The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (8 page)

Before I could answer, we were interrupted by a stocky, well-dressed man whom I judged to be in his late forties. His dark, receding hair was combed straight back. Our visitor’s long sideburns came within an inch or two of his full, grey moustache. He showed no signs of discomfort over disturbing our conversation. On the contrary, his firm, impatient manner made it very clear that he expected our immediate attention.

‘Herr Watson! I was told that you are Doctor John Watson. Is this correct?’ While his English was fluent, his accent was decidedly German.

‘Yes, I am Doctor Watson. And who am I addressing?’

‘Good. My name is Hans Von Stern. I wish to consult you on a professional matter. It concerns my wife, Elisabeth.’

‘Is she ill?’

‘No, no, you misunderstand. You have worked for many years with the detective Sherlock Holmes. Correct?’

‘He is a friend of mine, yes. But I am afraid I do not understand you.’

‘Well then, my wife has received a threatening note. I would like you to investigate the matter.’

I laughed quietly to myself and Miss Storm-Fleming, after hesitating for a moment, joined in. I was not surprised to find that Von Stern neither understood nor appreciated my sense of humour.

‘Mr Von Stern, Mr Holmes is the detective. I am simply a doctor. While I have accompanied Holmes on many of his investigations, I have none of his skills.’

‘You underestimate yourself, Doctor. I have read your accounts of
Herr Holmes’s adventures. You are a man of great insight and have learned much from your association with your friend.’ Von Stern studied Miss Storm-Fleming for a moment, then shifted his attention back to me. ‘So, will you help me?’

Still amused by the situation, Miss Storm-Fleming ventured, ‘This could be the first
Adventure of Doctor Watson.
It looks like an opportunity to be your associate has come more quickly than I expected.’

‘Young lady, I do not believe that I have had the pleasure...’

‘Mr Von Stern, this is my friend, Miss Storm-Fleming.’ I added, with a smile, ‘You may speak as freely before her as you would to me.’

‘Very well, then. Here is the note Elisabeth received this morning. It was slipped under our cabin door during the night.’

Von Stern pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. It contained words of various sizes that had been clipped from the headlines of magazines. Only her name had been printed by hand, in pencil.

‘Baroness Von Stern — Your past is known. You will be contacted. Pay or be exposed.’

‘You must show this to the captain at once,’ I said. ‘This is a most serious matter.’

‘No! I will not expose my wife to an official inquiry. Besides, it may be no more than a cruel joke.’

‘Are you a baron?’ asked Miss Storm-Fleming.

‘Yes, that is my title. Now then, Doctor Watson, will you help?’

Von Stern was impatient for answers. I wished that I could introduce him to Holmes. But I knew that would not be possible. ‘Baron Von Stern, do you have any idea what this is all about?’

‘None, Doctor. My wife has no secrets.’

‘Has she received any blackmail notes in the past?’

‘This is the first.’

‘Do you suspect anyone on this ship?’

‘So far, I have recognized no one on board, or on the passenger list... You will help, then?’

‘Baron Von Stern, I do not think that I will be of much assistance, but I will at least give the matter more thought. Where can I reach you?’

‘We are in cabin B10 on the port side of the ship.’

‘Very well, then, I may want to speak to your wife later. Do you mind if I keep this note for a while?’

‘If it will be of any help.’

The baron departed, at least partly satisfied with the limited assistance I had offered. Miss Storm-Fleming watched the baron as he walked away, then turned to me with a gleam of excitement in her eyes.

‘What intrigue!’ she said. ‘Would it not be amazing if we were able to capture a blackmailer and turn him over to the captain? Do they have brigs here on these big ocean liners?’

‘Miss Storm-Fleming, I would not expect too much from this. As the baron said, it could simply be a prank.’

My words of caution did not seem to quell her enthusiasm.

‘I suppose so. But it
is
an adventure, Doctor Watson. I think that is just what this trip needed — an adventure!’

I laughed. ‘All right, then. I will attempt to provide you with one. But please do not be too disappointed if I am unsuccessful.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I continued our conversation and had a most enjoyable morning. We hardly noticed as the
Titanic
entered St George’s Channel on its way to Queenstown. But soon the great ship made a wide port turn, slowed and came to a complete stop near another vessel.

‘Why are we stopping?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘We have not yet reached Queenstown.’

‘I believe we are just picking up the pilot to guide us into Cobh Harbour.’

We continued to travel through the harbour until the ship stopped, once again, and lowered its anchor about two miles from shore.

‘One of the crew told me that this stop is likely to take a couple of hours,’ I said. ‘Those two tenders approaching are the
America
and the
Ireland
. They’re bringing a hundred or so second- and third-class passengers on board, along with the mail.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I moved to the rail when the tenders came alongside. There were a few passengers who were making ready to leave the ship. They had experienced the thrill of
Titanic
’s maiden voyage, without paying the full trans-Atlantic fare. One of the departing passengers was a young man loaded down with photography equipment. I wondered whether he was acting in a professional capacity, or was simply an amateur.

The boarding process was more leisurely than it had been at Cherbourg. There were fewer passengers arriving in the tenders, and the crew had little difficulty directing them to their quarters. And since there were so few, if any, first-class passengers boarding at this stop, there was far less baggage for each individual.

One of the newcomers, carrying his Irish pipes, made his way quickly to the aft of the ship. Soon we heard the sound of lively Irish airs.

‘Look!’ cried Miss Storm-Fleming, suddenly. She was not gazing at the tenders, but at the skies behind the ship. Other passengers also looked excitedly in that direction.

