Chapter 12: "Tell it to the Marines"
Tell it to the marines: A scornful response to a tall and unbelieved story.
Watson
Holmes's explanation had been brief and to the point, and did very little to clear up my confusion. He was being confoundedly elusive and my head would have ached anew had I not taken the painkiller.
Lachlan was just as puzzled and cast me a curious glance; I shrugged and moved out of the way as Holmes swept past, throwing on his jacket.
"MRS. HUDSON!" he bellowed as he flung open the door.
I saw Lachlan flinch, and recalled that he was quite as weary as I, this sort of action would do no good to either him or Holmes - who was still recovering, whether he remembered he fact or not.
"Holmes, what in heaven's name?"
"I told you, Watson, we are going to speak to the president of the English branch of the Lansing line."
Holmes thrust a handful of papers at Mrs. Hudson as she came hesitatingly into the room.
"Send these off as soon as the telegraph office is open, thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
Then he spun the other direction, taking Lachlan's jacket from the chair and flinging it to him.
He caught it, barely.
"Lachlan, if you are fit enough I think it would be best if you accompany us, for you are the foremost witness we have. Get your coat, Watson."
I sighed. How he could change from such a limp individual to a fury of energy so quickly?
My thoughts were arrested as my own coat smacked me in the face and fell to the floor as I failed to catch it.
I spun to glare at him "Holmes!"
His face twisted in an unwilling smirk and he picked up his stick and hat from the table.
"Sorry, Watson, but it is best that we get there before the morning rush."
The light streaming through the window indicated to me that the morning rush was already well underway. I sighed, picked up my jacket from the floor, and turned to make certain of Lachlan, who had risen from his place on the couch, a little paler than usual but steady enough on his feet.
Holmes was already at the stairs and here he paused, inconvenienced by the stitches in his side. He considered for a moment, tried a position or two, then began gingerly down them in a sort of sideways shuffle.
I heard Lachlan laugh behind me as I started down and could not help but grin. Holmes cast both of us a glare but continued.
He made it down the stairs without incident and then put his powerful voice to use by calling us a cab. He pulled open the door and waved us in with a flourish.
Lachlan hesitated for a moment, and I got the impression that he was not accustomed to riding in cabs nor on attending such business.
"Come, come, Lachlan, I recall you were not quite so shy in alighting into a cab the evening before last," Holmes said with a smile.
Lachlan laughed at this, shooting him a grin, and climbed in.
"What is this?" I asked, seating myself beside the seaman. Holmes closed the door behind us.
"Let us say, Watson, that a certain reluctant gentleman was relieved of his ride, thanks to our friend's delicate persuasion."
"Ah." I said, watching as Lachlan's face turned a shade darker and he cleared his throat.
"We shall stop by the Haddock to give you a chance to refresh yourself, Lachlan, no doubt the line will be more inclined to listen."
Lachlan nodded and plucked at his shirt, which was still marked by the sweat of his ordeal yesterday.
"I myself would appreciate it, Mr. Holmes. One grows used to such conditions at sea but that doesn' mean I enjoy them."
"I never considered that you did."
It was not a difficult matter to make the stop, for the offices were not far from the dockyards, and Lachlan seemed much more relaxed once clothed in fresh clothing. I noticed that the clothing was of a better quality as well. He truly must be nervous about this errand, and it made me wonder how he had been received the first time he had gone.
I recalled his bitter tone when he had recalled the account, and my temper flared slightly, for Lachlan was a much finer man than the cut of the cloth he wore.
The same thought had occurred to Holmes, for he made it a point to walk behind the seaman as we were ushered into the nicely furnished offices of the Lansing line.
A broad-shouldered man sat hunched over a desk. His nose not an inch from the paper on which he was writing, it was obvious that he needed glasses but was too proud to wear them.
His suit was clean cut, probably from Savile Row, and his thinning hair was combed severally across his head. He had a hook nose and high cheekbones which gave him a distinct equine look. Mulish might be a good word to describe it.
He glanced up as we entered and his thin face darkened at the sight of Lachlan, whose usually amiable face had set into a wary scowl.
The mulish man set down his pen with a condescending sigh, and clasped his hands in front of him. He looked at our sailor with the air of a parent addressing a particularly stupid child.
"Mr. Lachlan. I really must insist that you cease to disturb my work with your wild tales. I have duties."
I could almost see the steam dissipate from the midshipman's skin, but he showed no outward sign at the insult. Instead he folded his arms and looked at the official with a very cool air indeed.
"Wild tales, Mr. Muir? Where I come from, a friendly warning is heeded and taken seriously."
"And the last time I checked, all you seamen ever talk about is impossible stories of lost lands and mermaids…or in your case, reappearing ships."
"That is precisely why I am here," Lachlan said quietly, ignoring the barb.
Mr. Muir sighed.
"The ships of our rival lines our none of our affair Mr. Lachlan. And acting so impetuously will not earn you gratitude or a higher position."
"I want no such assistance, not from the likes of you."
"Then I suggest you curb your tongue or you will never survive in the higher ranks of the navy midshipman."
