The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (2 page)

‘I regret that I am unable to oblige. Mr Holmes will tell you as much as he can, once you get on board the ship. But I can tell you that your friend is a hard man to bring out of retirement. I’m sure you’re familiar with Winston Churchill, the First Lord of the Admiralty. Well, he and I first visited Holmes’s retreat about a week ago to ask for his help. He listened to us, but wasted no time in turning us down. It was only after we made a return visit with the Prime Minister and Foreign Minister that he agreed to carry out the investigation.’

I chuckled. Retirement had done little to change Holmes. He remained as independent as ever. Even as Holmes approached his
sixties, he could not resist a challenge to his remarkable talents.

Reilly began strolling around the room, first examining the mantelpiece, then the bookshelves. After perusing everything with a quick sweep of his eyes, he turned to me with a look of disappointment.

‘Forgive me, Doctor,’ he said. ‘I’ve read every article you’ve written about your adventures with Mr Holmes. I was expecting to see a few keepsakes from 221B Baker Street... Maybe some of Holmes’s scrapbooks, or a Persian slipper full of tobacco hanging from the fireplace. But there’s nothing here, and I saw very few mementoes at Mr Holmes’s country estate. If you will forgive my curiosity, what happened to it all?’

I took Reilly by surprise with a hearty laugh. ‘Do you believe in time travel, Mr Reilly?’ I motioned to a closed door next to the sideboard. ‘If you’ll step through that doorway with me, I will take you on a journey into the past that would make H G Wells envious.’

I struck a match on the mantelpiece and opened the door. Light from the electric lamp over my dining table stretched across the fading twenty-year-old carpet in the adjoining room. ‘This is the one room in the house where I don’t allow electric lights.’ The first match had burned to my fingertips, so I struck a second one and lit two oil lamps that were fixed to the walls.

‘Mr Reilly, welcome to 221B Baker Street. If you look around, I’m sure that you’ll find more than enough mementoes to satisfy your curiosity.’

Until now Reilly had been emotionless to a fault. But suddenly, upon seeing this room, his eyes lit up and he began a whirlwind examination of its furnishings. ‘This is wonderful, Doctor. I can’t believe it. It’s just as you described your Baker Street rooms in the articles.’

‘Well, I confess that I never expected to become a museum curator; nor that my past life would end up as an historical display. But when Holmes moved out of 221B, I just couldn’t accept seeing all those
memories of happier times being scattered about. So Holmes generously gave everything to me, and bought new furnishings for his country home. Of course, there were a few pieces that he could not part with. For example, if you’ll look over at that side table next to the settee, you’ll see a violin. I had to purchase that at a second-hand shop. Holmes took his with him. But most of the furnishings are original.’

‘Back there, in the corner, is that where Holmes conducted his experiments?’

‘Yes, smelly old things they were, too. I used to welcome the aroma of Holmes’s tobacco smoke, because it would cover up the smell of sulphur. Here, let me give you a tour.’

Reilly sat in Holmes’s velvet armchair and, after asking permission, tried on the deerstalker cap that was hanging on the wall rack. He chuckled at the stack of letters that were fixed to the mantel with a jack-knife.

‘Tell me, Doctor. The letters VR that are perforated in the wall. Did you reproduce them with a revolver, as Holmes did, or did you use a quieter, more conventional approach?’

‘I used a hammer and a spike. I am not as precise a marks-man as Holmes, and the London police these days are less tolerant of the sound of gunshots than they used to be.’

‘Mr Holmes was a remarkable man.’

‘He still is. Just a little less active.’

Reilly froze for a moment, his eyes fixed on the floor. When he looked at me again, the cold, commanding gaze had returned to his eyes.

‘Doctor, I am concerned about the safety of your friend, and the success of his mission. It is important that when you see Mr Holmes on the ship, you bring certain facts to his attention.’

‘And what might those facts be, Mr Reilly?’

‘Simply, Doctor, that times have changed. And so has the world in
which Mr Holmes will be carrying out his mission. Mr Holmes has confronted opponents who were both cunning and dangerous. Still, most of them had certain standards by which they played the game. I don’t quite know how to define it. You might call it a Victorian ethic...something in their upbringing that tempered their lawlessness. Doctor, believe me when I tell you, that that is not the case in modern espionage. Mr Holmes will be dealing with individuals who care nothing about human life. He will be in grave danger. And unless he is willing to become as cold and ruthless as his opponents, I suspect he will not survive.’

I did not know how to react to this extraordinary statement. At first, I was offended that this upstart should be so disrespectful of Holmes’s experience and abilities. Still, there was something in his manner that told me that he knew his business, and he did not give idle warnings.

‘Mr Reilly, I assure you that Mr Holmes is quite capable of taking care of himself. He may not be as young as he used to be, but his mind is as sharp as ever. And as for cunning opponents, if you’ve read my articles, you must be aware of his confrontation with the late Professor Moriarty. As you may recall, Holmes had laid a trap from which the professor knew he and his cohorts could not escape. When Holmes refused to back away, Moriarty on several occasions sent henchmen to kill him. Holmes and Moriarty had their final confrontation at Reichenbach Falls, where they struggled and Moriarty fell to his death. I could scarcely imagine a villain as dangerous as the professor.’

‘As I recall, Doctor, at Reichenbach Falls — before the struggle — didn’t Professor Moriarty allow Mr Holmes a few moments to write a note to you, explaining what was about to take place? I seem to recall from your work that you found such a note under Holmes’s cigarette case when you returned to the Falls.’

‘Yes, the professor waited whilst Holmes wrote a brief note. It was a
simple courtesy and posed no added danger to the professor.’

