Chapter 3: A Fateful Meting

8:00 PM April 14th

Around 8:00 PM I heard a knock on my door. I raced to the door and opened it to see Smethells standing there.

"Good evening, sir." He greeted me, holding a silver tray in his hands.

"Good evening, Smethells." I replied back.

"If I may say so, it is good to see you up and about. You've been in your cabin the whole voyage. A tough of the mal de mar, was it?"

That'll do. I thought.

"Yes, just a touch." I said as I eagerly waited for him to finish.

"Seasickness can be quite unpleasant, especially if it's one's first crossing." Smethells said. "Since you have not been out of your cabin, may I instruct you on how to get assistance while on board the Titanic?"

"No thank you. I can find my own way." I replied, growing impatient.

"Very well. Your correspondence." He said, holding the silver tray out for me.

On the trey was a small note. As I took the paper, Smethells added, "2,200 souls on board, and they all want messages delivered promptly."

I read the note.

"Meet me at the electrical camel, now! –P.P."

"Even if it is 1912, and the Titanic, the most advanced means of sea conveyance ever devised, I still only have two hands." Smethells finished as I placed the note back on the trey.

P.P. must be my contact! I thought to myself.

"Thank you, Smethells. That will be all." I said.

"Very well then. Good night." Smethells said as he departed.

I grabbed my brown satchel, which I carried along on all my missions, and my pocket watch and exited my cabin for the first time since coming aboard.

The electric camel must be an exercise machine, so it would be in the gymnasium. I told myself as I made my way toward the forward Grand Staircase.

Finally I reached the end of the corridor and opened the door, making my way onto the Grand Staircase. Though the Titanic was not my first ocean liner, she was certainly the most elegant. The smells of fresh paint and wood varnish still hung heavily in the air. The wall paneling, support columns, and banisters of the staircase were made of beautifully stained oak. The floor was covered in black and white tiles and there were white wicker chairs positioned along the walls. Directly in front of the landing were golden letters forming the words "C-DECK".

I knew I needed to move quickly, so I ascended the stares to A-Deck. Upon reaching the landing, I once again took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the Grand Staircase. A bronze cherub statue stood on the banister of the A-Deck landing, holding a torch. An elegant wall clock decorated the upper landing, and it was all topped by a magnificent wrought iron and glass dome. I was so busy admiring the view that I almost ran right into a heavy-set gentleman standing in front of the staircase. He wore a tan suit and had short hair and a mustache.

"Please excuse me. I'm terribly sorry, sir!" I exclaimed.

"It's quite alright. Don't think we've met. I'm Leyland Sachum Trask metaphysical scribe and evangelist for the supernatural." He said, introducing himself.

I was taken aback by his introduction. He wan an American, judging by his accent.

"Frank Carlson." I replied, introducing myself and shaking his hand.

"I've been in London attending a conference on premonitions among the sensitive." He said.

"Sensitives?" What sort of nonsense is that? I thought to myself.

"Where are you from?" I inquired.

"You've heard of my institute, the Astral Bureau of Circulation? In Boston?" Trask asked. "The A.B.C. is a place where mediums of impeccable character can co-mingle in harmony."

What a load of garbage! I thought once more, but I decided to humor the man.

"What's a sensitive?" I asked.

"Sensitives, or 'psychics', possess increased powers of perception." Trask explained. "A gifted psychic can take a personal effect from a complete stranger and tell you all about them."

I tried to keep a straight face.

"So, are your predictions reliable?" I asked him.

"Well, there's a range of course." Trask replied, though his voice was full of confidence, as if he actually believed what he was saying. "Given the right training, psychics can reveal information hidden to others."

I nodded, folding my arms.

"And what do you predict for the Titanic?" I asked, curious as to what he would say.

Trask raised an eyebrow and answered, "This is a ship of destiny! Which, I think, you know."

"I really must be going, Mr. Trask." I said. "It was good meeting you."

"Good night. I'll be here if you need me." he replied.

"What a fraud! What could I possibly need from him?" I muttered to myself as I climbed the staircase to the Boat Deck.

I recalled from studying the map of the ship that the gymnasium was on the starboard side of the ship. I went to the starboard vestibule which led to the gymnasium and entered.

Inside the gymnasium, I noted the various exercise devices in the room. There was a rowing machine, exercise bicycles, a punching bag, and what I assumed was the electric camel mentioned in the note. Standing beside it, looking at a chart on the wall, was a woman in a white dress and wearing a matching white hat. As I approached her, the turned toward me and hastily strode up to me, with an impatient and annoying look on her face.

"Glory be! It's about time!" she hissed, pointing a finger at me. "You're late! Another five minutes and I'd have cancelled your mission!"

"You must be the one who sent me the message." I replied, silently scolding myself for wasting time talking to Trask.

"Yes, I'm Pringle. Penny Pringle from the Bureau of Secret Service." She said, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "You didn't think they'd plunk you down on this bucket of bolts and millionaires alone, did you?"

"I apologize for my tardiness. It won't happen again." I said, deciding it would be best to diffuse the situation.

Pringle sighed and placed her hands on her hips.

