[SH] BigBang: Dutch Steamship Friesland IX
The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland
Previous: VIII. Mr Peterson
IX. The Drama Begins
After some time, our conversation dwindled away to silence, and Holmes indicated to me to follow him back into the interior of the ship. Excusing ourselves from our fellow travellers, we descended the staircase and speedily made our way back to our own cabin. Until the door closed behind us, Holmes had not said another word, but now, he turned to me with a flourish, his forehead creased in an angry frown. “Watson, I deserve to be thrown overboard this very instant!”
“My dear Holmes!”
“I have committed an incredible blunder, Doctor, that would befit one of the idiots of the official police, rather than myself. I fear that I might have turned this already perilous situation into a perfectly deadly one. I have some doubts whether I should have involved you in this affair, but since we are trapped on this ship, it is hardly possible not to have done so.”
“Whatever has happened?”
“Seeing that Mr Farington, Mr Carter and the Masons had joined us on deck, I considered this an excellent opportunity to investigate their quarters. You know I always carry a set of lockpicks with me, and the locks on the cabin doors a very simple to open.
“I took a careful look at the Masons' cabin first. They share one, adjacent to Mr Carter's cabin. Without disturbing their belongings and given I was pressed for time, I was not able to discover anything suspicious. Mr Carter's cabin, unfortunately, was much the same. Either they had planned their ploy entirely without written evidence of it, or it was stored in Ms Farington's cabin, then. It was not improbable - after all, the cabin of a young lady was the less likely one to be searched.
“Consequently, I made my way down there. However, it only occurred to me as I had already tried the door that I had not seen Mrs Charles joining her protégée on deck - clearly, then, she was still in the room, and had no doubt noticed my advance. Of course, I made an immediate retreat, but I fear that I might still have been seen.”
“Do you assume she will report to Ms Farington?”
“I wonder if it is not Ms Farington who reports to her, or him.”
“Him?”
“Certainly the art of disguise isn't so foreign to you after so many years, Watson? To a skilled actor, it is no great feat - female dress is no stranger to me, either. It is, in fact, the best of disguises. If you are seen, the witnesses report having seen a woman, while you go unsuspected.”
“I see. But didn't you say all the passengers bore their real names?”
“Mr and Mrs Charles - it can easily be put down as a simple error, and no doubt that is what was intended. As for Audrey, it is an ambiguous name. It would be easy to verify in harbour, but out on the ocean, such things pass unnoticed. I have underestimated the cunning of our adversary, Watson. If there was ever a time we had to be on our guard during a case, it is now. Take your revolver with you wherever you go, and don't for a moment allow your concentration to slip. Any mistake now might well mean our lives, and those of all the innocents on board.”
“Of whom there seem to be few.”
“Yes, quite true. We are in the lion's den, Watson, and now we have to see how to tame our lion.” Holmes rose, striding up and down in the the confined space of our cabin.
It was clear to me that he would not speak for some time, nor would he wish for me to speak to him, and therefore, I set about leaving our cabin, a safe harbour in the stormy sea of the vessel Friesland.
“Do you have your weapon?” Holmes asked suddenly.
“Yes, I have it right here.”
He nodded, and returned to his pacing as if he had never interrupted it.
The corridors were deserted, seeming suddenly to be more threatening than any of the vilest alleys of London. I could not shake the feeling of being trapped on this vessel, with no way to go should matters take a turn for the worst.
Quenching the claustrophobia, I ascended to deck, where most of our fellow travellers were still enjoying the fresh air. Of course, there was nothing suspicious about it. After two days of having to remain in the confined area of the ships interior, we all were feeling glad to be able to feel the wind on our faces.
Ms Farington was still deep in conversation with Mr and Mrs Russell, but in truth, I had little desire to join them. The certainty that the young lady was involved in this horrendous criminal scheme had given her friendly manner an appalling taste.
Mr Peterson, of course, was not present, and with the exception of the Fones who seemed to enjoy their solitude, my choice of company was limited.
