The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (24 page)

Tommy smiled, thrilled by this interest in his new game. ‘Found these
in the wastepaper basket...little tables and chairs, cabinets, even some little people.’

‘What fun,’ said Miss Norton. ‘I once had a doll’s house with pieces like that...’

‘I am using them to make Mr Holmes’s sitting room, just like you described it in your books, Doctor Watson.’

‘I am most impressed, Tommy. That is a very good representation.’

‘I just wish I had some more pieces. There’s a lot missing.’

‘Just use your imagination. Remember, Mr Holmes uses his imagination, along with deductive reasoning, to solve crimes.’

Tommy paused for a moment to consider this.

‘Tommy, have you seen Miss Storm-Fleming lately?’ I asked.

‘Not since yesterday. She was talking to that man, the German.’

Miss Norton and I exchanged glances. ‘When was this?’

‘Just before dinner, I think. They were in the library. I went there with Mother, so she could get a book.’

‘Thank you, Tommy. I have been looking for her. Perhaps we will see her at the church service.’

‘Church! Oh my gosh! I told Mother and Father that I would be back to get dressed... Excuse me.’ The young man abruptly got to his feet and ran down the deck, leaving his toys behind.

Miss Norton laughed. ‘I hope he is not in too much trouble.’

I stooped down and scooped up Tommy’s toys. ‘I am sure he will want these. I will return them to him at church... I wonder if Holmes knows that our sitting room has become the latest vogue among children.’

My companion smiled. ‘Fame can affect judgement, Doctor.’

‘A point well taken, Miss Norton.’ I grinned. ‘But rest assured, the fresh sea air and a rousing sermon from the captain will soon restore my humility.’

Miss Norton took my arm. ‘Lead the way, Doctor Watson.’

We arrived well before the service was due to begin. I was surprised to see that a large congregation had already assembled. Many viewed this as a fine opportunity for conversation and meeting new people. It was a family occasion, and the only one that brought together passengers from first, second and third class.

It was a special treat for steerage passengers. They were staring wide-eyed at their luxurious surroundings, while chatting quietly and pointing about the room.

The Futrelles had already arrived and were engaged in a conversation with Baron Von Stern. Moriarty was standing in a cluster of well-dressed people, some of whom I recognized as being among the first-class passengers.

Miss Storm-Fleming had just paid her respects to the captain and was circulating through the crowd. I waved and she returned my gesture with a broad smile, walking briskly in our direction.

‘Doctor Watson, I have been looking everywhere for you!’ She spoke warmly.

Somewhat overcome by this greeting, I muttered a less than satisfactory reply.

‘I was rather involved in a matter that took some time...’

‘And what kind of business would keep you so busy in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?’ she asked.

‘Nothing of any consequence... Just helping Futrelle with research for an article he is writing on the
Titanic
’s maiden voyage.’

Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes remained warm and bright but there was a momentary change in her expression that indicated she was not fully pleased with my explanation.

‘And how are you, Miss Norton? Are you enjoying the trip? Quite exciting, is it not?’

‘Yes, very much so,’ Miss Norton replied. ‘I am happy to see that you
are enjoying it too...after everything that happened.’

‘I have always had a talent for springing back from adversity. Hardships along the way are part of life’s great adventure.’

‘Have they made any progress in finding Bishop’s killer?’ Miss Norton asked.

‘I do not believe so. I was just talking to the captain and he did not volunteer any information. Have either of you heard anything?’

‘Not a word,’ I replied. ‘If only Holmes were on board. This is the kind of mystery he thrives on.’

‘Yes, if only he were.’ Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes were fixed on mine. ‘Doctor Watson, people are taking their seats.’

‘Please do join us.’

‘Thank you, but please do not say anything about my singing, Doctor. I am very sensitive on that point.’

The captain led the service from the White Star Line’s own prayer book, and the music was provided by the ship’s orchestra. The opening hymn was familiar, but one I had not heard in some time. Miss Storm-Fleming’s voice was clearly distinguishable from my neighbouring worshippers.

Eternal Father strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,

Who bids the mighty ocean deep

Its own appointed limits keep:

O hear us when we cry to Thee

For those in peril on the sea.

I adhered to Miss Storm-Fleming’s request not to comment on her singing.

The service was strangely moving. As I glanced about the room, I sensed a unity among the ship’s passengers. There was a common
bond, perhaps brought on by this reminder that we all came from the same Maker.

Captain Smith led the formal service. He gave a respectable reading of various prayers and Bible passages. It ended promptly on time with the hymn, ‘O God, Our Help in Ages Past’. Miss Storm-Fleming, again, sang with enthusiasm:

O God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,

Our shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal home.

Following the benediction, the band played a festive recessional. Conversation grew louder as friends gradually made their way to the reception room, outside the dining room. As we continued towards the big open doors, Miss Storm-Fleming took my arm and pulled me to one side, away from the path of the moving crowd. Miss Norton, who had moved slightly ahead, soon noticed that we had paused and she waited for us.

‘Doctor Watson, I know how much you enjoy the company of your fellow musketeers, but would you join me for dinner tonight?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked, hesitantly. There was an uneasy timbre to her voice. ‘As you know...this has been a difficult journey for me...and what must you think of me...? An opportunity for quiet conversation would greatly restore me.’

‘Miss Storm-Fleming, it would be a great pleasure. Shall we say 7.30 in the restaurant?’

She nodded her acceptance and, seconds later, was on her way.

I watched as she left the room. Miss Norton joined me.

‘What did she want?’ Acting as both a friend and a professional, she
had easily overcome the urge not to pry.

‘Dinner,’ I replied. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat.

‘Doctor Watson,’ said the captain, coming up behind us. ‘How did you like the service?’

‘It was very pleasant. I had no idea that you were such a good preacher.’

