The Titanic Tragedy Read online

  ‘The uniform suits you, Mr Holmes,’ said the captain, as the two shook hands. ‘Were you actually in the Navy at one time?’

  ‘No. Doctor Watson, here, has all the military experience.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Doctor Watson. I am very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I believe you have already met Miss Norton.’

  We had called on Smith, by appointment, in the private sitting room adjoining his cabin. It was comfortable, spacious and a good location to discuss our mission without fear of being overheard.

  ‘Mr Holmes, your brother Mycroft assured me that this mission the three of you have undertaken will in no way endanger the passengers on this ship, or disrupt the crossing. Do I have your word on that as well?’

  ‘I can provide no absolute guarantee, but thus far the journey has been a peaceful one. I must ask you, Captain, have you noticed anyone among the passengers and crew who might be of concern to us?’

  Captain Smith stood quietly as he lit a cigar he had pulled from a case on the table. A blue cloud of smoke encircled his head as he puffed away. He took a deep breath and savoured the aroma before answering Holmes’s question.

  ‘I have met a fair number of passengers, but not a fraction of the more than 1,200 on board. As for crew, there are a lot of new faces — people I have not sailed with before. That happens when you get a new ship.’

  ‘How many people are on board in all?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, we should pick up another 100 or so in Queenstown. That would bring the total up to around 2,200.’

  Holmes crossed his arms and casually stroked his beard. ‘Captain, I have long taken pride in my devotion to facts. But a man in your position, with your long experience, develops strong instincts over the years. Has anything happened thus far that makes you feel uncomfortable about any of the passengers or crew?’

  ‘Well...there is one man who may require some discipline — one of my lower-ranking officers, Fred Bishop. I caught him in my cabin the other day. He claimed he was looking for me. But when I asked him why, he brought up a small navigational question that could well have waited until later.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything else about him? Are you familiar with his service record? Is there anything unusual about his mannerisms, habits...?’

  ‘There is one thing, Mr Holmes. I do not like to bring it up, with all this nonsense about German espionage rings circulating the country. But Bishop does have a trace of a German accent. When I mentioned it to him, he said he had spent a number of years living in Germany and working with German crews. In fact, that had been in his service record and I had forgotten about it. His last assignment was on board a German liner. But I am sure you will agree, Mr Holmes, that is hardly a reason to brand someone as a spy.’

  ‘I agree, but let us keep an eye on him in any case.’

  Miss Norton, noticing the memorabilia on the wall shelves, began to make her way across the room.

  ‘Young lady,’ the captain said firmly, ‘I must ask you to stand quietly while I am smoking. Your movement is disturbing my smoke!’

  After a momentary pause, Miss Norton apologized and returned to her previous position. The captain took several quick puffs from his cigar and the cloud of blue smoke once again encircled his head.

  ‘There is one other point I’d like to make,’ said Smith. ‘The owner of the line, Mr J Bruce Ismay, is on board this ship. He is staying in a suite of cabins on B Deck. So far, there has been no need to alert him to your activities. But if the situation ever warrants it, I may have to inform him — at least about the particulars that affect this ship. Do I make myself understood?’

  Indeed you do, Captain,’ Miss Norton replied. ‘But in that event, I must ask you to inform him that this is a matter of national importance, requiring the strictest secrecy.’

  ‘Most certainly,’ said Smith. ‘Is there anything else we need to discuss?’

  I turned to glance out of the porthole. The skies were clear and the sun danced on the tall waves below. We would be reaching Queenstown later in the morning, and then leaving for open sea.

  ‘Captain, we will need to use your wireless equipment as a priority.’ Holmes’s directness did not seem to offend the captain. ‘Also, would you ensure that your wireless operators fully understand the urgent nature of any messages we send?’

  ‘We can take care of that straight away, Mr Holmes. Would you all care to follow me?’

  Captain Smith led us outside for a brief stroll around the boat deck to the wireless room on the port side. The crisp sea air was a refreshing change from the captain’s heavy cloud of cigar smoke. As we passed the gymnasium and climbed several steps to a raised section of deck, the captain pointed up to two parallel wires running from mast to mast, down the length of the ship.

  ‘That is the aerial for sending and receiving messages. As you will see, a connecting wire leads into the wireless room. We have the most advanced Marconi equipment available. I will let the operators explain the details to you.’

  The wireless room was a small area located just forward of the elevator gear. As we entered, we saw two young men in their early twenties. One was in uniform, seated behind the Marconi equipment, and the other was lying on a small bed, comfortably attired in a shirt and trousers. On noticing the captain, the man on the bed jumped to his feet. The man at the equipment continued to tap away at the telegraphy key. I was impressed by the tall stack of papers on the table next to him, presumably messages that were being sent by passengers.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Phillips,’ said the captain. ‘I did not mean to disturb you during your rest.’

  ‘No trouble at all, sir. I was just resting my eyes.’

  The young man at the telegraphy key completed the message he was sending, and rose from his chair.

