The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (20 page)

After Brandon and Swede left, we had heard the sound of chains being looped through the handle of the steel door to the adjoining hold. They had not gagged us, since shouting would do us no good. After the shooting, the captain had forbidden entry to the scene of the crime. Only senior officers were allowed in. Brandon cleverly saw this as an opportunity to conceal his activities.

The forward wall also had a covered opening. It was labelled ‘chain locker’. That offered some hope, since the ship’s huge anchor chain was far too large to occupy only one deck. If we could enter the locker, we might be able to climb to a higher level and escape through an unlocked door. Even if we were unable to leave through the opening, we might be able to attract the attention of people on the other side.

The crates lining the walls around us were not labelled. We had no clue as to their contents, though the lack of refrigeration indicated that they were not perishable.

The floor and ceiling both had large hatchways, through which crates and other cargo could be lowered. Unfortunately, both were covered by huge metal plates. The bottom hatch cover was piled high with crates. I suspected that the cover on the upper hatch might be weighted in a similar manner.

I sat shivering on the stack of burlap sacks, struggling to loosen the ropes that bound my hands and feet. Though I could not see Futrelle in the darkness, I could hear rustling and grunting sounds, as he strained his muscles in a tireless effort to regain his freedom.

‘Futrelle, do you think you might be able to free your arms or legs?’

‘Not a chance. If anything, the ropes seem to be getting tighter.
Perhaps it is the dampness. How about you?’

‘No, I have the same problem.’

‘Watson, do you think he is really serious about sinking the ship? I did not see any bomb in here.’

‘It could be in one of the crates, or behind one. For the sake of the people on this ship, I think we must assume that he is telling the truth. We must find a way to alert the captain.’

We sat in silence, considering the alternatives. In addition to being bound, we could not move along the floor. Our captors had looped a rope through a hole at the base of a metal stanchion that ran from the floor to the ceiling. The ends of the rope were tied to our wrists. We had only a few feet of slack.

‘Futrelle?’

‘Yes.’

‘As I recall, did not your story,
The Problem of Cell 13
, involve Professor Van Dusen escaping from a prison cell? I cannot remember the details. How did he get out?’

‘Well, he bet some men that he could escape from a prison cell within a week.’

‘I fear that we do not have that long, but please continue.’

‘Let us see... He went into a cell with only the clothes on his back, some toothpaste and twenty-five dollars in cash. He was not allowed any contact with the outside world, and only his captors knew that he was there.’

‘Then what?’

‘To cut a long story short, he unravelled a long thread from his socks and tied one end to a rat he had captured in his cell. He sent the rat through an old drainpipe to a playground just outside the prison wall. The rat carried a ten-dollar bill, and a note asking whatever child found it to give the note to a particular newspaper reporter. When the reporter
returned with the boy, he found the drainpipe and attached some stronger string to the thread. Van Dusen then pulled the end of the string into his cell, creating a means for sending small objects through the pipe.’

‘Amazing! What happened then?’

‘He used nitric acid, which he had received through the drainpipe, to cut through the bars of his window. Then he cut through a cable outside the window, placing that side of the prison in perfect darkness. That allowed him to leave through the window.’

‘What about the prison gate?’

‘He walked through, disguised as an electrician.’

I sat for a moment, considering Futrelle’s extraordinary narrative.

‘I regret, Futrelle, that I do not think there is anything in that story that can help us in this particular situation.’

There was silence, then my fellow prisoner spoke in a subdued voice. ‘No, I suppose not... Did you and Mr Holmes ever plan an escape?’

‘We were seldom in such a situation, although a few of our clients had narrow escapes.’

‘Such as...’

‘Well, I recall one case where a young engineer was locked inside a hydraulic press and the ceiling began to come down slowly upon him.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Very little, I fear. Just as he was about to be crushed by the machine, a woman confederate of his captor opened a side door and allowed him to pass through.’

‘He escaped unharmed, then?’

