Chapter 29: "Bearing Down"

Bear Down: Nautical term meaning to sail downwind rapidly towards another ship or landmark.

Holmes

The cargo bay was filled with boxes and crates of all shapes and sizes, lit only by gas lamps in the walls that were now swinging wildly as the ship rocked, tossing flickering shadows on everything and making the mind believe everywhere it saw movement. This was not going to be as easy as I had anticipated.

I shut the door, looking round me and silently listening for any movement to tell me where Smith had hidden himself – it could be anywhere in here, there were too many places he could be sitting unnoticed.

I could feel Watson shivering close to me in his nearly soaked clothes, the gun in his hand trembling slightly. I would have given him my overcoat if it would not have made too much noise, but we had to be absolutely silent. I had no idea if Smith were armed other than his germs.

I heard a rustling to the side of us, and Watson's gun instantly swiveled in that direction as I stared at the shadows – only to see a disgustingly large rat scurry out of sight under a wooden slatted crate. I sighed and began to move noiselessly along the wall, straining to see amid the swinging lights where Smith could have concealed himself.

A large clap of thunder nearly shook the whole ship, and I could hear waves smacking the side of the boat through the wall next to me. The lamps were still swinging, making it difficult to see.

"Shouldn't we split up, Holmes," Watson whispered almost noiselessly – even I had trouble hearing him, "we can catch him in between us that way."

"Too risky," I returned almost inaudibly, "I won't chance it."

"But we will never find him otherwise."

"No. So we shall allow him to find us," I replied, making a sudden decision. We did not have all night to play this hiding game.

"What?"

"We will get ourselves in the middle of the room and he will be sure to try something."

"Holmes, you are mad – he'll kill us!"

"I doubt that he is armed other than those germs," I said sensibly, "and otherwise we could play this cat and mouse game indefinitely."

"I would much rather be alive and playing the game!"

"Then stay here."

I turned, slinking around several large crates, heading for the middle of the room.

"Oh, don't even start, Holmes," I heard a mutter behind me as Watson caught up with me, as I knew he would. Despite the gravity of the situation, I grinned at his unquestioning loyalty.

When we had reached the middle of the room, I looked round, still seeing and hearing nothing. And I spoke, not trying any longer to keep my voice low, knowing that Smith would hear it.

"All right, Watson, we shall split up now," I said in a normal tone of voice, shaking my head contradictorily at him all the while. He nodded in understanding.

"Right."

"You take the left side, and I shall go this way – and be careful!"

I ducked behind a stack of crates, pulling Watson with me, and we both stood listening for a moment. Nothing. Smith had not taken the bait, not yet anyway.

Then I began to work my way warily round the boxes at the right side of the cargo area, carefully watchful for any sign of Smith. I could hear Watson's rapid breathing behind me as he continued to shiver slightly, and I prayed Smith could not hear it and deduce where we were.

Suddenly I heard a creaking noise and I looked round hastily but saw nothing.

"Look out!"

I heard Watson's voice ring out just as something slammed into me in a flying tackle, knocking me to the ground. I was dimly conscious of a heavy weight upon me blocking out the light and shielding me from what sounded like an avalanche made up of valises and luggage that rained down upon us for a good thirty seconds. I winced as a large box slammed into my leg.

When the stars I had been seeing as my head hit the floor finally faded and the weight that had been shielding my body from injury had scrambled off me, I found myself looking into a pair of very worried hazel eyes.

"Are you all right? I had no time to do anything but tackle you!"

I sat up, rubbing my head and staring at the pile of luggage that had fallen round us.

"Never mind about me, you idiot – did you get hit with anything?" I demanded.

Watson's face creased in a grin at my less-than-flattering term for his ridiculous heroism.

"Not badly, just that one large portmanteau nearly took our heads off – hit my left side instead," he returned matter-of-factly, scrambling worriedly round the pile of suitcases and boxes, "but I lost my revolver in the process."

I suddenly stiffened as I heard the cargo door slam shut again.

Swearing, I jumped to my feet and darted for the door – it was locked! From the outside!

I cursed and shouted to Watson.

"He got out while we were picking ourselves up – where is that gun?"

"Got it," he called, scrambling up and running for the door, aiming at the lock. "Stand clear, Holmes!"

The lock burst open with the bullet's impact and I flung the door wide, dashing out into the hallway. There was no sign of Smith.

I darted back to the companionway.

"Lachlan! Anyone come up that way?" I bellowed before we had even got there.

"No, Mr. Holmes! What –"

But Watson behind me had already taken off in the other direction and I followed within the instant. The passage was long and narrow, and there appeared to be no other doors into which he could have gone. We passed a sailor or two who stared at us in amazement but kept running, hoping to catch up with Smith.

Suddenly I saw a companionway up ahead and a pair of legs disappearing up it. I put on a burst of speed and followed. Watson was moving more slowly behind me, and I dearly hoped that portmanteau had not hurt him badly.