A man had climbed to the top of the aft funnel from the inside, and was now staring over the rim. His face, blackened from soot, peered out to the Irish coast. Then, after resting his chest against the rim, he gazed down upon the passenger decks.

‘Looks like one of the stokers,’ said a junior officer, who had been standing by the rail, taking notes on the loading operations. ‘Probably some Irishman wanting to look at the Emerald Isle.’

‘How did he get up there?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked. ‘Won’t he suffocate?’

‘That fourth funnel’s a dummy. There is a ladder inside that leads up from the engine room. It is a long climb, but I suppose it is worth it for a breath of fresh Irish air.’

Miss Storm-Fleming and I laughed, as did the other passengers who had gathered round. That is, all but one. An old woman with a dark shawl wrapped around her shoulders continued to stare upwards in silence. Slowly, she made the sign of the cross across her chest.

‘Don’t worry, madam,’ said the officer. ‘He is perfectly safe. Some of the men who work below can climb better than chimpanzees.’

The woman, suddenly conscious of the attention she was receiving, nodded with a faint smile and walked away.

We returned to the rail and watched, as sacks of mail were loaded on to one of the tenders. Soon, the anchor was raised and the engines were fired up. The
Titanic
was ready to head for open sea.

‘I am afraid I must ask you to excuse me,’ I said. ‘I told Commodore Winter that I would meet him for lunch.’

‘Back to the musketeers? Well, just remember, I will be looking for opportunities to steal you away!’

‘I will look forward to seeing you again,’ I responded.

I walked down the stairway and found Holmes waiting on the promenade near the restaurant. He was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back.

‘Ah, Watson, good, you made it! Let us get a table. There is much I would like to accomplish this afternoon.’

‘Good afternoon, Holmes. And how have you been spending your time on board this beautiful ship?’

‘It is a wonderful vessel indeed, Watson. I was just down in one of the boiler rooms. Do you know, with a little experimentation I believe I
could develop a method to identify where a sample of coal was mined, simply by running a chemical test on its ash. You see, while all coal ash may look the same, there are certain trace elements...’

I rather boldly interrupted my friend. ‘I need to tell you about a most interesting conversation I just had with a Baron Hans Von Stern. It seems his wife just received a blackmail note, and he asked me to look into the matter.’ I handed Holmes the note. ‘I declined at first, but he was very insistent. I told him I would give it some thought. Do you make anything of it?’

‘It is difficult to tell, but I would judge by the individual printing of the baroness’s name that the writer was a woman.’ Holmes removed a jack-knife from his pocket and carefully removed the word ‘Pay’ from the note. ‘And if I am not mistaken, the reverse side of this scrap of paper shows a portion of the cover of the most recent
Strand Magazine
. I believe an article of yours ran in that issue.’

‘It does appear to come from the
Strand
... Do you think the baroness is in any danger?’

‘It is curious that the baron and his wife should receive a blackmail note after they have just boarded a ship bound for America. Why not deliver it while they are in their home country, near a bank where they keep their money. Still, it could be a genuine blackmail attempt. In any case, there is little we can do at present. Speak to the baroness and keep me informed of any new developments, and it might be wise to suggest to the baron that he contact the captain.’

‘I already have, and he declined. As far as I know, he has only told Miss Storm-Fleming and me.’

Holmes smiled. ‘I am glad to see that you are enjoying this trip so much, old friend. Well, Watson, it appears that we have made a number of other new friends on this cruise. It only seems proper that we invite them to dinner. The conversation could be very revealing. I think I will
have a word with the captain about issuing some invitations. Perhaps we should meet Colonel Moriarty and Mr Bishop as well.’

‘Holmes?’

‘Six o’clock, Watson. And it will be black tie.’

T
HE
E
VENING OF
T
HURSDAY
11 A
PRIL
1912

T
he ship’s bugler sounded a cheerful notice that only one hour remained to dress for dinner. First-class passengers began scurrying to their cabins. Those without personal maids or valets recruited stewardesses or stewards to help them through the ritual of formal dress. I had come prepared with formal attire and was just adjusting my waistcoat when Holmes knocked at my cabin door. Upon opening it, I saw Miss Norton, looking most delightful in her black evening dress, standing next to Holmes. True to form as Commodore Giles Winter, Holmes was in full dress naval uniform. Standing with calm, naval poise, he was a far cry from the energetic, often impatient master of detection I had known for so many years. But I knew that beneath the beard and uniform, the Holmes I knew was still eager to attack a new puzzle.

‘Remember, both of you, this dinner will afford us an excellent opportunity to observe our guests and any exchanges that may occur between them,’ Holmes said. ‘We must place ourselves around the table to see and hear as much as possible. The captain has sent personal
invitations to each of the people on our list, and all have accepted.’

‘What should we be looking for?’ asked Miss Norton.

‘Anything and everything,’ Holmes replied. ‘Every detail, no matter how insignificant it may seem. We have witnessed some odd behaviour on board this ship. None of it may relate to the safety of the plans but we must take it all into account.’

We made our way to the grand staircase and descended one deck to the dining room. At the foot of the stairs we entered the reception room, where a number of passengers were clustered in small groups. The reception room was a place of simple, dignified beauty. It was decorated in Jacobean style, with white, carved panelling. On the wall directly ahead of us, a large French tapestry was displayed prominently above a sea of rich, dark carpet. Most of the passengers were standing, although a few took advantage of the comfortable cane chairs. Others gathered around the grand piano in the far left corner to listen to a medley of classical works.

Captain Smith was standing to the right, showing passengers a large, impressively detailed model of the
Titanic
. The three of us made our way over to him, hoping for an opportunity to exchange a few private words.