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

‘Herr Doctor,’ said Von Stern. ‘I assume you play by the polite English rule that requires a player, upon hitting the ball, to back away, in order to give his opponent a free view of the ball?’

‘Yes, of course, that is a basic rule of the game. Are the rules different in Germany?’

Von Stern’s tone remained cordial, but I was offended by his inference that British sportsmanship made us weak competitors. I could not tell whether he was serious about the rule, or simply attempting to unnerve me.

‘Nein, nein. We have the same rule. Only in my circles, we interpret it rather loosely. We find that that makes for a more exciting game. However, in our game, I will try to remember to play by standard conventions.’

‘Thank you, Baron. I would appreciate that — especially since we have no referee here to call penalties.’

Von Stern’s eyes showed a sudden flare of anger, but it disappeared quickly. The engaging smile returned to his face.

‘Very good. Shall we begin, then?’

After a brief warm-up, a twirl of the racket gave the first serve to Von Stern. He began with a forehand service from a forward position in the service box, close to the wall. The ball bounced off the front wall at a wide angle, sending it to the back corner on my side of the court. I returned it with a drop stroke that hit the wall at the nick. Much to my surprise, the baron was able to meet the ball as it rebounded at a low angle off the floor. I was unable to reach his cross-court lob. The score was one–love.

Von Stern went on to win the first game, but I was very pleased by the close score of nine–seven. The baron appeared to be somewhat irritated as we began the second game of our best-of-five match.

I won the second game, ten–nine, after Von Stern called set two when the game was eight all. The baron made a fine recovery in the third game, winning by a score of nine–five. Still, my victory in the second game appeared to have shaken his confidence. In the third game, he began to play more aggressively, but lost some control. And from time to time, I found my returns blocked by Von Stern’s movement about the court.

The score stood at three–two in the baron’s favour when Von Stern lobbed a shot that rebounded off the front wall and flew over my head towards the back corner. As I ran backwards, I caught a glimpse of the baron moving sideways and to my rear. I shifted my balance to avoid a collision, but that simply sent me careening into the side wall and, finally, to the floor.

‘Doctor, Doctor, are you hurt?’ asked Von Stern, as he reached down to help me up. I did not accept his assistance. The fall had activated my old war injury, and my shoulder was throbbing with a dull persistency. And, I have to admit, I had little interest in receiving any support from the baron. I had little doubt that the ‘accident’ was intentional.

‘Please, Herr Doctor, let me help you up!’

‘Thank you. But I can manage.’

‘You are rubbing your shoulder. Are you injured?’

‘Not at all, it is just my old bullet wound causing a spot of bother. Just give me a minute and we can continue our game.’

‘Are you sure, Doctor? You appear to be in pain. Would you not prefer to call the match a draw and move on to the Turkish baths? The steam would help your shoulder.’

‘Indeed not, Baron. Let us continue.’

‘Very well. But I must insist that I was at fault. The serve goes to you.’

‘I will not disagree with you. Shall we take our positions?’

During the next rally, the baron and I again had a ‘mishap’. As I ran forward to meet the ball, Von Stern’s racket fell from his hand and clattered on to the floor in front of him. I managed to avoid tripping over the racket but the distraction caused me to miss the ball. Again, the baron conceded the rally to me, and he gained nothing. Perhaps his game was psychological — a move to jar me into losing control.

Much to my despair, the time had come to teach the baron that even British sportsmanship allowed for special measures in exceptional situations.

My opportunity came late in the fourth game, when the score was seven all. The ball was coming straight on at chest level and I was moving up into position. Von Stern was standing motionless in front of me, just out of the ball’s path, but close enough to block my swing. But swing I did. My racket curved around like the swing of a pendulum. I missed the ball, but my efforts were not wasted. The racket came to a thudding halt on Baron Von Stern’s breeches. The swing was not hard enough to cause the baron injury, or even serious pain. But much to my surprise, he chose that moment to make a belated effort to step aside. As he moved his right foot to the side, my racket collided with his back. Off balance, he began to fall forward. The ball, in turn, hit him just below the left eye. He shouted an oath, in German, as he dropped his racket and cupped his hand over the injured side of his face.

I grabbed his shoulders to steady him, then I carefully lifted his hand from his face.

‘Baron Von Stern, please stand still, I am going to take a look at that.’ I held open the lids of his eye, and asked him to look from side to side. ‘Well, there is no apparent damage to the eye itself, but it looks like you are going to have a little discolouration for a while, I regret to say.’

As I continued to examine Von Stern’s eye, I looked past him and saw the young officer, Bishop, watching us from the spectators’ gallery. When he saw that I had spotted him, he moved along past the gallery opening and out of view.

‘You and I both have had some bad luck with this game today, Herr Doctor. Now, it is I who must insist that we move on to the Turkish baths. We both have wounds to heal.’

‘That sounds like a splendid idea, Baron. And perhaps a cold drink afterwards.’

I guided Von Stern to the door, as he continued to hold his hand over the injured eye. As we walked, I again looked up to the gallery to see if Bishop had returned. Instead, I saw Miss Storm-Fleming standing alone, her face expressionless. I waved to her but received only a half-hearted movement of the wrist in reply. Then, like Bishop, she moved away.

The Titanic’s Turkish baths included individual rooms for hot and temperate steam. The cooling room, where one goes to readjust to normal temperatures, was one of the most cleverly designed on the ship. It was decorated in seventeenth-century Arabian style. An elaborately carved Cairo curtain, placed in front of the portholes, gave the room a distinctly Eastern flavour. The walls were completely tiled in large green and blue panels, surrounded by a large band of tiles coloured in bolder hues. Bronze Arab lamps were suspended from gilt- coloured ceiling beams. There were low couches lining the walls, with inlaid Damascus tables between each. An elegant marble drinking fountain was at one side.

After taking steam at moderate heat, Von Stern and I, wrapped in thick, oversized towels, sat on couches in the cooling room. An attendant brought coffee and placed it on the table between us. The baron’s eye appeared to be much better, but the bruising around the lower lid was much darker.

‘Did I not tell you the baths were relaxing, Doctor? Or was the steam too hot for you?’

‘No, the steam was fine. And the pain in my shoulder has diminished. Coming here was an excellent idea.’

We sat quietly for some time. It was the baron who finally broke the silence.

‘Doctor Watson, I am curious about a rumour I heard earlier today. I understand that your friend, Miss Norton, had an intrusion in her cabin last night. Is this true?’

‘I am surprised you have heard of it. Pray, who told you?’

‘Word spreads quickly when so many inquiries are being made. Was anything valuable taken?’

‘Not really; just a few personal items. I have no idea what the intruder hoped to find there. The more serious break-in was in the cabin next door, where an elderly woman was bound and gagged.’

‘Very serious indeed. And are they making any progress in recovering Miss Norton’s property?’

‘Very little, I fear. But, as you know, the captain has instigated an inquiry.’

‘You will let me know if you hear anything?’ asked Von Stern.

‘If you wish. But it is not a cause for concern. I am sure that it was just an isolated case, and that you and your wife are perfectly safe.’

‘Yes, of course, I agree. But what with these blackmail notes, I cannot help but wonder whether there is any connection.’

‘Oh, I doubt that very much. But certainly I will keep you informed, especially if I hear of anything that might link the two. Meanwhile, let us finish this excellent coffee.’