I climbed to the top and found that we were on the second class deck, near the spot where Watson had gone overboard. The rain was still pouring down in sheets and the wind was immense. I glimpsed Smith dashing down the deck – he was no doubt trying to lose the both of us and take refuge somewhere.

I could not let him out of my sight. I sprinted after him, watching as he threw a glimpse over his shoulder and saw me approaching. Then I truly recognized him – yes, it was definitely he. He had grown a thin mustache and had gained a bit of weight, but it was he without doubt.

More than that I was not able to observe, what with the rain and the rapidity with which he was moving. In a matter of seconds he had made it to the main staircase and was darting past startled passengers who were attempting to get to the lounges to shield themselves from being caught in the storm.

I weaved my way through the crowd, glancing behind me to see that Watson had fallen behind but was still keeping me in sight as I chased after Smith.

I knocked down a young man on the stairs and had no time to apologise, continuing my pursuit of the man – I could not let him get away from us!

Smith headed down a corridor past several deserted lounges and then in the distance I saw him disappear round a corner. He was easy to spot, for no one was in this part of the ship because of its proximity to the third-class deck and the rain.

The corridor was deserted, and I turned the corner to see him disappear around an even darker one – the gas lamps had been extinguished by a high wave. My instincts screamed a warning but as usual I did not heed them and merely chased right after Smith.

I turned the shadowed corridor, hearing the wind howling about me, and more warily made my way down the dark hallway…

And suddenly something hit me in the back of the head with enough force to send me sprawling to the wet deck.

I had passed a darkened alcove and not seen Smith standing there holding a chair from a nearby lounge.

I instinctively rolled to the side to avoid a second blow, but it never fell. I shook my head desperately, trying to clear my vision, and I heard an all-too-familiar voice that was yet able to inspire me with dread as it had four years ago.

"Not the most brilliant move in the world, Mr. Holmes."

Finally my vision cleared and I was about to get up when I froze and swallowed hard. Smith was crouching beside me on the deck, holding a syringe in his hand far closer to my neck than I should have liked.

"You see I have discovered you at last, Smith," I said coolly, "you should choose your hired thugs with more care next time."

"Perhaps," the man said, his malevolent eyes boring into mine as he eyed my reaction to the nearness of the syringe with unmitigated glee, "but actually I was not planning on there being a next time. Not for you, Holmes. I've waited a long time to be able to do this, and –"

"Move one muscle, Smith, and I shall put a bullet through your brain!"

I could have shouted with relief at the clear hard voice ringing behind Smith in the shadowed corridor. My dear Watson, on time as always.

"Stand up, slowly. That's it. Now step backwards. More. And drop that syringe. No, don't even try it – I can snap off a shot far before you would have the time to turn round."

The small syringe dropped onto the decking as well as one more that Watson located in searching Smith's pockets, and I scrambled for them, carefully picking the ghastly items up. Dashing a short ways down to the end of the corridor, I tossed them into the churning sea.

And cursed myself for doing so when I heard a shout from where I had left the two of them, albeit only for a moment. I sprinted back down the corridor and saw Watson picking himself up slowly from the deck, alone.

"What happened?" I demanded, hauling him to his feet.

"You didn't tell me – he knew how to box!" he gasped, holding his side gingerly, and I could also see a bruise forming along his jaw line under his ear, "it happened too fast, and he hit the same spot that trunk did earlier!"

"Are you hurt badly?"

"No – go after him! The way we came – heading for the main staircase," he returned, shoving me in that direction.

At his nod I took off once again after Smith, this time being slightly more wary. And I spotted him in front of me again, brushing past a few passengers and jumping upon the staircase once again. I moaned inwardly as my breath became slightly laboured – I was out of condition from my Hiatus, evidently.

Smith looked back and saw me when he was halfway up the stairs and scowled, doubling his speed. He reached the promenade deck and hopped off, skirting round a crowd of half-drunk people exiting a lounge fighting against the rain, that I too had to avoid when I got there a moment later.

Smith glanced once again over his shoulder at the pursuit, and then with a wicked smirk he disappeared through a set of double doors. I halted at the entrance with a moan.

A moment later, a very breathless Watson reached me, rubbing absently at his bruised side.

"Oh, no, he didn't!"

"I am afraid so," I sighed.

"The dining area? How are we supposed to get him out of there?" Watson asked, pocketing his revolver and turning his collar up against the rain that was still lashing about, although the worst of the storm seemed to have passed over now.

"I have no idea at the moment," I said with a growl. "Watson, are you sure you are all right?"

"Oh, yes, quite. Just took me by surprise," he said reassuringly.

I glanced at his eyes, for it was only there that I could learn the truth – but apparently he was indeed not badly hurt by the affair.

I breathed a sigh of relief and peeked into the dining area. Smith was complacently sitting at a small two-person table along a wall toward the middle of the room. The whole lavish and brightly-lit hall was packed with people, due to the storm – anyone who had not been within walking distance of their staterooms had ended up in there.

"Oh, good grief. There are probably over two hundred people in there!"