  ‘Bride, please pause for a moment,’ said the captain. ‘I want you both to meet three distinguished guests. Commodore Winter, Doctor Watson and Miss Norton, this is Jack Phillips, our senior wireless operator. The young man who was just demonstrating his dexterity at the telegraphy key is our junior operator, Harold Bride.’

  Hands were shaken all around. The young men greeted Miss Norton with particular congeniality and enthusiasm.

  ‘The commodore is here on official business,’ the captain continued. ‘In part, he is here to evaluate the ship’s capabilities in the event of war. But he and Miss Norton also have another more confidential government mission. You are both under orders to give their messages the highest priority, second only to those dealing with the safety and smooth operation of this ship. Also, you must keep their work, or any messages they send, in the strictest confidence. Understood?’

  The two young men looked perplexed, but agreed without hesitation.

  ‘Doctor Watson, here, while not directly involved in their mission, should be shown the same courtesies.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Phillips.

  ‘And now, if you do not mind, gentlemen, Miss Norton, I have a ship to attend to. If you do not have any plans for dinner, you are most welcome to join me at my table tonight. Meanwhile, Mr Phillips will explain the capabilities of our Marconi equipment.’

  After the captain had left, the two men became more relaxed. Bride went back to his equipment and Phillips began a most interesting description of his work. I guessed that this was not the first time he had been asked by a captain to put on a show for special guests.

  ‘Wireless equipment has been in general use on commercial liners for about three years now. The Marconi apparatus we have here is the most powerful on any merchant vessel. Mr Bride and I, in fact, are employed by Marconi International Marine Communications Company, and we work on this ship under an arrangement with the White Star Line. The two of us work in shifts and are pretty much able to provide round-the-clock service. Some ships have only one wireless operator, and consequently offer communications on a more limited basis.

  As you can see, there are two complete sets of apparatus — one for transmitting and one for receiving messages. They are powered by a five-kilowatt motor generator, fed at 100 volts dc from the ship’s lighting circuit.’

  ‘What happens if you lose power in an emergency?’ I asked.

  ‘We have standby power. There’s an oil engine generator on the top deck, as well as a battery of accumulators... Now, when a signal comes in on the aerial, it feeds into this tuning coil...’

  ‘What about range?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘We have a guaranteed working range of 250 miles under any atmospheric conditions. But we generally maintain a range of up to 400 miles. At night, I have sent and received at a distance of up to 2,000 miles. We can reach Clifden Station on the west coast of Ireland. Then, as we approach North America, there is Glace Bay Station in Nova Scotia and Cape Race in Newfoundland. And, of course, there is also ship-to-ship.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Holmes. ‘Your information has been most interesting and helpful.’

  ‘Glad to be of service, Commodore. If you’d like to come back again during the trip, I can give you a more detailed description of how it all works... You too, Miss Norton, Doctor.’

  ‘We may indeed do that,’ said Holmes. And as the captain said, we may need your assistance in the future.’

  ‘We will be delighted to oblige.’

  Phillips opened the door and ushered Miss Norton out onto the deck. ‘I hope your work does not keep you so busy that you do not have the time to enjoy the voyage. She really is a beautiful ship.’

  ‘She is, indeed,’ said Miss Norton. ‘And do they let you leave your equipment from time to time to obtain some fresh air?’

  ‘It is mostly working and sleeping, but I do have a little spare time.’

  There was another round of hand-shaking, and the three of us departed. We
walked forward along the officers’ promenade, past a row of lifeboats. The deck came to an end at the wheelhouse, and we stopped at the rail, looking down at the forecastle deck, and the froth produced by waves curling off Titanic’s bow. While the sea was choppy, the skies ahead were clear. It promised to be another enjoyable day for strolling the decks and taking advantage of all the pleasures this giant liner had to offer.

  As we stood quietly, admiring the majesty of the sea, a full Atlantic swell hit our port side. Moments later, a cool mist floated across the deck. Yet, if it had not been for our clear view of the horizon, we would hardly have noticed the ship’s rolling, back and forth motion. The mighty Titanic quietly absorbed the impact, cradling its passengers from the forces of nature. How far we had come from the days of the frail wooden sailing vessels.

  ‘It is a trifle chilly here,’ said Miss Norton. ‘Would you mind if we sheltered from the wind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ I agreed, feeling somewhat cold myself. ‘Besides, this promenade is strictly reserved for officers. We should go before someone asks us to leave.’

  Miss Norton laughed. ‘We may be trapped up here. I am unsure as to whether the captain left the gate unlocked.’

  But we passed back easily onto the first-class promenade. As we did, we were approached somewhat abruptly by a man and woman who had been standing by the rail.

  ‘Doctor Watson! Excuse me, Doctor Watson! You are Doctor Watson, aren’t you? One of the ship’s officers told me he had seen you heading in this direction with the captain. I hope I am not disturbing you.’

  ‘No trouble at all, Mr...’

  ‘Futrelle, Jacques Futrelle. I have been hoping to meet you ever since I heard you were on this ship. And this is my wife, Mrs May Futrelle.’