This remark made Lachlan's face darken, I felt my own mouth open in retort, but Holmes's hand on my arm stopped me.
"If there is one thing I do not tolerate, it is being called a liar, Mr. Muir." Lachlan said, "I am an honest man, far more honest than most could claim, yerself included."
The seaman leaned in, bracing his hands against the desk. Mr. Muir glared at the rough, capable fingers.
"And it is only because I am honest that I have come to you at all, for quite frankly, sir, you disgust me. And I consider you a money-grubbing weasel what can't see what's in front of his nose. I'm telling you that your ships, three of which I have worked on with my own hands, are sitting in the docks at this moment, bearing the mark of your rival lines!"
"And your mark as well, yes I know, you have already confessed to your acts of vandalism, and they do not impress me in the least. If those ships where indeed mine than I would have you flogged."
Muir looked back to his papers, slipping back into his desk.
"Now leave these premises before I have you escorted out."
Lachlan swallowed, and it was evident he was only just controlling his rage.
"Mr. Muir, men, your own men, and many good friends of mine have gone missing …"
"Ships go down all the time, Mr. Lachlan. And just because one of your grog partners was unlucky enough to be on one of them is no concern of mine. Now leave or I shall make you."
"It is my intent…"
"It is my intent that you go from here now. I do not wish to cause a scene but if you force my hand…Mr. Prewitt!"
A rather burly fellow, with an exceedingly low brow, rose from his seat outside the office and came into the room, a look of mock concern on his face.
"Yes, sir?"
"Would you be kind enough to show Mr. Lachlan the door a little more forcefully than you did last time? It seems your message has not yet gotten through to him."
I felt a wave of indignation sweep through me at those words, and I realized just exactly the sort of treatment Lachlan must have received upon his first visit. The idea of scumbags such as these throwing Lachlan anywhere turned my stomach. Add the fact that he had saved the life of my greatest friend and was now one of my patients, and my rage mounted to a level it rarely reached.
My fists clenched and as the brute reached out towards Lachlan, who in his weakened condition could not possibly resist such an attack, I found myself stepping between them.
Prewitt blinked, and his face darkened. "Get out o' the way, mate, I have no quarrel with you."
"You do if you intend to lay a finger on this man." I said.
Lachlan shifted behind me but said nothing.
Muir growled, "This is ridiculous…who are you? Prewitt, get them out of here!"
"I think not, Mr. Muir," Came the voice of Sherlock Holmes, and I sighed in relief, for 'Prewitt' was a very powerful-looking man.
Muir glared at my friend who smiled amiably back, his hat and stick in hand.
"Who are you?" he repeated.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and colleague Dr. Watson. You received our cards I believe, but you were rude enough not only to ignore them but also to ignore our presence when we entered."
"Holmes…." Muir glared at my friend, but the look was not without respect. "What business do you have here, sir?"
"I have been engaged by Mr. Lachlan to investigate the mystery surrounding…how did you put it…your 'reappearing ships'."
Muir sighed, the indulgent look back on his face again.
"Mr. Holmes, I do not know what stories this man has been telling you, but it is absolutely no concern of yours."
I swore softly at the man's cheek and the word made Lachlan raise a brow. But again Holmes intervened.
"It is very much my affair, Mr. Muir, not only because it had been brought to me by a worthy and trusted client but because it concerns the deaths of quite a few innocent men."
Muir glared at Holmes, his patience gone very quickly.
"I have no desire to speak with you sir. I suggest you and your friends leave."
"It would be wise of you to listen, Mr. Muir, for it is for the sake of your company that we have come. And there is a chance that a great disaster can be averted and many lives saved if you cooperate. "
"Is that a threat, Mr. Holmes?" Muir said getting to his feet.
Holmes let out a short barking laugh and managed to spoil any effect the action might have had by seating himself at the same moment.
Muir's glare turned to more of a pout and he managed to look rather foolish, despite the fact that he loomed over Holmes who smiled up at him rather cheekily, obviously in the dominant position despite his posture.
"No, Mr. Muir, it is not a threat but a warning…I am not as you seem determined to believe, your enemy. Not yet."
Muir bristled, like a dog who has scented something he does not like.
"What do you want from me then?"
Holmes chuckled, rolling his head. "Want? Mr. Muir, we want nothing from you but a few moments of your time."
"I have given you that already."
"And have proven yourself ungentlemanly and exceedingly inhospitable from the unfortunate moment we have walked through your door."
Muir sighed, looked at Lachlan and I and our defensive positions, and waved Prewitt away.
I looked to Holmes and he nodded.
"I believe you can sit down, Watson. No one here will touch Mr. Lachlan, I promise you." He cast a stern glance at Muir, who said nothing.
I seated myself beside Holmes and after a moment of further hesitation, Lachlan sat on Holmes' other side, a very uncomfortable look on his face.
"Thank you," Holmes said, turning back to Muir. "There is a distinct lessening of tension."
"Say what you have come to say, Mr. Holmes." Muir said, "and perhaps I can persuade you of the folly of what this man has told you."
