“Yes,” I said, remembering the layout of the darkened room. “There is no place to conceal ourselves.”
“Behind these curtains is the only possibility,” Holmes whispered. “And that’s not a good one.”
“Well,” I said, hearing the tramp of boots on the ladder,” it will have to do.”
We retreated to the far side of the curtains and twitched them closed scant seconds before I heard the door being opened and two-no, three-sets of footsteps entering the room.
“The lamp must have gone out,” one of them said in German. “I’ll light it.”
“No need,” another replied in the same language, the sound of authority in his voice. “All we need from here is the chest. Shine your light over there-there. Yes, there it is. You two, pick it up.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Take it down and onto the launch right away,” the imperious voice said. “This must accompany us on the train to Trieste.”
“Right away, Your Grace.” And, with a minor cacophony of thumps, bumps and groans, the chest was lifted and carried out the door. After a few seconds it was clear that His Grace had left with the chest, and we were once again alone in the room.
“Well,” I said, stepping out from behind the curtain. “Trieste. Now if we only knew-”
Holmes held his hand up to silence me. He was peering out of the window with a concentrated fury, glaring down at our recent guests as they went on deck through the downstairs door.
“What is it?” I asked.
“One moment,” he said.
For a second “his grace” turned his head, and his profile was illuminated by the lantern carried by one of the crew. Holmes staggered backward and clapped his hand to his forehead. “I was not wrong!” he said. “I knew I recognized that voice!”
“Who, His Grace?” I asked.
“He!” he said. “It is he!”
“Whom?”
“His name is Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von Ormstein,” Holmes told me. “Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein and Hereditary King of Bohemia.”
“Is he indeed?” I asked. “And how do you know His Grace?”
“He employed me once,” Holmes said. “I will not speak of it further.”
“The case had nothing to do with our current, er, problem?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he assured me.
“Then I, also, shall not speak of it again.” Whatever it was, it must have affected Holmes greatly, but now was not the time to pick at old wounds. “I take it he has little use for the English?” I asked.
“He has little regard for anything British,” Holmes affirmed. “And I believe that he has no fondness for anyone except himself, and possibly members of his immediate family.”
“Truly a prince,” I said.
The last of our visitors boarded the steam launch, and it cast off and pulled away from the barge. “I wonder what prompted the midnight visit,” I said.
“Nothing good,” Holmes opined.
There was a crumping sound, as of a distant belching beneath the water, and then another, and the barge listed toward the starboard side with a great creaking and a series of snaps.
“There’s your answer,” Holmes said, as we both grabbed for the nearest support in order to remain upright. “Those were explosions. They’re scuttling this craft. She’ll be under in ten minutes, unless she breaks apart first, and then it will be faster. Much faster.”
“Perhaps we should make our exit,” I suggested.
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
We hurried down the ladder and onto the deck.
“Hilfe! Hilfen sie mir, bitte!”
The faint cry for help came from somewhere forward. “We’re coming!” I called into the dark. “Wir kommen! Wo sind Sie?”
“Ich weiss nicht. In einem dunklen Raum,” came the reply.
“‘In a dark room’ doesn’t help,” Holmes groused. “It couldn’t be any darker than it is out here.”
The barge picked that moment to lurch and sag further to starboard.
“Hilfe!”
We struggled our way to the forward deckhouse. The cry for help was coming from somewhere to the left of the door. I felt my way along the wall until I came to a porthole. “Hello!” I called inside, knocking on the glass.
“Oh, thank God,” cried the man in German. “You have found me! You must, for the love of God, untie me before this wretched vessel sinks.”
Holmes and I went in through the door and down a short length of corridor until we came to a left-hand turn.
“Ow!” said Holmes.
“What?”
I heard a scraping sound. “Wait a second,” Holmes said. “I’ve just banged my head.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“No need,” he told me. “I’ve just banged my head on a lantern hanging from the ceiling. Give me a second and I’ll have it lit.”
He took a small waterproof case of wax matches from his pocket, and in a few seconds had the lantern glowing. “Onward!” he said.
Opening the third door along the corridor revealed a short, portly man in a white shirt and dark, striped trousers and vest, tied to a large wooden chair. His exertions in trying to escape had covered his face with bands of sweat and pulled much of his shirt loose from his waistband, but his thin black tie was still properly and severely in place. “Light!” the man said. “Oh, bless you my friends, whoever you are.”
We worked at untying him as quickly as possible as the barge gave a series of alarming jerks and kicks under us and tilted ever more drastically. Now, in addition to its list to the starboard, there was a decided tilt aft.
“Thank you, thank you,” said the plump man as the rope came off his legs. “They left me here to die. And for what?”
“For what, indeed?” I replied.
“It all started…”
“Let’s wait until we’re off this vessel,” Holmes interjected, “or in a very few moments we’ll be talking under water.”
We helped our rotund comrade up, although our feet were not much steadier than his, and with much slipping and sliding we made our way along the deck. An alarming shudder ran through the vessel as we reached the stern, and we quickly lowered our new friend into the rowboat and followed him down. Holmes and I manned the oars and energetically propelled ourselves away from the sinking barge, but we had gone no more than fifteen or twenty yards when the craft gave a mighty gurgle and descended beneath the water, creating a wave that pulled us back to the center of a great vortex, and then threw us up into the air like a chip of wood in a waterfall. In a trice we were drenched and our flimsy craft was waterlogged, but by some miracle we were still in the rowboat and it was still afloat. Holmes began bailing with his cap, and our guest with his right shoe, while I continued the effort to propel us away from the area.
I oriented myself by the ever-dependable North Star, and headed toward the south east. In a little while Holmes added his efforts to my own, and we were rowing across the dark waters with reasonable speed despite our craft still being half-full of water. Our plump shipmate kept bailing until he was exhausted, then spent a few minutes panting, and commenced bailing again.
It was perhaps half an hour before we spied lights in the distance indicating that the shore was somewhere ahead of us. Half an hour more and we had nosed into a beach. A small, steep, rocky beach, but nonetheless a bit of dry land, and we were grateful. The three of us climbed out of the rowboat and fell as one onto the rough sand, where we lay exhausted and immobile. I must have slept, but I have no idea of how long. When next I opened my eyes dawn had risen, and Holmes was up and doing exercises by the water’s edge.
“Come, arise my friend,” he said-he must have been drunk with exercise to address me thus-“we must make
