[SH] BigBang: Dutch Steamship Friesland X

Aug 30, 2011 18:35


The Shocking Affair of the Dutch Steamship Friesland

Previous: IX. The Drama Begins


X. Desperate Measures

Holmes seemed to have no intention of speaking to me and so I tried to keep my mind occupied by divining the next steps the criminal syndicate was likely to take. They had, to the best of their belief, removed any threat of exposure by capturing us, and would certainly be less careful and hesitant in their preparations. However, I had to agree with Holmes - merely discovering them in the storage was not evidence enough to convince the official authorities. We would either have to obtain a confession, or discover some written evidence of their plan. I had no doubts that Mr Carter would have been more than willing to share his grand plan when confronted - at least, as long as he believed to have the upper hand - but Mr Charles and Mr Mason seemed to be less impulsive in their actions. If Holmes was correct in giving them as much credit for their cunning as he did, a confession was quite out of the question, and confronting them would likely result in our death. Further evidence it was, then, and that seemed the proposition Holmes was working on. I could not imagine how it must be for him to be forced to inaction, even when it clearly was the best of choices.

It was certainly evident that he had been affected by his inability to do anything when he eagerly sat up at the approaching footsteps of Mr Peterson.

Night had now truly fallen, and it was quite cold on deck. It would have been impertinent, however, not to admire the sea around us, and the brilliant night sky above our heads. In the gloom of London, one hardly ever saw many stars - here, in the middle of the ocean, they seemed to shine the brighter. The waves themselves were illuminated by the moon, giving them a mysterious air. Holmes has often chided me for my love of sea stories, but the scene which presented itself to me now reminded me, just a little, of those romantic tales. I wondered how many men had shared that view with me, and how many, indeed, had found their death in the clear icy depths below us. It was a thought perhaps more fitting to my friend's morbid imagination, but one I failed to dislodge from my mind.

Peterson seemed to be quite agitated. “Mr Holmes, this is a horrible situation! Surely they must suspect me as well?”

“Not all is lost, Inspector. But we have to act quickly. What have you been able to discover in your watch?”

“They did indeed come down”, Peterson said, with a smile, “three men. Paul Mason, Charles Carter, and a third, whom I did not recognise. He was not a member of the crew, a stowaway, I suppose.”

“None of the kind. His name is Mr Audrey Charles. He has been masquerading as companion to Ms Farington.”

Truth be told, I was quite surprised at Holmes's certainty, since I had failed to report my encounter to him. However, I could but assume that Holmes's observations had been sufficient to reach that conclusion.

“Cunning devils!” Peterson's expression was perfectly stormy, his eyes gleaming in the poor light of the candle he had brought. Our own had gone out long ago.

Holmes agreed. “You have not been able to see Ms Farington?”

“No, she was not with them, I am certain of it.”

“That is of considerable interest. Well, relate, Mr Peterson! What have you been able to observe?”

“They were discussing on how to set up quarters for a large number of people. Mr Carter did not seem of the opinion that any preparations were necessary at all.”

“Yes, he is quite an impulsive fellow. We have to beware of that. What of the others?”

“They agreed that a couple of blankets should be brought down, and also large amounts of drinking water. They appear to have a good many restraints and drugs at hand to quench rebellion.”

“Yes, they would need to if they do intend to make their show of slave trade a believable one. It also seems, then, that they are indeed set on abducting several men from Curaçao for their goal. It would be very helpful to our purpose if we were to discover those supplies, Mr Peterson.”

“I realise that, Mr Holmes. I fear, however, that I will have to search Ms Farington's cabin to find them. Surely that is the place they are least likely to be discovered.”

“Surely. I trust that your reputation is justified, Inspector, for what I am about to ask you requires the utmost proficiency and skill. If it were not for the circumstances, I would not entrust this task to another, but I have no choice.”

“I can confidently say that I do possess the necessary skill, “ said Inspector Peterson, considerably disgruntled.

“Excellent. Then you have to see to it that both Ms Farington and her companion are no longer in their cabin. If you can, engage the help of the crew, or Mr and Mrs Russell. Take great care not to raise any suspicion. Once you are confident they are engaged, come back here. Together, we should be able to conduct a search quickly and thoroughly.”

“Yes, there seems to be no other choice. We have to put an end to their doings before we reach Curaçao - it would be best if we could hand them to the authorities in Calabar. Very well, then, Mr Holmes. I will do as you say. Good-night.”