"And all of them innocent," Watson said quietly.

I frowned.

"Watson, can you find your way back to Lachlan from here?"

"I believe so. Want me to fetch him?"

"Yes. I shall wait here and keep an eye on Smith."

"I do not like leaving you alone," he said worriedly.

"Smith is inside, Watson. I shan't go in until you return," I said firmly.

"Take the gun at least."

"No, you are going to be walking about a dark ship. I shall be fine. Now hurry, man!"

I heard a muttered growl about stubbornness that made me laugh as he made his way down the staircase toward the companionway where we had unceremoniously left the seaman. Then my mind began to revolve slowly, trying to think of how we were going to empty the place or else flush the prey out into the open where no one would get hurt.

In about five minutes Watson had returned with Lachlan, and I quickly brought the sailor up to date on what had happened.

Watson

We rushed up to Holmes, who was still looking at Smith in the dining area, and my friend rapidly explained the matter to the seaman.

I took the opportunity to lean against the wall and close my eyes for a moment, for I was winded from the chase and my side was throbbing rather where I knew a nasty bruise must be forming from that trunk and Smith's well-placed blow.

"That's a nasty bit of a problem. How are we going to apprehend the man if he's in the middle of a couple hundred innocent people?" Lachlan asked, glancing over Holmes's shoulder into the crowded dining area.

The detective sighed, his eyes never leaving Smith, who was still smugly sipping his drink with one eye on the doors.

"It certainly is going to be a problem," said he, narrowing his gaze in concentration.

"We cannot take him, there in the middle of all those people – I can't risk a shot," I spoke up worriedly.

"No, certainly not. And there is no way we could empty out that many people."

"Not to mention anything you might think of to accomplish that end would probably cause the captain to throw us all into the brig," Lachlan added with a smirk.

"No more smoke rockets, Holmes."

"This is not time for humour, Watson!"

"Then think of something!" I hissed, looking over his shoulder at the crowd inside.

"I am trying!" he replied with a tense frown, his mind obviously working feverishly.

"What is he thinking?" I asked, staring incredulously at Smith – I saw that he had now ordered a meal and was attacking his food as if he had not a care in the world.

"The bloke has to ship out sometime," Lachlan muttered, "he's only delaying the inevitable!"

Suddenly a thought hit me, and I gasped.

"You don't suppose he is going to kill himself?"

"I would not be at all surprised," Holmes said, his brow furrowing. Then I saw his eyes light up suddenly with a plan and a look of triumph, and he turned to me.

"That's it, Watson! Wait here."

"Holmes!"

He completely ignored my protests and took off at a run in the direction of our staterooms.

"What is he doing?" Lachlan asked in amazement.

"Putting a plan into action, I would assume," I returned wearily, leaning back against the wall.

"You all right, Doctor?"

"Quite. Just tired."

"I should have made you eat something other than that soup."

"Your fussing is as bad as Mrs. Hudson's, Lachlan!" I said in amusement.

The seaman chuckled and made some reply that I didn't hear, for I could see Holmes returning at a dead run, dashing up to us and shaking the rain from his hair. I was very glad the storm had nearly stopped, and I was even more thrilled that I had not succumbed to seasickness during it.

"Watson."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked tiredly, knowing he was not going to tell me what he had planned.

"Cover me."

"You are not going in there alone!"

"Yes, I am. Now listen."

"I will not!" I exclaimed, "you cannot do this!"

"Watson, the man is not a menace – you searched him and he has no more germs on him," he said patiently, as if dealing with a small child.

"That doesn't mean –"

"Watson, will you please trust me?" he pleaded.

"I always have," I sighed.

"I know."

"But I think you are being unduly foolish!"

"We have not the time to argue, Watson. Now watch us closely. If all goes well, I will need you both to help me get Smith out without starting a panic with the passengers," he said.

"Help you get him out?"

Holmes rummaged through a pocket and produced a syringe he must have taken from my medical bag.

"You should not carry round such a large dose of barbiturates in your case, Watson."

"You can't get close enough to him to inject him with that!" I said in dismay.

"I have no intention of getting that close to him."

"Holmes, stop being such an infuriating devil!" Lachlan expostulated finally, having kept silent throughout this, "what the deuce are you trying to say, you aren't going to inject him with a knockout?"

"I am not. He will do it for me."

"He'll take the sedative himself," the sailor repeated blankly.

"Of course. Watson, if something goes wrong, you shall have to take over."

"Something had better not go wrong," I said pointedly, my voice a trifle unsteady, "or I shall kill you myself before Smith gets a chance to!"

Holmes laughed, clapping me on the shoulder affectionately, and then he turned and entered the dining area without another word.

I tried desperately to choke down the lump of fear that had arisen in my throat at the thought of what he might be planning. I prayed that I had taken all of Smith's weapons from him in the hasty search I had made of his person earlier.

If I had not, Holmes would be in deadly danger, for the man's plan had been destroyed and his sole purpose in life now would be to take Holmes with him when he went down.