‘My point, Doctor, is that a professional agent would not have confronted Holmes face-to-face—let alone allow him the time to write a note. He would have killed Holmes quietly, at the first sign of trouble, with a knife in the back or a garrotte around the throat. That’s the type of opponent Holmes will be facing. I’m alive and speaking to you today, only because I have been willing to play as rough as my opponents.’

‘I remain as confident as ever in Holmes’s abilities,’ I said quietly. ‘But I will do as you say and pass on that word of warning.’

‘I hope so, Doctor. I hope so. I am a great admirer of Mr Holmes. I would hate to live with the memory that I had sent him on his final adventure.’

I handed Reilly his hat and coat as he stood at the top of the stairs, preparing to step back out into the pouring rain. Before buttoning his coat, he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out an envelope. ‘Thank you again for the journey back in time, Doctor. Here’s your ticket for tomorrow. I hope you enjoy the voyage, and please remember what I said.’

‘I will, and thank you again, Mr Reilly.’

I walked down the stairs with Reilly and opened the front door for him. He stepped out to his motorcar, as the driver opened the door to the back seat.

After bolting the front door, I walked back upstairs and warmed myself by the fireplace. I took a clean butter-knife from the sideboard and opened the envelope Reilly had given me. I was pleased to see that it contained a first-class ticket, since I had long made a habit of treating myself to comfortable travel accommodation. Not only that, but the ship itself would make this a rare treat. I would be travelling on the maiden voyage of the biggest, most luxurious ship ever built. Its name was written on my ticket in proud, bold letters — RMS
Titanic.

T
HE
M
ORNING OF
W
EDNESDAY
10 A
PRIL
1912

M
ycroft’s motorcar pulled up at Waterloo Station well in advance of the
Titanic
Special Service’s departure at a quarter to ten. I had packed a large suitcase in haste for the journey, hoping to purchase whatever else I might need on board the ship, or in New York. Mycroft was trimmer and more energetic than he had been when I last saw him, some three months earlier. It appeared that my lectures on his poor dietary and exercise habits had had their desired effect. He confided to me that members of the Diogenes Club, who had known him for decades, were astonished to find him taking morning walks.

‘Have a good time, Watson,’ said Mycroft, as we stood by the kerb, waiting for the driver to give my bag to the porter. ‘And please suggest to my brother that he might find a holiday beneficial.’

A newspaper photographer stepped out of the crowd and pointed his camera in our direction. Mycroft immediately moved towards his car, turning his back on the enterprising photographer who, after a few moments, gave up and went in search of a less bashful subject.

‘The departure of the
Titanic
appears to be quite a significant
event,’ Mycroft said. ‘That’s understandable, of course. When it was launched last year, more than 100,000 people came to watch. I had the opportunity to go on board for a short time during its sea trials. It is a beautiful ship — the biggest there is. Inside, it is like a city, carrying up to 3,300 passengers and crew, with every diversion for a sea voyage that one could wish for — squash courts, a swimming pool and even lifts to carry you from deck to deck.’

‘I would expect to see Fleet Street represented at the departure of the ship itself, but why here at the boat train?’

‘A fascination with the rich and famous, I suppose. This Special carries only first-class passengers. Second and third class took another train a couple of hours ago. You will be meeting a few celebrities, I have no doubt.’

‘At the moment, I’m more interested in how I will locate Holmes on board that huge ship. Do you know his cabin number?’

‘It is close to your own and he will find you. He has a talent for that kind of thing, you know. And remember, he’ll be travelling under an assumed name. It would not be wise to tell others he is on board. Only you and the captain will be aware of his presence — and, of course, Miss Christine Norton.’

‘Perhaps I’m getting a little confused in my old age, Mycroft. But why tell the captain that Sherlock Holmes is among the passengers? And who is Miss Norton?’

‘Oh, have I not mentioned Miss Norton? She is a courier for the Ministry. Very young, but intelligent and resourceful. Her mission is to take some secret military papers to the United States and I have asked Sherlock to look after her. The captain has been alerted that the three of you are on a secret mission and was asked to provide you with any assistance you may require.’

I am and always have been an even-tempered man. But I do not like being deceived, especially by a friend. I paused for a moment to contain
my anger, then replied to Mycroft’s extraordinary statement in calm, but firm tones.

‘Do you mean to say that I have been roped into some kind of spy mission? I understood that I was to go on a quiet ocean voyage with an old friend. Now, it appears, I’m in the middle of some sort of intrigue.’

‘You do indeed appear to have changed, Watson. I remember you as a man with a sense of adventure.’

Mycroft’s face broke into a broad smile, one that caused me to become even more annoyed by his deception. But I began to wonder at that point whether I had over-reacted. After all, the train was still at the station. There was still time to back out.

‘It is merely an exchange of documents. I will admit, the papers in question are of a highly delicate nature. It would be critical if certain foreign powers obtained them. But no one knows they are on board. You might like to remind yourselves of them now and then in between games of squash and shuffle-board.’

‘I will take your word for it, Mycroft. But I would have appreciated an earlier indication of the true nature of my task. Now, how will I recognize this lady of the name of Miss Norton?’

‘You do not know her. But I believe you have met her mother.’

‘You don’t mean...! Is Holmes aware that he will be working with Mrs Irene Norton’s daughter?’

‘Not yet. For security reasons, he has not been told the lady’s name; only that she will contact him in his cabin. You might like to tell him the rest after the ship departs. It should be a pleasant surprise for him. I don’t believe that he has ever met the young woman.’

‘Mycroft, I do believe you are becoming as deceitful as Professor Moriarty himself. But I do thank you for this opportunity to see Holmes before he begins his mission in the United States. Your Mr Reilly tells me there is some danger.’

Mycroft started, then peered into the distance as if lost in thought.