prying them open, we could perhaps unpack them until they were light enough to move. But that might take hours, and the prospects of escaping by that route were not that good, even if the crates were removed. My previous study of the ship showed that that there was another hold below us, and there was no indication of whether we could move freely to the next compartment.
‘Perhaps we could short the electric lights,’ Futrelle offered. ‘If that blacked out other parts of the ship, they might send an electrician down to find the trouble.’
‘And if it does not, or if they decide to leave the problem until morning, we will be left in the dark. We would have virtually no chance of defusing the bomb. Not that either of us knows anything about defusing a bomb.’
‘I suppose... I wish we could ring for room service. I am extremely hungry.’
I smiled and nodded in agreement.
‘Futrelle,’ I said. ‘There may be another way.’ I was surprised to hear my voice cracking. ‘It would not save us, but it may save the other passengers.’
‘What is it?’
‘We could try to defuse the bomb. If we succeed, then well and good. If we fail, and the bomb goes off, it will only flood two of the holds.’
‘And kill us.’
‘And, as you say, kill us. But the ship will not sink, at least until the second bomb goes off at 1 am. And the threat of two flooded holds might cause the captain to abandon ship.’
‘But there are not enough lifeboats.’
‘Some would be saved. And if the captain calls for help early enough, another ship might come before the
‘I consider our duty is clear.’
We carefully moved the box containing the bomb to the opposite wall, under the electric light. For some time, we kneeled next to it, examining the complex network of wires and components.
‘The bottle of nitroglycerine is down underneath all this other apparatus,’ I said. ‘If only we could just remove it, that would make the whole process simple.’
I tugged gently at the spool-like piece of metal above the bottle, but it held firmly in place.
‘We could try pulling some of the wires,’ Futrelle said.
‘That might trigger it, but then again, perhaps not.’
I tried tugging at another component, which caused a brief whirring sound that made me think twice about continuing that particular approach.
‘If we had a straw and could remove the stopper on the bottle, we could siphon the nitroglycerine out of the bottle and into another container. Then the bomb would be harmless.’
I wiped the sweat off my brow. ‘Not the most helpful suggestion, Futrelle.’
‘Do you have a better idea?’
‘Confound it, Futrelle, I am a doctor, not an explosives expert!’
‘Apologies, old fellow. An unusual situation for both of us.’
‘There is a wire here that is lightly soldered into place,’ I said, pointing to a thin strand covered in red insulation. ‘I am going to give it a tug.’
‘I am with you, Watson. Proceed...but gently, if you please.’
I took a deep breath, then gently placed my fingertips on either side of the wire, down near the connection. I placed the forefinger of my other hand on the component just below the connection, and began to work the wire back and forth.
‘What the devil is that!’ I gasped, backing my hands away from the device.
Someone was rattling the chain outside the door. I looked up at Futrelle and he looked back at me with an expression of utter delight.
‘We’re saved!’ he said. ‘The ship is saved!’
‘Unless it is Brandon coming back to check up on our ropes,’ I said, keeping my voice down. ‘Quickly, to the door! We will need to grab whoever it is when he comes in.’
Futrelle and I stood on either side of the door, our backs to the wall. Suddenly, I remembered something and ran back to switch off the light.
The door opened before I could return to my position. I saw the silhouette of a stooped man. He had a full, fluffy beard and mumbled to himself as he peered through the doorway. It was clearly not Brandon, but I wondered whether it might be one of his henchmen.
He slowly lifted a lamp from the floor, and pointed it directly at me. He suddenly backed away in surprise but then braced himself on the door frame and moved forward cautiously.
‘’Ere now, who is that lurkin’ about in the dark? Come out in the light now, yer ’ear?’
Futrelle took no chances. He lunged at the stooped figure as he stepped into the room. Both fell to the floor with a thud. I turned the light back on and studied the features of our visitor, who was now lying flat on his back, with Futrelle on top of him. He was an elderly man with a weathered face and a bushy beard and eyebrows. The white hair behind his receding brow was long and uncombed. The man’s grey, battered coat did not appear to be that of one of the crew. But then, he did not appear to be a passenger either, since his clothing contained a layer of soot.
‘Futrelle, I suggest that you help our visitor up to his feet to allow him to explain who he is and what his business is down in the cargo hold.’
Futrelle helped the man to his feet. Our visitor showed little gratitude. Instead, he brushed himself down and scrutinized each of us from head to toe.
‘What I am doin’ ’ere is no concern of yours,’ he said, continuing to brush dust from his sleeves. ‘And what do you mean by jumpin’ on me like that? Seems to me I did you gents a favour by lettin’ you out of ’ere.’
I was beginning to feel a little guilty. While we were justified in being cautious, he had indeed done us and everyone on board a great favour. ‘My apologies but we had to make sure that you were not in league with the man who locked us in here. But what
The man grinned wryly, stood up straight, and used both hands to pull the beard from his face.
‘My dear Watson, I was simply looking for you.’
‘Holmes!’
‘Indeed it is. And I am most relieved to find that I have not lost my touch with disguises. You must admit, this one had you completely fooled.’
THE LATE EVENING OF SATURDAY 13 APRIL 1912
‘Holmes, you amaze me! After all these years, you still surprise me. How on earth did you find us down here?’
‘When you failed to return, I went down to third class to find you. I could not locate you in any of the public areas, so I decided that my best course of action was to follow our mysterious gambler friend, Mr Brandon. I found him in the bar.’
‘But why the disguise?’ asked Futrelle, nervously dividing his attention between Holmes and the bomb.
Holmes looked curiously at Futrelle, and then back at me.
‘My dear fellow, what do you have back there?’
‘It is a bomb...but it is not set to go off until one o’clock.’
Holmes folded his arms, nodded and stared at me with calm resignation. He made me feel like a schoolboy causing mischief in the teacher’s absence. After scratching his chin, he walked to the corner of the room and glanced down at the bomb.
‘One o’clock, you say?’
‘Yes, Brandon plans to sink the ship,’ I replied. ‘He thinks, somehow, that this will further the cause of Marxism. He does not seem to know anything about the stolen documents.’
‘I see... Well, this adds a new dimension to our mystery. I suggest that we go on deck and report to the captain.’