‘Unfortunately, his captor cut off his thumb with a butcher’s cleaver as he made his escape through a window. But other than that, he was fine. But I suppose that does not help us much either. That is, unless one of Brandon’s henchmen decides to take pity on us.’

‘I do not consider that to be a possibility.’

‘Neither do I...’

We stopped speaking for what could have been fifteen minutes, as each of us continued to struggle with our ropes. We tried fraying the rope that bound us together by rubbing it against the supporting post but with no success.

‘Watson, do you suppose there’s a trap door or anything beneath this pile of sacks? I mean, it is a possibility.’

‘I suppose we could move the sacks and examine the floor. Of course, bound to the post as we are, we would not be able to climb down there, even if there is a hatch.’

‘It could be that there’s someone below us.’

By sliding back to the metal post, Futrelle and I were able to get to our feet. We found that the slack in the rope allowed us both to stand in a crouched position. With our feet bound, it took considerable time and effort to kick the sacks away and expose the floor beneath them. At this point, we both sat down again and felt the floor with our fingertips.

Futrelle uttered an oath under his breath.

‘My dear Futrelle, what is the matter?’

‘I tore my trousers on a jagged piece of metal, bent up from the floor. I may have cut myself too.’

‘Futrelle, can you manoeuvre your hands over to the metal and cut the ropes?’

I heard him sliding along the floor, and then stop suddenly.

‘Watson, could you slide towards the post? I need a little more slack.’

I slid backwards, and soon heard a sawing sound as the edge of the metal rubbed against the rope.

Futrelle stopped for a moment. ‘I think I have almost done it.’

‘Splendid! Keep going.’

Soon, Futrelle was free from his bonds. He then caught his breath, and set to work untying me. When my hands were free, I reached
into my jacket pocket and pulled out a box of matches. Despite the dampness, I was able to light one on the first try.

‘Is there anything in here we can burn?’ I asked.

‘Perhaps one of these sacks is dry enough to make a torch.’

‘I do not understand why there are no electric lights. The other holds have them.’

Futrelle looked around in the dim glow of the match. The opportunity was short, since the flame soon reached my fingers. ‘Perhaps there are lights and we just have not seen them. Even with Brandon’s lamp, it was still pretty dark in here.’

‘I am certain that there is no switch by the door,’ I said. ‘Where else would one be?’

Futrelle scrambled about the floor for a while, then returned with a long, square piece of wood. ‘I found this by the crates. We could try wrapping some cloth around it.’

I managed to remove my tweed waistcoat and, after wrapping it tightly around the end of the stick, I used the rope to secure it in place. It served well as a torch and burned brightly.

‘But it will not last for long,’ I said. ‘I suggest we make haste.’

It did not take long to solve the mystery of the missing switch. I found a light fixture on one wall, with a string dangling below. One quick tug at the switch produced an even glow.

‘I will try to push these crates over so they do not block the light,’ said Futrelle.

‘No! Wait! Remember the bomb. You might set it off. We will just have to make do with the light we have now.’

Futrelle nodded, somewhat embarrassed by his rash suggestion.

‘Where do you suppose the bomb is?’ Futrelle asked.

‘Well, I’ve been thinking about that. On the night we left Cherbourg, Holmes and I were in the smoking room, listening to a conversation
between a passenger and the ship’s designer, a Mr Andrews. Andrews said that the ship has sixteen watertight compartments, and that it can remain afloat with any two of them flooded — or any three of the first five flooded. I would say that the bomb is likely to be next to a bulkhead somewhere further down.’

We faced each other for a moment, then walked to opposite corners of the hold. Futrelle was the winner.

‘Just our luck!’ said Futrelle. ‘Here it is, in a shadow. All I can see is a bunch of wires, some metal thing and a glass bottle all jammed together in a wooden box.’

‘Perhaps we should try moving it into the light?’

‘We could set it off,’ Futrelle cautioned. ‘First let us see if there is a way out. If Brandon was telling the truth about it going off at one o’clock, we still have lots of time left. What time is it, by the way?’

‘Half past seven.’