"Mr. Lachlan is an honest man; his observations were entirely correct. And it is only because of your pigheadedness that he was forced to come to me. And as being in your presence disgusts not only him, but me as well, then I shall be brief."
Muir seemed rather taken aback and for once said nothing.
"In the last year you have lost over twenty ships in the same waters on their return journey from Indonesia."
Muir nodded, the irritation clear on his face. "Yes, yes."
"The first several were only cargo ships, but a few after that carried passengers."
"Mr. Holmes, I don't see what this possibly -"
Holmes raised his voice, the amusement gone entirely from his face.
"And you reported that all twenty of them went down with all hands, cargo, and passengers. Without a sign, vanished completely."
"Yes!"
Lachlan tensed on Holmes' other side and looked as though he would like to growl at the fellow. The detective laid a hand on his arm, his voice very cold.
"It is you who are the liar, Mr. Muir, for you have recovered eight of those ships in the last three months…and after refurbishing them you sold them to your rivals to cover the fact that they had been lost at all."
"Why you…!" the man spat, beginning to make his way around the desk.
"You sent expeditions after them, for their number is too great to merit their disappearance to mere chance. The first of those expeditions found the ship…the 'Beschermer,' I believe it was, and discovered that not only was the ship and the cargo intact but that the entire crew were present."
Muir was shaking now, his teeth bared.
Holmes glared at him with a gaze of cold steel that made even me shudder. His thin lips pressed together in a stern line, his black brows like thunderheads heralding a storm.
"The crew were dead, Mr. Muir, every one of them from the captain down to the youngest hand. They had been like that for some time, for they had already begun to degrade rapidly…but there was enough to tell that their bodies were unmarked by violence just as the ship was. You suspected poison, or fever, commanded the ship to be purged, and then resold it."
Muir had gone white, and he stared at Holmes with a sort of horror. Holmes had risen from his chair and begun to pace slowly, like a professor in lecture.
I exchanged a look with Lachlan who looked just as surprised and in fact as ill as I did. At least I was not the only one.
"And that was not the first incident. You recovered eight more of the ships, and treated them all in the same manner, choosing to cover them for fear of scandal instead of investigating the matter as you should have. Making you, in my eyes, as equally guilty of murder as the fiends that committed these atrocities."
Muir swallowed and took a moment to collect himself, fiddling with his tie. Holmes watched him, as calm and as cool as a cat.
"Even if this wild story were true, Mr. Holmes, it does not explain what you are doing here."
"I believe you know why I am here, Mr. Muir. You have agents in the pubs, I know quite a few of them. I very much doubt that they have missed the rumors."
Muir's face scrunched and he controlled his rage only with effort.
"I do not deal in rumors, Mr. Holmes. I don't know what you are talking about."
Holmes sighed, "The rumors about your passenger ship, the Friesland, which is at this very moment ready to sail for India. And which will be set upon long before she reaches it. By the same group."
Muir laughed, but it was without mirth. "Oh really, Mr. Holmes, you go too far...the greatest care has gone into the planning of this voyage, just what would you have me do to prevent this 'disaster'?"
Holmes' expression did not change.
"You know the answer to that as well, sir. If you were wise you would cancel the voyage, for if you continue in this manner than you will bring about the scandal that you are so poorly covering…and there will be an outcry throughout the civilized world that has not been heard in decades."
A silence fell as Muir glared at Holmes, the truth of my friend's statements painfully obvious on his face. Then he swallowed and spoke in a strained voice.
"You are mad."
Holmes glared at him. "If you decide to cease your foolish actions, then you should know where to reach me, it is on the cards that you failed to observe. Lachlan, Watson, I suggest we leave…the air here is exceedingly foul in here."
My friend snapped this off at a rapid clip, and then without ceremony took up his hat and his stick and swept from the room, leaving Lachlan and I to follow in his wake.
Mr. Muir stayed at his desk, staring at his white fists, clenched on the polished wood.
We caught up to Holmes as he waved down a cab, and climbed in.
"Holmes," I called after him. "Holmes…where did that come from?"
"Deduction and observation, Watson, as it always has. My efforts that night at the docks were not entirely wasted. I learned a great deal."
Lachlan climbed in after us, "A fever took the ships…how…who…?"
"That is the question." Holmes muttered falling silent, brooding, obviously frustrated. I sighed and gave the directions to the cabbie, casting an apologetic glance at the midshipman.
Lachlan returned the look with a worried one of his own, but there was nothing either of us could do but sit back and wait out the ride in a sober silence.
At long last we reached Baker Street and Holmes came to life again, flinging open the door.
Lachlan gripped at his arm suddenly, and the detective turned to face him. The sailor gave him a stern look.
"You know who it is, Mr. Holmes, you have a theory. Now who is it?"
Holmes considered him, then me, and I gave him the same pointed look
The detective sighed.
"I can think of only one man with such a knowledge of exotic Indonesian fevers and the motive and necessary cunning to use them. His name is - Culverton Smith."