  ‘Mr Futrelle, I am glad that you sought me out. I have enjoyed your detective fiction greatly. In fact, Holmes once told me that he admired the way you emphasized deductive reasoning in your stories. I especially enjoyed that short story, The Problem of Cell 13. Oh, allow me to introduce you to my two companions — Commodore Giles Winter and Miss Christine Norton.’

  As Futrelle shook hands with Holmes, the excited smile disappeared suddenly from his face. For a moment, his eyes were fixed on Holmes’s hand. Then he seemed to study the commodore’s bearded face.

  ‘Have we not met before, Commodore? Your face seems familiar.’

  ‘I do not recall an occasion but I have indeed heard of you and read some of your stories. It is a pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Miss Norton said. ‘Your name sounds French, and I have always assumed you were from France. But your accent seems to be American.’

  ‘Born and raised in Pike County, Georgia, Miss Norton. But do not be embarrassed. You are not the first person to come to that conclusion.’

  Futrelle was an energetic, full-faced man in his mid-thirties. His attractive wife stood by quietly as we conversed. She too was a writer of some repute.

  ‘May and I were just about to go for a swim when we caught up with you. But I would greatly like to continue our conversation — perhaps this evening?’

  ‘I would be delighted,’ I said. ‘An after-dinner drink would be most enjoyable. Perhaps you will tell me about the next adventure of Professor Van Dusen, The Thinking Machine.’

  ‘I am afraid I am at a dead end in plotting the professor’s next story. I would appreciate any suggestions you could offer.’

  ‘It would be a pleasure. Until this evening, then.’

  The Futrelles turned and waved once more as they walked down the deck hand in hand.

  ‘Holmes, I think Futrelle may have recognized you!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Perhaps. My photograph has been published before. But if he does suspect, he was not sure enough to say anything. Either that or he was simply respecting my effort to conceal my identity.’

  ‘We may have to bring him into our confidence before he shares his suspicions with others,’ Miss Norton said. ‘We do not have to give him any details — just let him know you are working on a confidential case.’

  ‘We may have to consider that. But first let us try to determine just how strongly he suspects, and how good he is at keeping a secret.’

  Chapter Seven

  MIDDAY ON THURSDAY 11 APRIL 1912

  By late morning the outside air had warmed considerably, and I decided to return to the boat deck to do some reading. Appropriate to the occasion, I had packed one of William Clark Russell’s fine sea stories, The Wreck of the Grosvenor.

  Holmes, in the guise of Commodore Giles Winter, was exploring areas of the ship that were out of bounds to passengers. Miss Norton was resting in her cabin. After a particularly eventful first day on board ship, I welcomed this opportunity to blend in with the other passengers and to enjoy the comforts of this luxurious liner.

  I selected a reclining deck chair on the starboard side. It was not long before a boy came by, laden with blankets. I accepted one gratefully and spread it over my legs.

  I found it difficult to concentrate on my reading. My attention was drawn to the activities of my fellow passengers. They seemed so at peace with their idleness. Couples, both young and old, strolled hand in hand. I thought back to how I had buried myself in my work for so many months. Then my mind wandered to past travels and the delightful holidays I had taken with my wife. I had forgotten how travel could dissipate anxieties and rejuvenate the soul. For years, I had prescribed holidays for my patients. Unfortunately, it had never occurred to me to prescribe one for myself.

  ‘Why, Doctor Watson, what a pleasant surprise!’

  Miss Storm-Fleming appeared by my side.

  ‘Perhaps you would care to join me,’ I suggested, indicating the reclining deck chair next to me. ‘Would you care for my blanket? I will request another from the boy when he returns.’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you. I came up to get some sun... How are you enjoying your voyage so far? And where are your friends? I was beginning to think of you as the Three Musketeers.’

  ‘I suppose we have been spending a lot of time together,’ I said, smiling at the comparison. ‘But even musketeers need to have their own adventures from time to time.’

  ‘Exactly! And perhaps, after this voyage, you will forget Sherlock Holmes, and go on to write The Adventures of Doctor Watson. Of course, I would be a little offended if I was not included as your faithful companion.’

  ‘I doubt that the adventures of a retired doctor would draw much interest from the reading public. But, in any event, I would still appreciate the company of such a delightful fellow traveller.’

  Miss Storm-Fleming spoke softly. ‘Doctor Watson, you appeared very preoccupied just now, before I came over. Your book did not seem to be holding your attention.’

  ‘I was reflecting on how much my wife would have enjoyed a cruise on a ship like this. I suppose I feel somewhat guilty about enjoying myself.’

  ‘We live in a world filled with exciting possibilities, Doctor Watson. But none of us has the time on this Earth to experience all of them. Your wife was married to someone who cared a great deal for her. Can you not be thankful for the happiness you gave her, and leave it at that? You are an author; it is time to write the next chapter in your life.’

  ‘Your husband was a most fortunate man,’ I said. ‘Have you been able to write the next chapter in your life?’

  ‘I have begun,’ Miss Storm-Fleming smiled at me, then stared out into the rolling waves of the Atlantic. ‘I do not know how it is going to turn out yet, but that is what makes life interesting. Do you not agree?’

  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.’