VIII. Mr Peterson

I do not consider myself a fanciful person, but I have to confess that the minutes, perhaps hours, spent in complete darkness with no sound but the churning of the waves and Holmes's breathing beside my own were enough to set my nerves on edge. As per Holmes's instructions, I did not dare take my hand off my revolver, and yet, there was no sign whatsoever that any person would come down here.

Suddenly, there was a flicker of light, and we ducked down behind the crates. For a moment, I thought our eyes had played a trick on us, then I could feel Holmes move beside me. Suddenly, he struck a match and cried: "Watson, look out!"

Ere I could do so much as jump to my feet, a heavy object connected with the back of my skull and sent me to the ground, my revolver skittering over the floor and out of reach.

Holmes's match flickered out, and I found myself pinned down by a person who was clasping iron handcuffs around my wrist. Still dazed, I failed to struggle, but all too clearly I could hear that Holmes had not yet been incapacitated.

There were the sounds of a fight, a cry that could have been anyone's, then silence.

For a moment, there was no sound, no sign of movement, and I feared the worst.

Then, a flame flickered into life somewhere behind me, growing brighter as a dark lantern was lit.

Holmes was not far from me, equally restrained as I was, blinking against the sudden bright light. His forehead was creased in a frown.

"Mr Wilson and Mr Sipkens. How very interesting." The voice was one I recognised, but it was none of those I would have expected.

Holmes, too, had not failed to recognise the voice even though he, as well as I, had hardly ever heard it before. "Mr Peterson. Interesting indeed. We did not expect you, either. Now, if you would be kind enough to open these handcuffs, I would be happy to explain."

Peterson stepped into view, weighing my revolver in hand. He looked as sullen as ever; however, he carried himself more proudly than I had previously seen. Also, there was a determination in his eyes which he seemed to have previously hidden behind a mask of unfriendliness and ill manners. "I think not. What happened to your accent, Mr Sipkens?"

Holmes said a few sentences in Dutch, which caused our opponent's eyes to widen. Clearly, he had no difficulty understanding what was said while I was lost. Seeing my surprised expression, Holmes said: "I merely told Mr Peterson that I was well aware that he is in reality Detective Inspector C. Peterson of the Dutch police, having disappeared out of the public eye several month ago. I never doubted that he had gone undercover. I considered informing him of our presence when I discovered that he was on the Friesland, but I thought it better to work separately, lest one of us might be discovered. I must compliment you on your English, Inspector. There is hardly a trace of an accent."

That was the reason, then, why Holmes had never been suspicious of Mr Peterson.

Peterson squatted down to be on the same level with us. "He called you 'Watson'," he said, looking at me.

Holmes sighed theatrically. "Yes, that was a mistake on my part. I have heard many good things of you, Mr Peterson, of your speed and acuteness. It seems the public rumour was, as ever, mistaken."

Our opponent rose, clearly bristling with anger. "I have heard of your accomplishments, and of your death, but I find the papers failed to mention your arrogance. How is it that you are alive, Mr Holmes, when, by all accounts, you should be dead?"

"The word hasn't travelled further than our own country then. It is as well. Unfortunately, this is no time for stories. Untie us, Inspector, and we shall see what we can make of this night yet."

Peterson opened our handcuffs, allowing Holmes to pull me to my feet. "What brought you here tonight, Inspector?"

"The ship's plans, the same thing that brought you here to-night, no doubt. Are you aware of the political consequences of this case, Mr Holmes? Our failure might just plunge our two countries into war."

"I am aware of it", said Holmes, "now, what will it be, Inspector? Shall we combine forces and work on this case together, or shall we both continue on our own line of investigation?"

"I am no fool, Mr Holmes. I know your skill well. I would be honoured if we were to work together."

"Then together it shall be. I suggest we retire to your cabin, Inspector, and you tell us about all you have discovered, and we will, in turn, share our findings with you. It is early morning by now, and after the light and racket we have produced, it seems unlikely that our criminals will come down here to-night. They have, after all, ample opportunity to do so in the next weeks."

Inspector Peterson's cabin was a single-bedded room in the second class. There was no separate sleeping area, but unlike our own cabin, it had several armchairs and a writing table which provided space for the taking of notes. The inspector seemed to have made good use of that. Every inch of the surface was littered with little scraps of paper, covered by an orderly handwriting, which I assumed to be the inspector's.

I truly had done Holmes an injustice when I had complained about his own notes. I remarked as much, and Holmes grinned impishly. "You must forgive my friend's pawky humour, Inspector," said he.

Mr Peterson shrugged, his sour expression as relaxed as I had ever seen. "No doubt there is much about our profession that must seem odd to an outsider. I find that writing every fact on a different sheet helps me to order my thought. I would much like to compare your methods with mine, Mr Holmes, but I am afraid this is not the time."

"It is not. Well, how far have you progressed in your investigation?"

"As far as the identity of the criminal is concerned, not far. I have observed all passengers in turn, but none – with the exception of yourself – displayed any suspicious conduct. I can see from your smile, Mr Holmes, that you are ahead of me there."

"Slightly, perhaps. But do continue."

"Ah, I should think that I have one over you here. I know you have enquired to see the ship's plan, and no doubt made a copy of it, but I have had access to the official construction plans provided by my government. There is no doubt that the room we just were in is the one in question. It is, in fact, the only storage where it is possible to live for a length of time. The other storage lies under the piping for the hot steam leading to the engine, which causes the air to heat up considerably. It does not affect the cargo, but a living being would need an immense amount of water to survive there for long when the engines are running. Such an amount could not be smuggled onto the Friesland without being noticed at the port of Willemstadt. Therefore, there remains but one choice. I have been monitoring the room ever since I arrived at that conclusion, hoping it might reveal the identity of the criminal I had come to stop."

