that, Strickley stormed through a doorway towards the forward end of the ship.
Holmes and I were the centre of attention, as we stood among the stokers, who had lost all interest in shovelling coal. ‘Well, Holmes,’ I said quietly, ‘it appears that Mr Strickley is a very likely suspect.’
‘Yes, I think I will ask the captain to arrange a meeting with our excitable stoker under more friendly conditions. Unless he is prepared to jump ship, there is nowhere he can hide.’
LUNCHTIME ON FRIDAY 12 APRIL 1912
‘Most satisfactory, Miss Norton, most satisfactory.’
These words of support from Holmes did a world of good for our young companion. For the first time since the plans were stolen, I saw her smile. The colour was returning to her face, and her enthusiasm for finding our adversaries, and the plans, was renewed.
The three of us were sitting in the restaurant enjoying a splendid lunch. Or, should I say, I was enjoying this fine meal. I had finished my grilled mutton chops and was encouraging the last of my peas on to my fork. Holmes, during the entire meal, had been sitting back in his chair, listening intently to Miss Norton. Neither of them had touched their food.
The restaurant was not even half full. It was a little late for lunch, and most of the passengers had already finished their meals and gone on to other leisurely pursuits. Several tables away, Mr and Mrs Futrelle were having a quiet lunch together.
‘I’m very glad that you found my report useful, Mr Holmes.’ She cut into her meat for the first time. ‘But you and Doctor Watson deserve the prize for the most progress. When will we have the opportunity to speak to Mr Strickley?’
‘I have informed the captain of our encounter this morning, and he will notify us when our secretive stoker is available for questioning. But do not underrate the information you have gathered. Strickley is just a pawn in this game. You have supplied some interesting new pieces to the puzzle.’
Miss Norton had spent the morning casually chatting with our dinner companions from Thursday night. She was able to draw from each of them some explanation of their whereabouts at the time of the theft.
The baron and baroness said they had returned to their cabin early. Moriarty was in the first-class smoking room, having a drink with friends. Bishop, who was off duty, said he went to his cabin to read, after taking a walk on the deck. Mr and Mrs Futrelle spent the evening in the reception room, off the first-class dining room, listening to the ship’s band. Brandon said he was having a private card game in his cabin, but would not reveal the names of the other players. Miss Storm-Fleming reported that, after a brief rest in her cabin, she attended a party in the Cafe Parisien on B Deck. The party, Miss Norton noted, was hosted by none other than John Jacob Astor, the wealthy American property magnate, and his young wife, Madeleine.
‘But Holmes, we were in the first-class smoking room last night. I did not see Moriarty.’
‘I did. He was sitting near the far wall, opposite the fireplace from where we sat. He was talking to two men, neither of whom I could identify.’
‘Then Moriarty has an alibi.’
‘A most convenient alibi. No, Watson, if Colonel Moriarty is anything like his late brother, he would commit the crime through his henchmen, while leaving himself in the clear. Let us not dismiss him just yet.’
‘It appears that all the rest of our dinner guests were alone for at least part of the evening, except for the Futrelles — and Brandon, who would not provide the names of his companions,’ I noted. ‘I suppose even Miss Storm-Fleming could have done it, since she left the party early and returned to her cabin. But remember, Mrs Applegate heard two male voices in her room.’
‘She heard only a few words,’ Miss Norton said gently. ‘Just like Moriarty, Doctor Watson, Miss Storm-Fleming may not have been in the cabin, but she could have been involved behind the scenes.’
‘I am afraid the only members of our dinner party who are in the clear are the Futrelles,’ said Holmes, pulling a piece of paper from his coat pocket. ‘After we returned from our tour of the ship, I received this wireless message from Mycroft. It is marked “confidential”, so Mr Phillips had it delivered to me immediately.’
‘My brother has never been as energetic as me, but he has investigative talents that I have long envied. Still, I have never considered accepting his invitations to work for the government. As you know, Watson, I prefer...’
‘Good afternoon, Commodore.’ Jacques Futrelle, appearing somewhat nervous, was standing next to our table. His wife remained seated across the room. ‘Doctor Watson, Miss Norton, I hope I am not disturbing you.’
‘Not at all,’ I replied. ‘Please, do be seated. Would your wife care to join us?’
‘I wonder if you would be so good as to allow me a few private words for a moment?’ Futrelle paused, choosing his next words very carefully. ‘I have a matter of a personal nature to discuss. Miss Norton, perhaps you would care to join my wife for a moment.’
‘Mr Futrelle, I can assure you that Miss Norton will hold whatever you have to say in complete confidence. Please, tell us what is on your mind.’
‘Very well... Commodore, I have noticed some things since we met and I have come to some conclusions as a result of those observations. I wondered if I might discuss these with you.’
‘Please proceed.’ Holmes’s eyes were fixed solidly on Futrelle’s.
‘First of all, I must mention that I have never met Doctor Watson’s friend, Sherlock Holmes. But I have long admired him, and have looked on him as a model for my own amateur interest in detective work. But to get to the point, Commodore, I have noticed that you too have strong observational and analytical skills.’
‘Thank you,’ said Holmes. My friend’s expression did not change. But there was perhaps just a hint of a smile.
‘I’ve also noticed that you, like Mr Holmes, must be a bee enthusiast. I see the marks of no less than fourteen bee stings on your hands.’
‘Go on, Mr Futrelle.’
Futrelle’s look of discomfort became even more apparent. He looked at Miss Norton and me, perhaps hoping that one of us would say something. Neither of us did.
‘Well, Doctor, you and the commodore appear to be firm friends. That is also very interesting, since you told me earlier that the two of you met for the first time on this cruise.’
‘You’ve stated your observations,’ said Holmes. ‘Pray tell us what conclusions you have drawn.’
Futrelle leaned forward in his chair, looking squarely into Holmes’s eyes. ‘My conclusion is that Commodore Giles Winter does not exist, or is a borrowed identity. I believe that you are, in reality, none other than Mr Sherlock Holmes, the noted detective.’
Holmes studied Futrelle for a moment, and then let loose a hearty laugh. ‘Mr Futrelle,’ he said, reaching out to shake the writer’s hand, ‘my congratulations. You have indeed lived up to the reputation of your fictional creation, Professor Van Dusen. Sherlock Holmes, at your service.’
Futrelle displayed both surprise and relief at the detective’s reaction. ‘Mr Holmes, I apologize if I have intruded on your privacy. Either you are working on a case that requires this disguise, or perhaps you are using anonymity to allow a quiet holiday at sea. In either case...’
‘No trouble at all. Although I am a little disappointed that this disguise was not more successful. Doctor Watson saw through it immediately — but now, a perfect stranger.’
‘If I may be so bold, Mr Holmes, why are you in disguise? Are you working on a case? Of course, you understand, I’m not asking for details. It is not any of my business, really...’
Holmes was sitting back in his chair, with his fingers raised to his lips. He turned his attention from Futrelle and looked at Miss Norton, and then at me, with a questioning gaze. After a moment’s contemplation, he leaned