We decided to leave the bomb alone for the moment, and spend some time examining possible escape routes. Our findings were far from promising.

As we expected, the door to the next hold was held firmly in place by the chain. On the opposite wall, the cover to the chain locker was fastened by some very large bolts. We could reach the cargo hatch above by climbing on top of the crates but the metal cover would not move an inch. We tried moving crates to reach the hatch cover on the floor but they were too heavy for the two of us to handle. If we had a crowbar or some other means of prying them open, we could perhaps unpack them until they were light enough to move. But that might take hours, and the prospects of escaping by that route were not that good, even if the crates were removed. My previous study of the ship showed that that there was another hold below us, and there was no indication of whether we could move freely to the next compartment.

‘Perhaps we could short the electric lights,’ Futrelle offered. ‘If that blacked out other parts of the ship, they might send an electrician down to find the trouble.’

‘And if it does not, or if they decide to leave the problem until morning, we will be left in the dark. We would have virtually no chance of defusing the bomb. Not that either of us knows anything about defusing a bomb.’

‘I suppose... I wish we could ring for room service. I am extremely hungry.’

I smiled and nodded in agreement.

‘Futrelle,’ I said. ‘There may be another way.’ I was surprised to hear my voice cracking. ‘It would not save us, but it may save the other passengers.’

‘What is it?’

‘We could try to defuse the bomb. If we succeed, then well and good. If we fail, and the bomb goes off, it will only flood two of the holds.’

‘And kill us.’

‘And, as you say, kill us. But the ship will not sink, at least until the second bomb goes off at 1 am. And the threat of two flooded holds might cause the captain to abandon ship.’

‘But there are not enough lifeboats.’

‘Some would be saved. And if the captain calls for help early enough, another ship might come before the
Titanic
goes down.’

‘I consider our duty is clear.’

We carefully moved the box containing the bomb to the opposite wall, under the electric light. For some time, we kneeled next to it, examining the complex network of wires and components.

‘The bottle of nitroglycerine is down underneath all this other apparatus,’ I said. ‘If only we could just remove it, that would make the whole process simple.’

I tugged gently at the spool-like piece of metal above the bottle, but it held firmly in place.

‘We could try pulling some of the wires,’ Futrelle said.

‘That might trigger it, but then again, perhaps not.’

I tried tugging at another component, which caused a brief whirring sound that made me think twice about continuing that particular approach.

‘If we had a straw and could remove the stopper on the bottle, we could siphon the nitroglycerine out of the bottle and into another container. Then the bomb would be harmless.’

I wiped the sweat off my brow. ‘Not the most helpful suggestion, Futrelle.’

‘Do you have a better idea?’

‘Confound it, Futrelle, I am a doctor, not an explosives expert!’

‘Apologies, old fellow. An unusual situation for both of us.’

‘There is a wire here that is lightly soldered into place,’ I said, pointing to a thin strand covered in red insulation. ‘I am going to give it a tug.’

‘I am with you, Watson. Proceed...but gently, if you please.’

I took a deep breath, then gently placed my fingertips on either side of the wire, down near the connection. I placed the forefinger of my other hand on the component just below the connection, and began to work the wire back and forth.

‘What the devil is that!’ I gasped, backing my hands away from the device.

Someone was rattling the chain outside the door. I looked up at Futrelle and he looked back at me with an expression of utter delight.

‘We’re saved!’ he said. ‘The ship is saved!’

‘Unless it is Brandon coming back to check up on our ropes,’ I said, keeping my voice down. ‘Quickly, to the door! We will need to grab whoever it is when he comes in.’

Futrelle and I stood on either side of the door, our backs to the wall. Suddenly, I remembered something and ran back to switch off the light.

The door opened before I could return to my position. I saw the silhouette of a stooped man. He had a full, fluffy beard and mumbled to himself as he peered through the doorway. It was clearly not Brandon, but I wondered whether it might be one of his henchmen.

He slowly lifted a lamp from the floor, and pointed it directly at me. He suddenly backed away in surprise but then braced himself on the door frame and moved forward cautiously.