‘A captain has to be a jack of all trades.’ He pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘I have just been handed a note. It is addressed to you.’

I ripped it open. I had noticed immediately from the handwriting on the envelope that it was from Holmes. The note contained a most curious request.

‘What is it?’ asked Miss Norton.

‘The commodore wishes us, together with Futrelle, to meet him next to the fourth funnel.’

T
HE
A
FTERNOON OF
S
UNDAY
14 A
PRIL
1912

A
fter eating a light lunch, Miss Norton, Futrelle and I went to the boat deck for our rendezvous with Holmes. He had asked us to meet him there at precisely two o’clock, and we arrived with minutes to spare. Instead of finding Holmes, we were greeted by Mr Lightoller.

‘Gentlemen, Miss Norton, the commodore has asked me to escort you to the base of the fourth funnel. He is already there.’

‘I wish Holmes had told us what this was all about,’ Futrelle said. ‘I mean no offence, Doctor, but I must say, I do get annoyed by his sense of drama from time to time.’

‘Patience, Futrelle,’ I said. ‘Over the years I have become used to Holmes’s little surprises. And besides, they are good fodder for my stories in the
Strand
.’

Lightoller motioned us towards the aft end of the ship. ‘This way, please.’

We arrived at a gate and the second officer reached for his keys to open it. We walked across a short span of deck reserved for the crew and passed through another gate to the second-class promenade. The
view caused me to shiver because this was the area where we had stood for so long in the cold. There was no evidence of our recent confrontation with the late Mr Brandon and his men.

‘We must climb the ladder to the raised roof,’ Lightoller said. ‘That is the way to the base of the funnel.’

As I mentioned earlier, the fourth funnel was a dummy. Unlike the other three, it was not designed to vent smoke from the boiler rooms. Instead, it was situated above a shaft from the turbine room and used for ventilation. As we stood on the raised roof, a thought occurred to me. We were standing directly above the first-class smoking room. Could tobacco consumption on board be so high as to require an entire funnel?

Lightoller opened a door and we found ourselves in a large open room. Below was the shaft leading down to the turbines. I glanced over the rail and suddenly felt a touch of dizziness. The lights and roar of the turbine room were far, far below.

Miss Norton glanced about the room. After looking in my direction and shrugging her shoulders she turned to Lightoller. ‘Where is Mr Holmes?’

Lightoller smiled and, without saying a word, pointed a finger skywards.

‘Oh, my word!’ gasped Miss Norton.

We all gathered around the rail and looked up through the long funnel. There was an obstruction that was partially blocking the bright, blue light of the sky. The obstruction was moving.

Miss Norton immediately climbed the ladder that brought her to the base of the funnel.

‘Mr... Commodore! Commodore Winter!’ she cried, her voice echoing back. ‘Please return at once — it is too dangerous!’

In fact, Holmes was on his way down. Minutes later, he stepped off the ladder on to the floor of the chamber.

‘Miss Norton,’ he said quietly, sounding somewhat annoyed, ‘Good Lord, you remind me of our dear departed Mrs Hudson.’

Miss Norton stood her ground. ‘What were you doing up there? You could have been killed.’

‘My dear young woman, I am in excellent condition and not quite as old and frail as you might think.’

‘I did not mean to imply... What
were
you doing up there anyway?’

‘Merely following up a clue...or at least an idea I had. It appears that my hypothesis was incorrect.’

‘What hypothesis?’ I asked.

‘It concerns our little cypher about the “Hot Russian Honey Bear”. As you recall, our mysterious passenger sent a confederate a message, upon the ship’s arrival in New York, to meet him by the “pipe organ in the smoking room”. It occurred to me while standing on deck that the four funnels might look a bit like a pipe organ. I decided that it would be worthwhile to check the one funnel that might possibly be accessible to a passenger. A trifle foolish, I now believe.’

‘You found nothing?’ asked Futrelle.

‘Nothing.’

‘What about your search of Strickley’s cabin? You had hoped to...’

‘Nothing of consequence, Mr Futrelle. I am afraid, thus far, this has been a very unproductive day.’

‘But Holmes, why did you ask us to meet you here?’ I inquired.

‘Time is growing short. I thought it best that we got our little team back together and off in pursuit of more facts.’

‘I agree wholeheartedly,’ said Miss Norton, still somewhat annoyed by Holmes’s gymnastics display. ‘But could we talk outside, in the sunshine?’

‘Of course, Miss Norton.’ He picked up his jacket and hat. ‘And I apologize if I disturbed you just now. I promise to keep my feet firmly planted on deck until we reach New York.’ He smiled at her.

After a moment’s pause, her face, too, brightened into a warm grin. ‘I dread to think what mother would have said if she had seen you up there!’

We continued down to the deck and on through the gates to the promenade deck. It was not long before we were approached head-on by Mr Boxhall. He was walking at a crisp pace.

‘Excuse me, Mr Lightoller,’ he said, paying his respects to a superior officer. ‘The captain wants to see the commodore at once.’

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘It’s the missing stoker, Strickley... They have found his body.’

Lightoller showed us the way to the crew’s hospital, which was situated on the forward end of C Deck between the crew’s galley and the firemen’s mess. Strickley’s body was stretched out on the examining table. Captain Smith stood by as William O’Loughlin, the ship’s surgeon, and J Edward Simpson, the assistant surgeon, examined the deceased.

The two surgeons made quite a team, indeed. Doctor O’Loughlin was a fine old gentleman who enjoyed walking about the ship conversing with passengers. We had met briefly when Holmes and I accompanied the captain and his officers on their inspection of the ship and then later near the motorcars. Simpson was a much younger man. He had a reputation for being more gregarious and, according to fellow shipmates, had a somewhat mischievous sense of humour.