The Furt The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Titanic Tragedy

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.’