The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (15 page)

T
he cargo hold at the forward end of the orlop deck was a motor enthusiast’s dream. A dozen or so fine automobiles were secured to the deck in neat rows, all pointed forward as if eagerly anticipating their arrival in New York.

Mr Murdoch, the first officer, who was sent by the captain to escort me to the hold, had prepared me for this impressive sight on our way down. Only one of the vehicles, a 25-hp Renault, actually appeared on the passenger manifest. It was owned by a Mr Carter. All the others were part of a private collection owned by a Mr Michael, a man who enjoyed his privacy. They were being transported quietly to his estate in New Jersey.

I have never been a fancier of automobiles. But I must say, this colourful assortment of machinery did capture my interest. During the course of the investigation, all of the canvas covers had been removed, revealing a proud display of everything the best European manufacturers had to offer. Mr Murdoch pointed out a few items — a bright red Bianchi, a 1903 Peugeot Phaeton and a yellow 1903 De Dion-Bouton Populaire.

And, in the middle of this amazing collection, I found Holmes, Miss Norton, Doctor O’Loughlin, the ship’s surgeon, and Mr Boxhall, the fourth officer, all gathered around an open-topped motorcar.

‘Watson, at last, I am glad they found you!’ said Holmes, pausing only a moment to look up from his work. ‘Tell me, what do you make of the wounds?’

Bishop’s body was slumped back in the driver’s seat of a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. There was one bullet hole to his forehead and another to his chest. I carefully examined each wound, and then moved the body forward to search for points of exit.

‘There are no powder burns. I would say that the shots were fired at some distance — by a very good shot, may I add.’

‘I agree,’ said Holmes. ‘And, as you have no doubt noticed, the bullet that made the head wound remains in the body. But the shot that was fired into the chest has passed through the body and has become lodged in the back cushion of the driver’s seat... The good doctor here was about to lend me his medical instruments to remove it but I see you have your bag. Would you be so kind as to let me use a large scalpel and a pair of forceps?’

I reached into my bag and handed Holmes the instruments he had requested. He immediately cut a vertical gash through the leather across the bullet hole and probed with the forceps. Unsuccessful, he cut a horizontal line and probed again. After a few minutes, he removed the forceps and held the bullet under his glass. I was very much surprised to see a hint of a smile on Holmes’s lips.

After holding the bullet out for all to see, he placed it in an envelope and wrote in pencil on the outside. He then entrusted it to Mr Murdoch.

‘Mr Murdoch, may I have the weapon that was taken from Miss Storm-Fleming?’

Murdoch paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket and removed a small handgun.

‘We have already verified that the gun has been fired twice, Commodore.’

‘A Colt .25 automatic,’ said Holmes. ‘And with a pearl handle. Miss Storm-Fleming is, as always, a woman of style.’

Holmes paused, and then glanced at me with an apologetic expression.

‘Mr Murdoch, would you examine the rear seat of the motorcar to confirm that there are no bullet holes?’ said Holmes.

Murdoch appeared perplexed by the request, but nevertheless complied. He climbed into the back seat and examined the leather in detail.

‘Nothing here that I can see, Commodore.’

‘Very good. Now, please leave the vehicle, and I must ask all of you to back away some respectable distance.’

Holmes stepped away several paces and levelled Miss Storm-Fleming’s automatic at the Rolls-Royce. Murdoch raised his hand in protest, but backed away quickly as he saw Holmes taking aim. The rest of us had already moved, we hoped, to safe locations.

One shot echoed across the deck...and then another. The sound was deafening. Most of us had covered our ears after the first round.

‘You may all relax,’ said Holmes. ‘This first stage of our experiment is over.’

‘Commodore!’ exploded Murdoch, cautiously rising from behind a light blue Humber. ‘I really must insist — you have no right to fire guns on board this ship.’

‘My apologies,’ said Holmes, returning the weapon to Murdoch. ‘But it was necessary, as I am sure you will see in a moment. Watson, may I borrow those medical instruments again?’

Holmes probed through the leather deep into the rear cushions of the Rolls-Royce. Within ten minutes, he had recovered both chunks of
lead. After observing them in some detail through his glass, he smiled, placed them in an envelope and pencilled a notation on the outside. He then handed the envelope to Mr Murdoch.