However, the matter was taken out of my hand when Ms Farington addressed me. “Mr Wilson - a word in private, if you please.”
I did not hesitate to place my hand upon the revolver hidden in my pocket. “Certainly, Miss.”
She took me as far as the staircase into the ship's interior. “I was wondering whether you might be able to assist me in a small matter.”
“I shall be glad to help - what is it?”
“We would be better advised to discuss it in my cabin. You seem to be without occupation for the moment - I trust it wouldn't inconvenience you?”
I would have liked to have Holmes by my side. However, there was hardly a way out of the matter now. Perhaps I was thinking too much of a trifle, and her request was a perfectly innocent one. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she had any suspicions against me - it was quite possible that she had not yet spoken to Mrs Charles, or learned of Holmes's attempt to enter her cabin unannounced.
“Of course not,” said I.
Ms Farington led me through the deserted corridors to the very door of her cabin, where she stopped and turned to me. “You see, Mrs Russell told me you were able to help her with her seasickness. Oh, do not think ill of her - she kept your secret well, but it was no difficult feat to figure it out, seeing that I had noticed you talking to Mr Russell beforehand. I was hoping you might be able to do something for Mrs Charles. She has not been herself, lately.”
“I am not a doctor, Miss. I was merely fortunate that Mr Sipkens kept a simple remedy for his own seasickness, which I then shared with Mrs Russell.”
“At any rate, please take a look.”
She bustled me into her cabin, closing the door firmly behind us. “Now then, Doctor.”
The key turned in the lock, and I tightened my grip on the revolver. She had discovered my real profession, then, but I could not dare ruin all of my disguise, and Holmes's with it, unless I were absolutely certain. “Ms Farington, I assure you, I have no contact whatsoever with the medical profession.”
“Of course not”, said a voice I had not previously heard, “you are far too busy solving crimes and writing stories, isn't that so, Dr Watson?”
I turned around to find a middle-aged man standing before me. He was younger than Holmes or I, although his face seemed weathered. He was not particularly small, but his sturdy figure caused him to appear smaller that he really was. In fact, the only really distinguishing feature about his person were the blazing eyes and the fact that he wore his hair very long; it reached down below his shoulder blades.
“You don't recognise me, do you?”
“As a matter of fact - Mr Audrey Charles, I presume.”
Charles clapped his gigantic hands slowly. “Oh, very well done! I suppose you must have picked something up from the master himself.”
“What do you want with me, Charles?”
“You have come here to stop us, haven't you - with this friend of yours, no doubt a Dutch detective.”
“Mr Sipkens is nothing of the kind. He is Dutch, yes, but he travels to Curaçao as a businessman. He has received a most generous offer he was willing to share with me.”
“I see,” said Mr Charles, his gaze downcast. For a moment, I could see the woman he had pretended to be, but as soon as he looked up again, any thought of a peaceful, if sultry chaperon was erased from my mind. “And yet you have clearly looked into the identity of you fellow passengers.”
“Why you chose to conceal yourself in such manner is beyond me. I fear it might have raised my curiosity, for which I apologize. I have no quarrel with you, sir, and you secret is safe with me. If you know who I am, you must also now that I have always executed the greatest discretion.”
“You accuse me of concealing myself? Look at yourself, man!”
“I thought it best to travel under an alias to avoid the press. Even after three years, they still continue to pester me.” I have to confess, I found myself getting rather desperate. It seemed as though Holmes's disguise was still safe, despite the blunder he had feared might ruin our endeavour. My own, however, was inevitably ruined, and I had to take great care not to betray more than was necessary. I had my doubts whether they would allow me to go free, but producing my revolver now would clearly show that this was more than a mere business journey. I had well and truly manoeuvred myself into a cul-de-sac.
“Ah, yes. We have heard the most interesting rumours, Doctor.”