"What a botch up." She muttered. "Some idiot in the War Office booked me into Second, not First Class. And I've had a fine time of it too! The crew wouldn't let me in the first cabin at all, and it's just today I located you!"

That explains a few things. I thought to myself.

I decided that it would be best to get down to business.

"What did you want to tell me?"

"Look at this." Pringle said, holding out a photograph of a man in a military uniform, with short curly hair and a mustache.

That face! I've seen it somewhere before! I thought as I stated at the photograph, though I couldn't recall where.

"A German colonel named Zeitel." Pringle explained. "Supposedly he's inspecting their embassies in Havana, Washington, and Mexico City, but we know better!"

Pringle put the photograph away and continued, "Ten days ago the Bureau got word that Zeitel has in his possession a priceless copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, stolen two months ago in Paris after its purchase by a highly placed member of His Majesty's government."

"What's the Rubaiyat?" I asked.

Pringle produced a second photograph and handed it to me. The picture showed what appeared to be a book with an elegant, jewel-encrusted leather cover.

"The Rubaiyat's a book. A collection of medieval Persian poetry, a passion of His Lordship's." Pringle clarified.

Bugger! More art thieves! I thought to myself, feeling rather disappointed.

"Persians! Poetry! The German high command clearly thinks it's important enough to have their top man smuggle the lot on board!"

"What does Zeitel plan to do with it?" I asked.

"It's your job to find out!" Pringle said firmly. "His lordship's watching this very closely. Very closely indeed. I wouldn't fumble this chance either. Not unless you fancy spending the rest of your career in some grotty Midland back office shuffling paper about."

I nodded.

"And Zeitel, is he traveling alone?" I asked, deciding to learn what I could.

"No, he's with a protégé. Name of Haderlitz, I believe." Pringle answered. "The two seem to spend a great deal of time in the Café Parisian, nibbling pastries."

Pringle pointed at me and said firmly, "Get into the Wireless Room! I don't know or care how! Officer Morrow wouldn't let me in. See if Zeitel has sent or received any telegrams about the Rubaiyat. Use the cryptograph in your trunk to unscramble the German codes. You use the brains God gave you! Watch people! Listen!"

She glanced around once more.

"When you find the Rubaiyat, knock on my door."

"Which cabin are you in?" I asked.

"Cabin F-34. Use the Second Class stairs. You should be set. Remember, this is your big chance. Don't fail!"

Without another word, Pringle exited the gymnasium, leaving me standing in the dimly lit room alone.

I tried to decide on a course of action.

The Rubaiyat can wait a little longer. I said to myself. I should go see Georgia. I won't be long.

I exited the gymnasium and walked out onto the boat deck. The evening air was bitterly cold. The last rays of daylight could still be seen to the west, though it would be completely dark soon. The stars were already visible overhead. The sky was crystal clear and the sea was a dead calm, like a mill pond.

What could she want after all this time? I thought as I strode aft toward the stern.

I felt nervous. It had been so long since I had seen Georgia, and I had cut off contact without warning. Would she be angry? I was about to find out.

As I reached the aft end of the Boat Deck, I spotted a woman wearing a blue dress with a white fur coat. I recognized her in an instant.

"Excuse me." I said, much more faintly than I should have.

Georgia ran to me.

"You came! After all this time! It's Georgia!" she exclaimed excitedly. "I'd heard you were on board! Where have you been?"

"I was detained." I replied, which wasn't too far off from the truth. "It's been a long time, Georgia."

"It's been five years." She replied. "I'd have waited a lot longer to see you again. Why didn't you tell me where you'd gone? Deena hadn't a clue, nor did Jack. My letters were returned! Just like you to turn up now with everything in such a beastly mess! Please, you must help me!"

I was surprised by the desperation in her voice.

"Help you? What's the matter?" I asked.

"You've no doubt heard the rumors." Georgia answered. "I won't deny most of them. I can't!"

"What rumors?" I asked, now more confused.

"Even if the money's gone I won't give the diamonds to Charles! Never!" she exclaimed.

I knew she was speaking of her husband, Lord Charles Lambeth. I had heard of their marriage, though I knew few details. Clearly her marriage was not going well. Georgia removed the diamond necklace from her neck, holding it in her hands.

"These are all that remains. My insurance for a new life without Charles, or Sasha."

"I'm not familiar with Sasha. Who is he?" I asked.

"Sasha Barbicon? The owner of the Barbicon Gallery? We're friends, of a sort." she answered, seemingly confused that I hadn't heard the name.

In fact I had heard that name. Sasha Barbicon was the owner of a famous art gallery in London.

How did you become involved with him? I wondered silently.

Georgia glanced around nervously.

"Please, I mustn't talk any longer."

She placed her necklace in my hands.

"Keep it for me. And don't tell Charles you have it! You can't know what he's like!"

With that, Georgia hastily walked away, leaving me standing alone on the aft Boat Deck holding her priceless necklace.

Poor Georgia… I thought, feeling at least somewhat responsible for what had happened to her.

She was clearly unhappy with her marriage. as I placed the necklace in my satchel, I resolved to help her in any way I could. But for now, I decided it would be best to proceed with my mission.

To be continued…