Half an hour later, I was walking through the corridors of C Deck, approaching my cabin door, when I heard the shout of a familiar voice and footsteps racing up behind me.
‘Doctor Watson!’ said the voice, as the footsteps slowed to a halt. It was Futrelle. ‘Forgive me for chasing up behind you like this, Doctor, but I have some information that you might find interesting.’
‘It must be very important,’ I said, offering a calming smile and a handshake. I had forgotten how excitable Americans were.
‘I do not know how important it is, but it is most curious.’ Futrelle paused for a moment to catch his breath. ‘I was here on C Deck a while ago when I saw Brandon stepping out of one of the corridors, and then walking down the forward staircase. He was carrying a bag under his arm.’
‘Did you speak to him?’
‘No, and I do not think he saw me... Anyway, I followed him, being careful to avoid being seen. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he went over to the locked gate that leads to third class.’
‘Did he attempt to pass through?’
‘This is where it gets interesting, Doctor. When he got to the gate, he turned around to see if anyone was looking. I was near the top of the stairs, so I was able to conceal myself and thus avoid being seen. Anyway, a few moments later I heard the gate swinging open. I looked down just in time to see him removing a key from the lock... Now, where do you suppose he got it? I thought only the officers and crew had keys.’
‘Where, indeed? Our gambler is a man of many talents.’
‘That is not all. He closed the gate, but left it unlocked. I followed him down the corridor and saw him step into a storage room.’
‘And...?’
‘And a few minutes later I saw him come out, dressed in work clothes — the kind some of the crew wear. From there, he walked on and ended up unlocking another gate, this one marked “Crew Only”.’
‘Interesting, indeed.’
‘I followed down the stairway, but was turned back by a member of the crew.’
‘I greatly appreciate you telling me this, Futrelle. It could prove to be very useful.’
‘It seemed like it was worth running down the hall to catch up with you,’ he said, displaying a proud smile.
‘My cabin is just down the hall. Let us go inside and discuss it further. I will order something cold to drink.’
Futrelle looked at his watch, then nodded.
I put the key in my cabin door and discovered that it had been left unlocked. When I opened the door, I was astonished to find the cabin in complete disarray.
‘Good Lord, someone’s broken in!’ I shouted. The contents of the wardrobe and my suitcase had been emptied onto the floor and the mattress on the bed had been overturned. With the plans already stolen, I could not imagine what the intruder was attempting to find.
‘Look at this place!’ said Futrelle. ‘They certainly were thorough. They have even torn the lining in your suitcase.’
‘It does not appear that they have taken anything. Look, over here, they have left the spare cash I kept in the pocket of my overcoat.’
‘Then what possible motive...’
‘My notes! They’ve taken my notes on the code.’
‘Code? What code is that?’
I continued to do an inventory of my belongings. ‘It was an odd wireless transmission — something about a “Hot Russian Honey Bear”. It may have something to do with the theft from Miss Norton’s cabin.’
Futrelle was intrigued but I was too absorbed by the burglary to provide him with further details.
‘I do not understand,’ said Futrelle. ‘If the culprits have already removed the item in question from Miss Norton’s cabin, why have they searched your cabin as well?’
‘That puzzles me too...unless, of course, we are dealing with a different intruder, who is still searching for the documents.’
‘What next? Should I go to look for Mr Holmes?’
‘Let me call the captain first. He should be informed and he may know of Holmes’s current whereabouts.’
I picked up my cabin telephone and the switchboard operator put me through to the captain’s cabin.
‘Doctor Watson, this is most fortunate. I have people looking for you.’
‘Is there something wrong?’
‘Most definitely. Mr Bishop has been shot...dead. Mr Holmes is down where the body was discovered, and I am here questioning our suspect.’
‘You have someone in custody?’ My words came out in a stammer, as my mind raced to assimilate this rapid turn of events.
‘Yes, we are holding someone...’ The captain paused, his voice suddenly taking on a more consoling tone. ‘Doctor, I am afraid it is your friend, Miss Storm-Fleming.’
THE LATE AFTERNOON OF FRIDAY 12 APRIL 1912
The cargo hold at the forward end of the orlop deck was a motor enthusiast’s dream. A dozen or so fine automobiles were secured to the deck in neat rows, all pointed forward as if eagerly anticipating their arrival in New York.
Mr Murdoch, the first officer, who was sent by the captain to escort me to the hold, had prepared me for this impressive sight on our way down. Only one of the vehicles, a 25-hp Renault, actually appeared on the passenger manifest. It was owned by a Mr Carter. All the others were part of a private collection owned by a Mr Michael, a man who enjoyed his privacy. They were being transported quietly to his estate in New Jersey.
I have never been a fancier of automobiles. But I must say, this colourful assortment of machinery did capture my interest. During the course of the investigation, all of the canvas covers had been removed, revealing a proud display of everything the best European manufacturers had to offer. Mr Murdoch pointed out a few items — a bright red Bianchi, a 1903 Peugeot Phaeton and a yellow 1903 De Dion-Bouton Populaire.
And, in the middle of this amazing collection, I found Holmes, Miss Norton, Doctor O’Loughlin, the ship’s surgeon, and Mr Boxhall, the fourth officer, all gathered around an open-topped motorcar.
‘Watson, at last, I am glad they found you!’ said Holmes, pausing only a moment to look up from his work. ‘Tell me, what do you make of the wounds?’
Bishop’s body was slumped back in the driver’s seat of a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. There was one bullet hole to his forehead and another to his chest. I carefully examined each wound, and then moved the body forward to search for points of exit.
‘There are no powder burns. I would say that the shots were fired at some distance — by a very good shot, may I add.’
‘I agree,’ said Holmes. ‘And, as you have no doubt noticed, the bullet that made the head wound remains in the body. But the shot that was fired into the chest has passed through the body and has become lodged in the back cushion of the driver’s seat... The good doctor here was about to lend me his medical instruments to remove it but I see you have your bag. Would you be so kind as to let me use a large scalpel and a pair of forceps?’
I reached into my bag and handed Holmes the instruments he had requested. He immediately cut a vertical gash through the leather across the bullet hole and probed with the forceps. Unsuccessful, he cut a horizontal line and probed again. After a few minutes, he removed the forceps and held the bullet under his glass. I was very much surprised to see a hint of a smile on Holmes’s lips.
After holding the bullet out for all to see, he placed it in an envelope and wrote in pencil on the outside. He then entrusted it to Mr Murdoch.
‘Mr Murdoch, may I have the weapon that was taken from Miss Storm-Fleming?’
Murdoch paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket and removed a small handgun.