“Whatever you have heard, the only account of the truth has been published under the title “The Final Problem”. Now, sir, cease this interrogation, it is quite inappropriate. I will now return to my own cabin, seeing that you clearly are not in the need of my professional aid.”
“I am afraid that won't be possible, Doctor,” said Ms Farington, almost apologetic.
Suddenly, a wet cloth was pressed onto my face - chloroform - and I slipped into unconsciousness.
The reader will no doubt have divined from the fact that I have had the opportunity to write up this case that I survived the attack, although the concentration of chloroform was a considerable one. Holmes tells me of a case where the victims were actually killed by chloroform, and I have no doubt that such use, is, in fact, possible, as useful the substance may be as an anaesthetic under controlled administration.
It was, at the very least, sufficient to plunge me into a state of semi-awareness, in which I was unable to struggle as my hands where fastened behind my back and a sack of soft cloth - a laundry bag - was pulled over my head.
I had the impression of being moved, but soon enough, I was dumped somewhere, leaving me in a haze of disorientation. It was a considerable time until the effects of the chloroform lessened to leave me with a pounding headache.
It was dark even beyond the laundry bag, and the air was humid and stale. There were no distinguishing smells, and I could but assume that I had been left in some storage or empty cabin.
As far as I could remember, I had not been searched, and was therefore still in the possession of my weapon, although what possible use it could have to me, alone and bound as I was, was beyond me.
It was only as I tried to gain some footing to sit up that I became aware of the fact that I was by no means alone. Not far away, there was the sound of boots scratching on the floor, and a huff of breath.
While I have not had the misfortune of falling into the hands of our enemies during my military service - something one was unlikely to survive - I had still been trained for the eventuality, and such training is not easily forgotten.
Therefore, I instantly ceased my movements at this fraction of a sound. Bound and blinded I might be, but I was hardly unable to defend myself if needs be.
There was a soft jangling sound, then the rustling of clothing. Someone was moving about, keeping out of my reach. Clearly, the person was aware of my presence; it was a mystery to me, however, why he, or she, would move about in absolute darkness rather than lighting a candle.
I twisted to gain a hold of my revolver, and carefully shifted it out of my pocket. If nothing else, it would raise the alarm and scare of any possible attacker.
Apparently, I had not been as silent as I had hoped, for the movements of my companion ceased in an instant.
“My dear Watson, I would be much obliged if you refrained from shooting me.”
Never have I been so relieved to hear that cold, calm voice of my dearest friend. The tension seemed to fall of my shoulders at once. “Holmes! Good heavens.”
“Yes, quite. I trust they did nothing to harm you, Watson?” Holmes's voice was as impassive as ever, but he was glad, I
think, to learn that it was not the case.
He removed the sack from my head and set to work on the handcuffs that bound me. While I could feel his presence behind me, and his nimble fingers working on the cuffs, I could still not see a thing, and neither could he, or it would not have taken so long to relieve me of my bonds.
I had seen him practising with his lock picks on the several sets of handcuffs he kept in a small box among his old case files. Aside from the pair he himself favoured for the arrest of a criminal, none of them posed any challenge when he was in the full command of his faculties.
“Shall I hold a match for you?” I asked Holmes when he sighed in frustration.
“No, there is no need. Besides, I have no matches on me. Other than yourself, our syndicate took the precaution of searching me. I have it.” In that instant, the handcuffs came away, jingling as Holmes placed them on the floor.
I sat up and turned to where I assumed he was kneeling. “I can't see a thing.”
“That was their intention, I presume,” said Holmes.
“And I don't have any matches on me.”
“Very unfortunate, Watson, but there is hardly something we can do about it. Our main concern has to be to get out of here, and disappear into hiding. I had hoped we wouldn't be forced to that, but it seems we have to rely on Inspector Peterson as our agent.”
“Do they know, then, who you are?” To think that I should have tried so hard to protect my friend's liberty to act for nothing...
“They have their suspicions, I think, but they did not seem to know. I trust you did not tell them anything to harden their suspicions?”
