He shook his head. “It was not supposed to be that way. No one had to die. And we never got the proof.”
“But surely the fact that they intended to engage…?”
“It doesn’t prove… Halloa,” he exclaimed. “What’s that?”
I looked out at the black ocean. A glint of phosphorous showed above something moving in the dark water. “What could that be?” I asked.
Holmes’s dark eyes glinted in the light from his pipe. A kind of smile began to play at the corners of his mouth, and I recognized that look: He was on a scent, when he thought it had eluded him. Then, at once, the half smile faded, replaced by a grimness I had never before witnessed in him. “The monster,” he said under his breath. “The unspeakable monster.”
“Holmes,” I began, “what—”
“Follow me,” he said, “and keep your gun handy.” He headed toward the bridge.
“Mate Jeffers,” he yelled up from the deck, “there is a boat in the water.”
The first mate, more haggard than ever, was struggling with the onus of command. He glared at Holmes as another interruption in an already impossible night. “What’s that you say, sir?” he yelled down.
“There’s a boat in the water.” Holmes pointed. “There, at forty-five degrees off port.”
The small boat could just barely be seen coming into the circle of light thrown by our ship. “My God,” said Jeffers. He seemed instantly rejuvenated, taking the steps down from the bridge in bounding leaps. “Could it be that someone survived?”
“It would appear so,” my friend answered. I glanced then at Sherlock Holmes, and he had in his eye a look so dangerous that even I, who knew him so well, shuddered. Yet I could not for the life of me see what had so aroused him. Questions formed in my mind, but the fierceness of his countenance forced me to hold my tongue.
Jeffers called for some men and had them begin preparing for the rescue. Out in the night, I could just make out the lifeboat. On board was a single man, standing and waving. His “Ahoy,” small yet haunting, carried across the water. In the boat with him appeared to be a large box of some sort — probably, I thought, some possessions he’d managed to escape with before the ship exploded.
As the boat approached, Jeffers leaned farther over the water to direct the crewmen’s operations. Just at that moment, Holmes lurched forward, grabbed the mate from behind and lifted him up and over the railing. With flailing arms and an anguished cry, Jeffers hit the water with a tremendous splash.
“Holmes!” I cried.
“There’s no time to explain! Quick, Watson, your weapon!”
In a flash I had drawn my revolver and leveled it at the crew members gathered around us. Holmes remained calm. “I apologize for this inconvenience, gentlemen,” he said to them, “and after a moment it won’t be necessary, but for now I think it better that no one try to save Mr. Jeffers.”
The mate rose to the surface, spluttering. “Holmes!” he called. “What’s the meaning of this? It’s mutiny! Watson, I’ll have you both hanged!”
“I think the pleasure will be the other way round!” Holmes countered. “If you don’t drown first.”
“Why should I hang?”
“First for murdering Captain Wagner, then for blowing up Moran’s ship and not least for trying to poison Watson and me.”
“You’re mad. They were going to ram us!”
“No,” Holmes replied. “But for a moment it certainly did look that way, so that your disobedience of orders seemed logical.”
“What are you saying?”
“The convoy was to herd the ship to Goree, not destroy it. And no one — no one at all, even a survivor — was to come aboard.”
Jeffers treaded water awkwardly. Fully dressed as he was, the weight of his clothes would pull him down within minutes. The lifeboat, all but forgotten by us, was drifting steadily away from him.
Jeffers went under briefly and came up gagging. Looking at the lifeboat, he tried a few halfhearted breaststrokes in its direction, but the effort was too great for him. He turned back to us, breathing heavily. “Help me, Watson, and I’ll see that you’re pardoned!”
“If my friend hangs,” I called down, “I will gladly hang beside him.” Then, to Holmes, I said softly, “You’re not going to let him drown, are you?”
“I rather think he’ll be saved.”
But as we watched, Jeffers went under again. I thought the mate was gone, but once again he broke the surface. This time the panic in his voice was not feigned. He looked up at Holmes, then across to the lifeboat and came to his fateful decision. “Moran!” he yelled. “Help me! I’m drowning!”
“You fool, Jeffers! Shut up!”
Sherlock Holmes addressed me, finally allowing himself a smile. “As I suspected, they know each other by name. It is all the proof we need.” He called overboard. “You’d better see to Jeffers, Moran! The game is up.”
“Who is that I’m speaking to?”
Holmes chuckled mirthlessly. “You don’t recognize the voice, colonel? We’ve met occasionally.” He leaned over the railing. “Mr. Sherlock Holmes at your service.”
“Holmes? What is this?”
“You thought I’d be dead by now, eh? Poisoned?”
“What are you talking about?”
“We had better discuss it after you’ve saved your accomplice.” And, indeed, Moran had set to with his oars. Before long, the exhausted mate had been pulled into the lifeboat.
“Now in the name of decency, Holmes, let us aboard!” Moran cried.
“You have a great deal of gall using that word, colonel. What is that box behind you, sir?”
Moran uncovered a huge cage in which skulked something large and black, looking from our deck like a small bear. “It is nothing more than a giant Sumatran tree rat, Holmes. I was taking it to the London Zoo. It was the only thing I could save from the ship.”
“Before you blew it up?”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying you sacrificed your entire crew so that we would naturally pluck you and your giant rat of Sumatra from the lifeboat.
You thought by now that Watson, Captain Wagner and I would all be dead and that no one would think to question your rescue.”
“No!”
“That rat is infested with bubonic plague, and you yourself are host to its deadly carrier fleas. Both you and Jeffers are inoculated, but once you or the rat comes aboard this ship, the England we all love is gone.”
At the word plague, a general murmuring arose from the men behind us. Holmes turned and addressed them. “You heard me correctly. All your officers, including Jeffers, had been briefed — no one from Moran’s ship was to board a British ship of the line. Would any of you let Moran and Jeffers aboard?”
“What should we do, sir?” one of the men asked.
“Run to the stateroom and ask the ranking officer to take control here. Be off now!” Holmes turned back to the lifeboat. “Drop the cage overboard, Moran. Now!”
We could hear the vicious growls and squeals of the caged beast. It stalked back and forth, beady eyes fixed on the lights of our ship. Moran hesitated a moment, then reached behind him.
“Holmes, have pity…” he began.
“Fire a shot into the boat, Watson.”
I did so.
Holmes continued: “Colonel, you’re going to have a hard time staying afloat with a hull full of bullet holes.”
“Please…”
“Another, Watson, if you would.”
After the second shot, Moran quickly lifted the cage and dropped it into the black water. It sank like a stone, leaving no trace.
One of the officers came running up. “What’s going on here, Mr. Holmes? Where’s Mr. Jeffers?”
In a few dozen words the situation had been explained.