‘Our work here is finished for now. Mr Murdoch, might I suggest that Doctor O’Loughlin and Mr Boxhall tend to the body, while you take Doctor Watson, Miss Norton and me to see the captain. And, if you would, please post a guard. We do not want any unwelcome visitors down here.’

I had been to the captain’s sitting room several times before. And during the short time I knew the captain, I had come to respect him, and even look on him as a friend. But on this occasion, his official presence, and the power he held at sea, overshadowed any previous impressions I had.

Miss Storm-Fleming sat in a big leather chair, her full yellow dress covering its brown cushions. I must say, I admired her courage. Even under these difficult circumstances, she showed few signs of nervousness. Rather, she sat quietly, sipping her tea, as if she were paying a social visit. The captain appeared less congenial.

‘Doctor Watson, Commodore, I am so very glad to see you!’ said Miss Storm-Fleming, placing her teacup on a side table and rising from the chair. ‘Perhaps you can convince the captain how silly this whole thing is.’

‘I wouldn’t use the word “silly”, Miss Storm-Fleming,’ said Holmes. ‘After all, you were seen leaving the area of the shooting with a gun — a .25 calibre Colt, that had been fired twice. Nevertheless, I think I can convince the captain that the evidence is circumstantial, and there are no grounds to hold you for the shooting.’

‘That is a most extraordinary statement, Commodore,’ said the captain, leaning against the chart table, his voice calm. ‘What new evidence do you have that would cause me to grant Miss Storm-Fleming her liberty?’

‘Only that the shots that killed Mr Bishop did not come from Miss Storm-Fleming’s handgun.’

‘And how do you know this?’ he asked.

Holmes took two white tea saucers and placed them on the captain’s desk.

‘Mr Murdoch, I earlier gave you two envelopes. One contains a spent bullet removed from the cushion behind the body. Would you place that in the saucer to the left.’

Murdoch turned to the captain. After receiving a nod, he complied with Holmes’s request. Miss Norton and I exchanged smiles. She seemed elated by this opportunity to see Holmes at work.

‘In addition, would you take the rounds I fired from Miss Storm-Fleming’s gun and place them in the saucer to the right.’

Murdoch, after completing his assignment, left the empty envelopes on the desk and backed away.

‘Now, Captain, if you will compare the rounds in the two saucers, you will see that there is a noticeable difference in size, and a slight difference in colour... The shapes are different, of course, but that is due to the surface into which each of them struck.’

Miss Storm-Fleming’s eyes brightened.

‘Yes, Commodore, I do see a difference,’ said the captain, impressed, but still hesitant.

‘And if you pick them up, you may notice a weight difference as well. It is small, but I am sure the scales in the ship’s surgeon’s office will support my statement. My guess is that it is about a 9 mm.’

‘I do believe you may be right.’ The captain, after comparing the rounds in two cupped hands, placed them back in the saucers. ‘Mr Murdoch, when we have finished, please take these rounds to Doctor O’Loughlin and have them weighed. Remain there and observe the process.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Of course, Commodore, even if we prove that Miss Storm-Fleming’s Colt was not the murder weapon, that is not absolute proof that she did not do the killing,’ said the captain. ‘There are no witnesses, and the second gun has not been located. Perhaps she fired both weapons.’

‘And why would I do that?’ asked Miss Storm-Fleming. She remained composed but was growing somewhat impatient with the captain’s persistence.

‘To create a confusion, perhaps...’

‘A possibility, to be sure,’ said Holmes. ‘But it is a most complex and unlikely hypothesis... Miss Storm-Fleming, could you tell us what happened down on the orlop deck, and why you were there?’

Holmes gently motioned for Miss Storm-Fleming to be seated. He then pulled two wooden chairs from beneath the meeting table and offered them to Miss Norton and me. We sat and listened to Miss Storm-Fleming’s remarkable tale.

‘Well, as I told the captain, my late husband was a motorcar enthusiast. Over time, some of his enthusiasm rubbed off on me. When Mr Bishop offered to show me the collection in the cargo hold, I could not refuse.’

I thought back to my squash-rackets game against the baron, and how I had seen Bishop, and then Miss Storm-Fleming, in the viewing area. I had not yet told Holmes of this occurrence.