“No, of course not!”
“Well done, Watson, well done.”
For a moment, our conversation ceased, and I could not help but wonder if Holmes had taken this failure closer to heart than he would let on. At the very least, we were still alive and capable of some action. Knowing that it set Holmes's mind at ease to display his knowledge, I asked: “Surely we must be in an unused cabin? Our voices do not echo.”
“I think not, Watson. This must be the other storage.”
“The one with the piping for hot steam?”
“The same. I have been here before, but they must have taken us further into the room. I have not yet been able to try the door.”
I would have much liked to enquire how Holmes had been overpowered, as his words clearly indicated that he had not come here by choice, but it was hardly an appropriate questions under the circumstances.
“Well, it is no use to be idle. Come, Watson, we will see how much foresight our criminal syndicate does have.”
Once again, we made our way slowly through the darkness. Holmes seemed to know very well where he was going, even though there was not a flicker of light to indicate any obstacles that might be in our way. Suddenly, my hand - outstretched for balance - brushed against a wall, and Holmes stopped.
“As I feared,” he murmured slightly to my left.
“The door is locked, then?”
“To our misfortune, Watson, there is not lock on the cargo doors. They are bolted shut on the outside, and from my investigation I was able to gather that they are quite impossible to open from the inside. One wouldn't need to, after all - whatever they are trading, it is hardly going to walk about and try to get out. Of course, it is also perfect to hold slaves without wasting resources on bonds.”
“There is no way out, then?”
“None.”
It was clear to me that calling for help was out of the question if we wished to remain unnoticed by the syndicate, but I had no wish to just sit in the darkness, and neither, I believe, did Holmes.
“There is one more thing we can try. Hand me your revolver, Watson.”
“Surely you are not planning to shoot at the door? The bullet will ricochet, and might it hit anything - or anyone!”
“Nothing quite so foolish, Watson. I do not plan to use the gun in its usual function at all. Peterson was kind enough to allow me to study his detailed plans of the Friesland. Do you remember the steam piping?”
“Certainly,” said I, relieving myself of my jacket. Dry heat I had learned to withstand during my service, but this humidity was most unwelcome. Holmes showed no sign of equal discomfiture, but then again, I could not see his expression in the darkness.
“Holmes?”
“Over here,” he said a few feet ahead.
Suddenly, there was a metallic clank as if something had hit the piping, and then some more. I could but assume that Holmes was clanging the but of my revolver against the piping in what soon became evident was a rhythmic succession.
“Surely this noise will raise the attention of the criminals?”
“If I remember the plans correctly, Watson, this piping leads all the way up to the bridge and the steam vents of the ship. I can but hope that the captain has heard of Mr Morse and his brilliant idea. It has only been in more general use since a few years...”
“What is it?”
“A cry for help, Watson, composed of short and long tones. This code has been in avid discussion of being a possible method of communication for vessels on sea, even though I assume it will be some years yet before it is put to practical use. At any rate, I trust that the tapping alone will alert someone, even if they do not understand the message.”
Sherlock Holmes continued the task for quite some time, before he suddenly ceased the tapping and threw down the revolver, settling down next to where I was leaning against a crate. “Well, someone must have heard it by now, or no one will.”
“I'm certain they merely need some time to figure out where it came from.”
Holmes did not reply, and even though he did not say so, it was clear that he did not share my optimism.
After a while, he jumped back to his feet. “Watson, did you hear it?”
I had heard nothing, and told him so.
Holmes, however, was already hurrying back to where the door must have been, and repeated his knocking on the bulkhead. At that moment, I, too, heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
I had not doubts that Holmes was perfectly capable of distinguishing our fellow passengers by the sounds of their footsteps alone, but such faculty was beyond me. Therefore, I dearly wished to lay my hand on my weapon again, for the fear that it might be a member of the criminal syndicate who had returned for us.
