think is that he was preparing to use it on me, and eliminate the possibility of a witness. I fired twice, and he leapt for cover. I was hiding behind the Rolls when I heard the sound of running. I looked up just in time to see him dashing through the door.’
‘Did you pursue him?’
‘Not immediately. I stopped to tend Mr Bishop but he was very clearly dead. As you know, Commodore, one shot hit him directly in the forehead... Anyway, I caught my breath and headed for the door. I am not sure whether I was looking to see that the killer was gone, or hoping to find help. As I stepped through the door, this big crewman ordered me to turn over my gun. I handed it to him, and then a moment later grabbed on to him and began to cry. When I regained my strength, I told him what had happened and took him inside to show him Mr Bishop’s body.’
Miss Storm-Fleming’s confident composure was weakening. It appeared that she was on the verge of tears. I wanted to step forward and comfort her but, wisely, resisted.
‘I told him what had happened, but I do not think he believed me. He held my gun to his nose, smelled that it had been fired, and told me that he was taking me to see the captain.’
Miss Storm-Fleming’s head was bowed, a single tear streaming down her cheek. She looked up at me asking, perhaps, what I thought of all this. In fact, I did not know what to think. Her story was generally plausible but why was she carrying a gun? And why, if she was accompanying Mr Bishop to the cargo hold, did she appear to be following him when I saw her from the squash-rackets court?
‘Captain,’ said Holmes, breaking a short spell of silence, ‘I suggest that some effort be made to locate the entry points of the two rounds fired by Miss Fleming.’
‘My thoughts, exactly, Commodore. Mr Murdoch, would you accompany Miss Storm-Fleming to the orlop deck and conduct a search. You can tend to weighing the bullets after that. Meanwhile, Miss Storm-Fleming, the evidence appears to be in your favour. You are at liberty to leave.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
‘However, you are not completely beyond suspicion. Despite your claim of a man in the shadows, you were the only person found at the scene of the shooting. And while Bishop was not killed with your Colt, you still could have done the shooting with another handgun. If we find the second weapon hidden in the cargo hold, you could be back in custody again. And when we reach New York, I will turn the entire matter over to the authorities. They will, undoubtedly, want to question you further.’
‘I understand, Captain.’
‘And Miss Storm-Fleming, you will carry no more weapons on board this ship.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Murdoch, who had been standing by the door, indicated to her to follow him. As she walked by, I said softly, ‘I hope we will have an opportunity to talk later.’
She smiled and nodded, still holding back tears. A moment later, she and Murdoch were on their way to the cargo hold. Murdoch closed the door behind them.
‘Well, Mr Holmes, what do you think?’ asked the captain.
‘Her story is most curious, but as you said, the evidence is in her favour. There were no powder marks on Bishop’s body, which suggests that the gun was not fired at close range.’
‘What about this mysterious man in the shadows that Miss Storm-Fleming mentioned?’ asked Miss Norton. ‘Who do you suppose he is?’
‘When we find that out, we may be a step closer to finding our missing documents.’
The captain, who had been refilling his teacup, was taken aback by this remark.
‘Mr Holmes, are you suggesting that these two incidents are related?’
‘I think it is a strong possibility and our best lead yet in recovering the papers.’
‘Murder! Espionage! Mr Holmes, I have kept your little intrigue quiet so far. But now, I am afraid it is getting out of hand. We must inform Mr Ismay, the owner of the line, about the situation. I will ring him now to see if he is in his suite. If he is, I must ask the three of you to accompany me there.’
‘Very well,’ said Holmes. ‘My only request is that we do not go into any details about the nature of the stolen documents.’
‘On that you have my agreement.’
The captain picked up the telephone. I walked to the teapot to see if enough remained to pour three more cups.
‘Mr Ismay, please. Captain Smith here...’
THE EVENING OF FRIDAY 12 APRIL 1912
Our journey thus far had been one of unparalleled comfort and elegance. At least, that is what we thought. Hidden away on B Deck, we found the best and most luxurious accommodation the
Mr J Bruce Ismay occupied a suite of cabins on the port side. Combined, cabins B52, B54 and B56 formed a spacious ‘home away from home’. There was even a front porch — a private promenade overlooking the liner’s imposing hull.
At the time Captain Smith called over the ship’s telephone system, Mr Ismay was not in his cabin. His manservant, Mr Richard Fry, had answered, saying Mr Ismay was out having dinner but was expected back soon. He invited us to sit in Mr Ismay’s suite while awaiting his return.
I had lost track of time. So much had happened in the past few hours. When we left the captain’s cabin, we found that it was turning dark. Tired, I was invigorated by inhaling the fresh sea air. As we walked down to B Deck, I thought of Miss Storm-Fleming, walking with Murdoch in the ship’s enormous hold, attempting to locate the shots she had fired earlier in the day.
The captain’s knock on the door was answered by a slender, well-groomed man of medium height. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie.
‘Captain Smith, gentlemen, madam, would you come in, please?’
We passed into a magnificent sitting room. Not, mind you, the luxury you would find in a fine country house. But still, by far the best stateroom I had seen during my six decades on this earth.
‘Mr Fry, this is Commodore Giles Winter, Doctor John Watson and Miss Christine Norton. As I mentioned on the telephone, we have a matter of some delicacy to discuss with Mr Ismay.’
‘Yes, of course. Mr Ismay is due back shortly. May I get you something to drink while you are waiting?’ The captain nodded.
Mr Fry noticed Miss Norton’s eyes, bright with wonder, as she looked about the room.
‘Mr Ismay is quite proud of these suites. They are the best you will find on any liner.’
Indeed, our surroundings were most impressive. The sitting room was decorated in what Mr Fry described as Louis XVI style, with oak panelled walls. There was a large, round oak table at the centre of the room, surrounded by four thickly cushioned chairs, upholstered in a muted floral pattern. In addition, there was a corner writing table with a chair, and two other chairs. The light from a chandelier reflected off the large white moulded squares that covered the tall ceiling. It brought out the colour and intricate detail of the thick red and white carpet.
Mr Fry had removed a tray from a large cabinet and set it on an octagonal coffee table next to the sideboard. It held a flask of sherry and several fine crystal glasses. He filled four of them and handed one to each of us.
‘Perhaps you would feel more comfortable seated next to the fireplace? Or, if you would prefer, I could show you the rest of the suite?’
Miss Norton accepted Mr Fry’s offer of a tour, while Holmes, the captain and I adjourned to the private promenade running alongside the suite. The promenade was enclosed, with large screened windows that were open to the outside air. We looked out across the sea as the waves sparkled in the waning moments of twilight.
‘What sort of man is Mr Ismay?’ I asked, taking a sip of my sherry.
‘Likeable, but a perfectionist,’ said the captain. ‘He wants every last detail to be perfect and he expects everyone who works for him to feel the same way. I respect that in him, although I find it a little trying from time to
