of his coordinates.”

  “The Professor? You’re diving?”

  “I am.”

  “I heard rumors you were here yesterday in diving gear. Has it got to you, too? The itch to find the missing invention?”

  “Everyone else has looked. I thought I might give it a try, too.”

  “No offense, Professor, but you’re hardly qualified to go as deep as will be needed after just one lesson.”

  “I’m not going alone. Troy, as you know, has much experience.” He placed a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “And Charlie is coming, too.” He pointed at Charlie who stood with Berto on the diving scow.

  Jake gave Charlie a wave, saying to Bradshaw, “He’s good. Does a lot of repair and recovery work. But I’m better at treasure hunts, even he says so, and as I’ve told you, I know the bottom of Elliott Bay better than anyone. You’ve got a marker down below, I hear. Performed a reenactment of the famous event of two years ago? With special equipment?”

  “That’s right.”

  The captain and crew were silent, not a single one offering details of the special equipment that included a ticking box and underwater microphones.

  Galloway said, “It was spring when the box first went overboard, time and tide and currents were different then.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Your marker’s likely too close to shore. The forces are greater this time of year, would have carried it in.”

  “Do you think so? Well, we’ll see. Is it true you lost the Edison contract?”

  “That I did, and hell if I’m going to let him find what’s rightfully ours with that damned submarine he’s bringing up. If you hire me, Professor, all I ask is for a fair share of the profits, when we find the box.”

  “There might not be a profit,” Bradshaw said.

  “How’s that?”

  “If it is found, I will examine it and determine what is to be done. I may choose to do nothing, in which case there will be no profit.”

  “Come now, that doesn’t make any sense. We can sell it to Edison for a small fortune. Even if it turns out to be no good, it doesn’t matter. Edison will buy whatever’s found. He’ll regret Maddock’s tearing up my contract when he hears my asking price.”

  “But I’m not willing to sell it to him or anyone else unless I determine that to be the correct course after examination.”

  “You mean you might patent the thing yourself?”

  “I might do nothing at all, as I’ve said. I appreciate your offer, but these men have worked hard preparing for today’s dive. And I’ll stick with them until the job is done. Thank you all the same.”

  “Well, it was worth a try. Remember I offered when you come up empty-handed. Tomorrow, I’ll be back in the hunt. Fair warning.” He slapped his gloved palms together and rubbed them greedily. “Today I’m off to find some copper. I’ve got that new suit and compressors, and I’m feeling lucky.” Jake gave a salute and sauntered away, whistling.

  A hand touched Bradshaw’s arm. It was Taylor. “Is he going to be trouble?”

  “Only if he finds Daulton’s box before us.”

  “What’s that about copper?”

  “Sunken ship in the strait.”
Bradshaw explained what Troy had told him about the submarine Edison was bringing up and the copper treasure he was rumored to be after. “Now that I hope Galloway finds. It would be considerable compensation for the lost contract.”

  “He’s wrong about the current carrying your marker too close to shore this time of year. The conditions aren’t that dissimilar, and I chose the time of day for tossing to match the tide as closely as possible. I’d say he’s trying to weaken our confidence.”

  “He may also fear our damaging his reputation.”

  “If we find Daulton’s box in water he claims to have thoroughly searched? Yes, I see what you mean. Maybe he’s not as good as he claims to be.”

  Bradshaw watched Galloway’s retreating figure. “No, I believe his reputation is deserved.”

  Then why hasn’t he found Daulton’s box? The thought ricocheted around Bradshaw’s brain.

  “Professor! Time to cast off!”

  Bradshaw heard but didn’t move. He felt his senses come alive. For the first time since he’d been summoned to the Bon Marché to investigate Vernon Doyle’s death, his intuition kicked in. The hair on the back of his neck tingled. He turned to Taylor.

  “Change of plans. I’m not diving today. You go on, and tell Troy and Charlie to concentrate on searching for the batteries.”

  “But, why? What did I miss?”

  “I’ll explain later.”

  Bradshaw hurried away, leaving Taylor to tell Captain Donovan the change in plans. By the time he reached his office in the Bailey Building, the Beverlee B and her diving scow were anchored in the bay, and Galloway’s steamship was heading northward toward the strait.

  When Bradshaw entered, he found that Henry had just gotten dressed and was pressing a ham sandwich with the electric iron.

  “There you are,” said Henry. “Where’d you disappear to yesterday? Even Mrs. Prouty didn’t know where you were. You know, we ought to work out a system. You could be in trouble and I won’t know where to begin to look.”