To my relief, however, it was a man I had never seen before, very likely a member of the crew, carrying a small candle and looking at us in some surprise.
To Holmes, he said something in Dutch, to which Holmes replied in kind - from his expression, I could gather that it was some sort of explanation or even apology.
The sailor gave a second candle to Holmes, and then set about closing the bulkhead to the storage again.
Holmes indicated me to follow him down the corridor. “I fear there is no other choice, Watson. We cannot possibly return to our cabin, and the only hiding place I can think of on this ship are the lifeboats. It will be a rather tight space, I fear.”
“Never mind that - how will you act while hiding? We cannot possibly allow those criminals to continue. Clearly, they have no scruples in the face of violence, nor do they hesitate to take a life.”
“Come now, Watson, we could easily have survived for at least a few days in that storage compartment.”
“In that heat? A little less, I think, Holmes.”
“At any rate, I have told the crewman to contact Mr Peterson. The crew knows he is working for the government, and it was enough to assure him that we are working with him to ensure cooperation.”
“The lifeboats it is, then.”
“Yes. This way, Watson.”
Holmes led me on deck, but this was apparently an area no passenger usually wandered to.
I could hear shreds of conversation from other parts of the ship, but here, it was perfectly deserted. Night was falling, but after so many hours in utter darkness, I was grateful that the bright sun had already set. Holmes seemed to know the way to the lifeboats quite well, and soon we had arrived at the row of boats, dangling from their holds.
“Well, up you go, Watson. It is fortunate that neither of us suffers from seasickness.”
While Holmes held the candle high, I climbed up into the small boat, throwing back the cover that was supposed to protect the boats from rough weather.
Holmes handed me the candle, and then follow me, until we were both seated in the boat. I placed the candle on the floor between us, where its light would not be spotted, and Holmes pulled the cover back in place, forcing both of us to a rather huddled and uncomfortable position.
Holmes shifted around until he was lying curled up on his side, staring into the flickering flame of the candle. “Now we must wait, Watson, and hope that Mr Peterson will manage to contact us. There have been no indications that they suspect him?”
“None. They thought you to be the official Dutch investigator.”
“I see... It is as well that we endeavoured to keep my return to London a secret - it gives us the great advantage that the syndicate might underestimate me.”
I was surprised at Holmes's sudden optimism. “Surely they have limited our possibilities gravely.”
“So they have. But if I were any ordinary man, Watson, I would still be trapped in that storage, handcuffed to the piping and blindfolded.”
“To the piping?” I echoed, incredulous, and for the first time, my gaze fell on Holmes's hands.
On the palm of his right hand, there was an angry burn, as well as on the back of his left, where his skin must have touched the searing hot piping.
“Good heavens, Holmes, I have to examine those burns! This is no joking matter - in this environment, think of the risk for infection!”
“It is a trifle, Watson, and we must not occupy ourselves with trifles! No - it is imperative that you stay here.”
“I have to fetch my medical bag! I cannot possibly sit by when you might well die from this trifle.”
“Then we shall ask Mr Peterson to bring it to us when he arrives. Watson, we cannot risk being seen! Even one of the innocent passengers might unknowingly let something slip, and seriously endanger all of us.”
“But surely they will discover our escape soon enough? I cannot imagine they would not come down to check on us.”
“By then, I hope to have some evidence as to their involvement in this crime to be committed other than mere theories; enough to justify an arrest. Theories might be well and good for us, Watson, but no official force will be satisfied with our findings.”
Even though my every medical instinct protested against this reasoning, I had no choice but to agree. If I were to be seen, it could well mean all our lives. “Very well, then. At least take my handkerchief, to prevent any further dirt from entering the wound.”
Holmes took the small piece of cloth and wrapped it around his hand without further comment. I could not help wondering whether he truly was as indifferent to our difficult situation and his injury as he appeared to be. I knew that he never took failure lightly in the past, and while we were not yet at our wits end, our situation was still dire.
Next: X. Desperate Measures