"I might be able to help you there. In our disguise as Sipkens and Wilson, we have been able to socialise with our fellow passengers. There have been no indications that Mr and Mrs Russell are in any way involved in this matter. Their conduct has been entirely respectable, and Watson assures me that the seasickness of Charlotte Russell is quite real.

"As for the others, I have spoken to the Fones, as, I am sure, have you, and they have no possible interest in expanding the British Empire, or in provoking a war between our two countries.

We have been able to establish, however, that Ms Farington is not all that she seems. In fact, her name is Mrs Carter, and she has for some time been Mr Charles Carter's wife. The fact that they chose to travel separately and conceal their relationships is suggestive. There also seems to be a close association between Mr Carter and Mr Paul Mason. We have not been able to establish John Mason's involvement, nor do we know what role Mrs Charles plays in the matter."

"I see. Then there is still much to do."

"So there is. We should, at the very least, keep a close eye on that storage. I suggest we take turns."

"A wise suggestion. I shall cover the next two nights, as you seem to be in the advantage of being closer to our fellow travellers to uncover more information about them."

I was unsure whether Holmes agreed with that impression. I had been able to observe his excitement earlier, but now as we walked back to our own cabin, he had sunk into a brooding mood, his chin sunk to his chest and his hands clasped behind his back. Knowing that he was deep in thought I dared not interrupt him, even though he would have forgiven me. It was very late, or rather, very early, and while Holmes's face showed no signs of fatigue, I did wish to retire to my bed, simple as it might be, for a few hours. Also, knowing that another detective was working on the case and there to watch our backs, if need be, had set my mind at ease.

At our cabin, I was about to put my revolver back into my valise, when Holmes rose from his stupor and stopped me. "Keep your weapon close at hand, Watson."

"Don't you trust Peterson?"

"Peterson I trust. He is, however, not the only passenger on board. It is unlikely that we have been overheard, but there is the possibility that someone did see the light in the storage, or heard the noise."

"You never told me how you arrived at the conclusion that it was this particular storage."

Holmes smiled briefly. "A trifling matter, Watson, not of much interest. It sets my mind at ease that Peterson agrees, seeing that he has a far more intimate knowledge of this ship. I suggest you retire, Watson. We have to be on our guard once the day breaks!"

Our rest was, naturally, short. Holmes roused me as soon as it was time to breakfast, and we made our way to the dining room. Thankfully, the weather seemed to have improved considerably, and as we passed the general room, we could see the sunlight reflecting on the gentle waves outside. I was grateful for the respite this would bring to Mrs Russell, and it also made Holmes's apparent rapid improvement more credible.

In fact, I delighted to see that the Russells were breakfasting together.

Holmes joined them without hesitation. He was once again transformed into Mr Sipkens, his voice accented and rough when he answered Mr Russell's question about his own sickness. "Much improved, thank you."

"I am relieved the storm has passed," said Mrs Russell, sounding the better for it. "We are going on deck right after breakfast. The air promises to be splendid."

"Then we shall join you."

I was somewhat surprised by this suggestion of Holmes – I had assumed he wished to observe the Masons more closely, or, at the very least, Ms Farington and Mr Carter, not spend many hours in idle conversation with the couple of whom we knew with certainty that they were not involved in the crime.

However, there was no indication that this wasn't precisely what Holmes intended.

Mrs Russell had been correct: the air was fresh, as if cleansed by the rain, and the soft wind carried a mild salty odour. In the brilliant sunlight, we could see as far as the African coast which we had been following for some time now, and, to the other side, the broad expanse of the glimmering Atlantic ocean.

Once, I spotted a ship further out, and could but assume that this was the one Mycroft Holmes had set on our tail, but it disappeared again from view ere I could take a closer look.

Our conversation moved easily from one topic to another, never entirely serious. Mrs Russell showed keen interest in the Dutch culture, of which, much to my surprise, Holmes seemed to have ample knowledge to satisfy her curiosity.

Once, he did excuse himself, but told neither them nor me where he was going. I would much have liked to know, or go with him, but it was clear that Holmes wished me to remain where I was. So, I left the couple's side only to fetch us all something to drink, as it was quite warm in the sunlight. When I returned, Ms Farington had joined the conversation. "Ah, Mr Wilson. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you. I see you have managed to escape your chaperone once more."

She laughed lightly. "Oh, Mrs Charles is no friend of sunlight and fresh air, I am afraid. I think she might have enjoyed it more if we were still in the middle of that storm!"

"What a shame! I could never have remained in our cabin on a day such as this," said Mrs Russell.

I could not but agree with her. Holmes had not yet returned, and I began to wonder what he had planned to do. I knew Holmes to be the most capable and crafty man in criminal investigation, but I was very conscious of the dangers this case presented. In London, it was easy for Holmes to escape into one of his disguises and disappear from view – here, on the Friesland, his resources were limited. If anything went wrong, it was likely to be catastrophic.

To my relief, however, Holmes did return to deck an hour later, looking as relaxed as when he had departed.

Ms Farington smiled upon seeing him. "Mr Sipkens. It is good to see that you are feeling better."

"I am much improved," said Holmes. He did return her smile; however, true to his words, made no further signs of his pretended affection for her.

Across the deck, I could observe Mr Carter watching us, but, seeming satisfied with Holmes's conduct, he turned away again, continuing his conversation with Paul Mason. John Mason was not with them, but talking to a member of the crew near the door that led into the interior of the ship.