‘He said the prize of the collection was a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost, built in 1909. When we arrived in the cargo hold, he was quick to uncover it and climb into the driver’s seat. We remained there for some time, discussing the features and performance of the Rolls, when I heard two shots fired in rapid succession. Mr Bishop first bent forward then, when the second shot hit him in the head, he was thrust back in the
seat. I immediately took cover behind the Rolls, but it appeared to me that he died instantly.’

‘Do you recall how long it was from the time you entered the hold until the shots were fired?’ asked Holmes.

‘I can only guess, but I’d say it was ten to fifteen minutes.’

‘And did you see who fired the shots?’

‘No, Mr Bishop had turned on the lights in the hold, but there were still areas of darkness. I only caught a glimpse of him.’

‘You are certain that it was a man?’

‘Yes, but I cannot provide any description beyond that... Tall, I believe... Doctoressed in a suit, not a crewman.’

‘When did you fire your gun?’ asked Holmes. ‘And why, Miss Storm-Fleming, were you carrying it?’

‘It is a habit I developed when I was living in New York. I seldom carry the Colt in England but, when I am travelling, I slip it into my bag. I suppose I am just apprehensive about travelling alone.’

‘Please continue.’

‘Well, when Mr Bishop was hit, I looked around and saw where the man was standing — about twenty-five or thirty feet away. He immediately ducked back into the shadows. After I had taken cover behind the Rolls, I remembered that I had the gun in my bag. I took it out and lifted my head just above the side of the door. I had to know whether he was still in hiding, or coming around after me. Just as I looked out, I saw him stepping forward, still in the shadows. But a ray of light did reflect off the gun. He was holding it directly in front of him. All I could think is that he was preparing to use it on me, and eliminate the possibility of a witness. I fired twice, and he leapt for cover. I was hiding behind the Rolls when I heard the sound of running. I looked up just in time to see him dashing through the door.’

‘Did you pursue him?’

‘Not immediately. I stopped to tend Mr Bishop but he was very clearly dead. As you know, Commodore, one shot hit him directly in the forehead... Anyway, I caught my breath and headed for the door. I am not sure whether I was looking to see that the killer was gone, or hoping to find help. As I stepped through the door, this big crewman ordered me to turn over my gun. I handed it to him, and then a moment later grabbed on to him and began to cry. When I regained my strength, I told him what had happened and took him inside to show him Mr Bishop’s body.’

Miss Storm-Fleming’s confident composure was weakening. It appeared that she was on the verge of tears. I wanted to step forward and comfort her but, wisely, resisted.

‘I told him what had happened, but I do not think he believed me. He held my gun to his nose, smelled that it had been fired, and told me that he was taking me to see the captain.’

Miss Storm-Fleming’s head was bowed, a single tear streaming down her cheek. She looked up at me asking, perhaps, what I thought of all this. In fact, I did not know what to think. Her story was generally plausible but why was she carrying a gun? And why, if she was accompanying Mr Bishop to the cargo hold, did she appear to be following him when I saw her from the squash-rackets court?

‘Captain,’ said Holmes, breaking a short spell of silence, ‘I suggest that some effort be made to locate the entry points of the two rounds fired by Miss Fleming.’

‘My thoughts, exactly, Commodore. Mr Murdoch, would you accompany Miss Storm-Fleming to the orlop deck and conduct a search. You can tend to weighing the bullets after that. Meanwhile, Miss Storm-Fleming, the evidence appears to be in your favour. You are at liberty to leave.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’

‘However, you are not completely beyond suspicion. Despite your
claim of a man in the shadows, you were the only person found at the scene of the shooting. And while Bishop was not killed with your Colt, you still could have done the shooting with another handgun. If we find the second weapon hidden in the cargo hold, you could be back in custody again. And when we reach New York, I will turn the entire matter over to the authorities. They will, undoubtedly, want to question you further.’

‘I understand, Captain.’

‘And Miss Storm-Fleming, you will carry no more weapons on board this ship.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Murdoch, who had been standing by the door, indicated to her to follow him. As she walked by, I said softly, ‘I hope we will have an opportunity to talk later.’

She smiled and nodded, still holding back tears. A moment later, she and Murdoch were on their way to the cargo hold. Murdoch closed the door behind them.

‘Well, Mr Holmes, what do you think?’ asked the captain.