‘Thank you, but please do not say anything about my singing, Doctor. I am very sensitive on that point.’
The captain led the service from the White Star Line’s own prayer book, and the music was provided by the ship’s orchestra. The opening hymn was familiar, but one I had not heard in some time. Miss Storm-Fleming’s voice was clearly distinguishable from my neighbouring worshippers.
Eternal Father strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea.
I adhered to Miss Storm-Fleming’s request not to comment on her singing.
The service was strangely moving. As I glanced about the room, I sensed a unity among the ship’s passengers. There was a common bond, perhaps brought on by this reminder that we all came from the same Maker.
Captain Smith led the formal service. He gave a respectable reading of various prayers and Bible passages. It ended promptly on time with the hymn, ‘O God, Our Help in Ages Past’. Miss Storm-Fleming, again, sang with enthusiasm:
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.
Following the benediction, the band played a festive recessional. Conversation grew louder as friends gradually made their way to the reception room, outside the dining room. As we continued towards the big open doors, Miss Storm-Fleming took my arm and pulled me to one side, away from the path of the moving crowd. Miss Norton, who had moved slightly ahead, soon noticed that we had paused and she waited for us.
‘Doctor Watson, I know how much you enjoy the company of your fellow musketeers, but would you join me for dinner tonight?’ Miss Storm-Fleming asked, hesitantly. There was an uneasy timbre to her voice. ‘As you know...this has been a difficult journey for me...and what must you think of me...? An opportunity for quiet conversation would greatly restore me.’
‘Miss Storm-Fleming, it would be a great pleasure. Shall we say 7.30 in the restaurant?’
She nodded her acceptance and, seconds later, was on her way.
I watched as she left the room. Miss Norton joined me.
‘What did she want?’ Acting as both a friend and a professional, she had easily overcome the urge not to pry.
‘Dinner,’ I replied. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat.
‘Doctor Watson,’ said the captain, coming up behind us. ‘How did you like the service?’
‘It was very pleasant. I had no idea that you were such a good preacher.’
‘A captain has to be a jack of all trades.’ He pulled an envelope from his pocket. ‘I have just been handed a note. It is addressed to you.’
I ripped it open. I had noticed immediately from the handwriting on the envelope that it was from Holmes. The note contained a most curious request.
‘What is it?’ asked Miss Norton.
‘The commodore wishes us, together with Futrelle, to meet him next to the fourth funnel.’
THE AFTERNOON OF SUNDAY 14 APRIL 1912
After eating a light lunch, Miss Norton, Futrelle and I went to the boat deck for our rendezvous with Holmes. He had asked us to meet him there at precisely two o’clock, and we arrived with minutes to spare. Instead of finding Holmes, we were greeted by Mr Lightoller.
‘Gentlemen, Miss Norton, the commodore has asked me to escort you to the base of the fourth funnel. He is already there.’
‘I wish Holmes had told us what this was all about,’ Futrelle said. ‘I mean no offence, Doctor, but I must say, I do get annoyed by his sense of drama from time to time.’
‘Patience, Futrelle,’ I said. ‘Over the years I have become used to Holmes’s little surprises. And besides, they are good fodder for my stories in the
Lightoller motioned us towards the aft end of the ship. ‘This way, please.’
We arrived at a gate and the second officer reached for his keys to open it. We walked across a short span of deck reserved for the crew and passed through another gate to the second-class promenade. The view caused me to shiver because this was the area where we had stood for so long in the cold. There was no evidence of our recent confrontation with the late Mr Brandon and his men.
‘We must climb the ladder to the raised roof,’ Lightoller said. ‘That is the way to the base of the funnel.’
As I mentioned earlier, the fourth funnel was a dummy. Unlike the other three, it was not designed to vent smoke from the boiler rooms. Instead, it was situated above a shaft from the turbine room and used for ventilation. As we stood on the raised roof, a thought occurred to me. We were standing directly above the first-class smoking room. Could tobacco consumption on board be so high as to require an entire funnel?
Lightoller opened a door and we found ourselves in a large open room. Below was the shaft leading down to the turbines. I glanced over the rail and suddenly felt a touch of dizziness. The lights and roar of the turbine room were far, far below.
Miss Norton glanced about the room. After looking in my direction and shrugging her shoulders she turned to Lightoller. ‘Where is Mr Holmes?’
Lightoller smiled and, without saying a word, pointed a finger skywards.
‘Oh, my word!’ gasped Miss Norton.
We all gathered around the rail and looked up through the long funnel. There was an obstruction that was partially blocking the bright, blue light of the sky. The obstruction was moving.
Miss Norton immediately climbed the ladder that brought her to the base of the funnel.
‘Mr... Commodore! Commodore Winter!’ she cried, her voice echoing back. ‘Please return at once — it is too dangerous!’
In fact, Holmes was on his way down. Minutes later, he stepped off the ladder on to the floor of the chamber.
‘Miss Norton,’ he said quietly, sounding somewhat annoyed, ‘Good Lord, you remind me of our dear departed Mrs Hudson.’
Miss Norton stood her ground. ‘What were you doing up there? You could have been killed.’
‘My dear young woman, I am in excellent condition and not quite as old and frail as you might think.’
‘I did not mean to imply... What
‘Merely following up a clue...or at least an idea I had. It appears that my hypothesis was incorrect.’
‘What hypothesis?’ I asked.
‘It concerns our little cypher about the “Hot Russian Honey Bear”. As you recall, our mysterious passenger sent a confederate a message, upon the ship’s arrival in New York, to meet him by the “pipe organ in the smoking room”. It occurred to me while standing on deck that the four funnels might look a bit like a pipe organ. I decided that it would be worthwhile to check the one funnel that might possibly be accessible to a passenger. A trifle foolish, I now believe.’
‘You found nothing?’ asked Futrelle.
‘Nothing.’
‘What about your search of Strickley’s cabin? You had hoped to...’
‘Nothing of consequence, Mr Futrelle. I am afraid, thus far, this has been a very unproductive day.’
‘But Holmes, why did you ask us to meet you here?’ I inquired.
‘Time is growing short. I thought it best that we got our little team back together and off in pursuit of more