As soon as Peterson was gone, we huddled back down under the cover, which at least provided some small protection from the cold and the freshening-up wind. In the urgency, I had forgotten to ask Mr Peterson for my medical supplies, but even my medical instincts were put to rest by the perilous hours ahead of us.

“A dangerous move, Holmes.”

“Perhaps. However, I freely confess that I see no other choice. If we wish to convict the syndicate, we need evidence enough to convince two, perhaps three governments. Our own government would perhaps believe me, at the very least if Mycroft can be of assistance, but I doubt whether Peterson has equal support. If we allow them to put their plan into action, it will be too late - it would be their word against our own. No, we must act now. I have already searched the cabin of Mr Carter and the Masons, and discovered nothing. The only other possibility is Ms Farington's quarters. You did not seem surprised that her companion is, indeed, a man.”

“No, I have seen him when they lured me into their trap. I should have told you.”

“Never mind, Watson - but answer me this: did he strike you as being the leader of the operation, or rather a subordinate?”

“The leader, I should say. Ms Farington hardly said a word throughout the process. Also, he seemed to be quite resourceful in regards to mental faculties. He had not discovered your identity, of course, but he certainly thought you suspicious.”

“Obviously.”

Holmes lapsed into brooding silence again, leaving me to cower opposite him. I would much have liked to smoke a cigarette, but it would have meant raising the coverlet, and that was quite out of the question. Also, we still had not acquired any matches.

I could not help but wonder how many of the curious mythological creatures of ships and the sea, should they exist, were currently looking down at us and laughing at our desperate plot. At some time, however, my thoughts were carried away by sleep.

I awoke to Holmes shaking me by the shoulder. “It is time, my dear fellow.”

The sun had already risen, I should have estimated the time to be somewhere around mid-day. How, under the circumstances, I could have slept so long was beyond me, but Holmes had apparently decided to allow me to rest until all our powers were needed.

Mr Peterson stood on deck below us. “They are all on deck now, and will go directly to dinner. We should have an hour, at least.”

“Excellent.”

“Did you engage the Russells' help?” asked I.

“I told them that you had asked me to engage Ms Farington and Mrs Charles in conversation, Doctor, without giving a reason. Your name seems to have been enough to ensure their cooperation.”

“I have been able to help Mrs Russell with her seasickness.”

Together, we made our way to the interior of the Friesland, where Holmes took the lead and speedily brought us to Ms Farington's quarters. The hallway, just as Peterson had said, was deserted, much to my relief. Since Holmes himself had already been nearly caught trying to enter the cabin, being seen now would certainly bring our efforts to a violent end. It was certainly not inconsequential, then, to wonder whether there would come a moment in time where we would have to decide whether we were willing to lay down our own lives for the sake of our countries, and justice. For myself, I had long ago made that decision, and I knew well that Holmes was ready to give his life for a greater justice, but there remained the question whether Inspector Peterson, of whom I knew so little, was willing to offer such a sacrifice. Holmes, at least, seemed to have a much better opinion of him than of the policemen in our own country. Peterson struck me as a man who was not used to cases of this enormity, however great his fame in his profession might be.

Holmes tried the door, finding it locked. “Peterson, I hope you are in possession of lock picks, or a key. The one I have with me is quite useless with this kind of lock,” he said, with a sigh.

“I'm not a criminal, Holmes, nor a locksmith! Why would I be in possession of burglar's tools?”

“Ah, a narrow-minded official after all. Because, Peterson, in situation as these, they are the tools of our trade, as well. One has to study one's opponent's methods to counteract them. Watson...”

I had already understood what he wished me to do. “Where are they?”

“At the bottom of my valise. You know how to find the secret compartment?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Then go, Doctor, and be cautious. No one must see you.”

I was quite grateful of the fact that I was still in the possession of my revolver. Of course, using it was out of the question - I could not possibly risk the sound of a shot here, where any noise could easily be heard everywhere on the ship. Nevertheless, the familiar feeling of the cold metal in my palm did much to calm my nerves. Never before on any investigation had I felt that so much depended on my actions, not even during the investigation on Dartmoor. There, I had only been an observer, someone to gather the information Holmes needed to draw his conclusion. Now, I was an actor in a much greater scheme, and my failure would result in the end of our investigation, and quite certainly in war for both our countries.

Luckily, no one crossed my path on the way to our third class cabin. Finding the door unlocked, I quickly slipped inside. The view that presented itself to me was quite shocking. Our cabin had clearly been turned upside down. I had to assume that it was in part the result of Holmes's own capture. My companion was a formidable fighter and surely would not have been overpowered easily, even when taken by surprise.

Nevertheless, I doubted that a fight had been the reason why both our valises had been emptied, their contents searched and scattered over the floor. I could but be grateful that Holmes had insisted that we kept nothing by the way of identification with us.

My medical supplies were compromising in themselves, of course, but the syndicate had, after all, already learned of my true identity.

Of Holmes's belongings, I could see a neat pile of a pipe, a box of matches and his pocket watch placed on the table. Our papers had been examined, but none seemed to be missing - our notes, as Holmes had no doubt intended, being taken down as mere nonsensical letters to test a pen.

Gathering up some medical supplies in the process, I found Holmes's valise and opened it. He had shown me the secret compartment at its bottom ere we had departed from Baker Street. It was where he had hidden the letter to the Curaçao government, and also a leather bundle, in which he kept his various lock picks.

My way back was only slightly more adventurous, as I nearly crossed paths with Mr Fones, who seemed to be on his way back to his cabin from the smoking room. However, I had heard his footsteps in time to prevent an encounter which would certainly have raised questions, even though the Fones were not associated with the criminal syndicate.
Holmes and Inspector Peterson were waiting for me where I had left them, Peterson looking much more anxious than before. “For Heaven's sake, Holmes, we have no time for this nonsense! We should have broken down the door fifteen minutes ago.”

“And risk the noise, much less the fact that it will immediately be noticed once the criminals return? No, Inspector.” Holmes took the lock picks from me and speedily picked the right one before he set to work.

As a doctor, it would have been impermissible not to notice that his work was impaired by the injury to his hand, but even though I was now in the possession of the supplies I needed to treat him, the urgency of the situation forbade me to mention such a thing.

It was not long until the door opened with an audible click, and Holmes ushered all of us into the empty cabin. Nothing seemed changed from when I had last seen it, and to my eyes, there was no obvious sign of the cabin being used by criminals as a storage. However, we had yet to enter the hind part of the cabin.

Holmes showed no hesitation in doing so. “Watson, the wardrobe. Peterson, under the bed. I will look at this desk here. We have to hurry, gentlemen. We have half an hour at the most, which means we should have found what we are searching for in fifteen.”

None of us did hesitate to carry out Holmes's instructions, even though it was evident to me that Peterson did not take it lightly to be ordered around.

I opened the wardrobe, half expecting to discover a pile of blankets, but finding nothing but women's clothing. There was one male suit at the far end of the wardrobe, which I assumed to be the one Mr Charles had been wearing when confronting me. “Nothing here, Holmes, merely clothes. All female save one.”

“Leave it. Continue your search,” replied Holmes, who was applying his lock picks to a small desk drawer.

“Several blankets down here”, said Peterson, “we are on the right track.”

“No written correspondence so far, Peterson! We need something more than clothes and blankets to convince our governments, I think. Ah, as I had thought. Tools for disguises.”

I joined Holmes at the table, scanning the documents in feverish haste. Nothing seemed to be in any way implicating.

“Anything, Watson?”

“No.”

“We have five minutes, Mr Holmes.”

“A secret compartment, then! Surely these first class cabins are equipped with a safe,” cried Holmes, promptly throwing himself down on the floor, examining every inch of it, while the two of us set about to examine the walls.
“They are, but the compartments are not marked on the construction plans. Also, they are not big.”

“Enough to store some papers.”

“Holmes! Our time is up.”

“We cannot possibly leave now, not until we know where to find what we have come here for. Such an opportunity might never present itself again!”

I have never been so conscious of the passing of every single minute, as at that moment. Each one caused our search to become more frantic. It was, of course, unlikely that Ms Farington or Mr Charles should return to the cabin at one hour precisely, but it was quite possible also that they would return early.

In fact, a sudden sound caused all of us to freeze in our tracks. If I have ever seen Holmes defeated, it was in that moment. I doubted whether the fact was visible to anyone who knew him only in passing, but to me, the implication of the calm way in which he returned the lock picks to his coat pocket and stepped to my side was painfully obvious.

Peterson seemed to be quite ruffled, and in anger, he was about crash his hand down against the wall, but Holmes
stopped him with a wave of his hand.

Behind the blind, which we had thankfully put back in place, someone entered the room, the door closing again behind them. Holmes would no doubt have been able to tell me who they were by the sound of their steps alone, but forced to silence, I could only wait until they spoke.

Next: XI. Hostage 

!fanfiction, author: jaelijn, sh bookverse, sh the dutch steamship friesland, rating: pg-13, sherlock holmes

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