Sherlock Holmes Stories of Edward D. Hoch (22 page)

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Authors: Edward D. Hoch

“Then why did you seek my protection?”

“He wanted more than I was willing to give,” she said with a sigh. “When I saw him on the ship, I feared I would end up having to fight him off.”

“I will speak with him again before we dock in New York,” I promised. “Perhaps I can persuade him to leave you alone.”

We parted around eleven as the orchestra was playing “The Tales of Hoffmann,” and I decided to go up to the Boat Deck for a stroll. The temperature was just below freezing, with a mist that cut visibility sharply. I thought of the poor seamen in the crow’s nest and shivered for them. Then I retreated inside to the first-class smoking room on A Deck. I could hear the orchestra still playing. May had already retired for the evening, but Futrelle was sitting alone enjoying a nightcap. I joined him and ordered one myself. We were having a lively conversation about detective stories when there was a faint grinding jar to the ship.

“Iceberg!” someone shouted. Several of us ran outside to look. We were in time to see a giant berg, almost as high as the Boat Deck, vanishing into the mist astern.

“That was a close call,” Futrelle said. “I think we actually scarped it going past!”

We went back inside to finish our drinks. After about ten minutes, I observed that the level of liquid in my glass was beginning to tilt a bit toward the bow of the ship. Before that fact could register in my mind, Margo Collier came running in.

“What is it?” I asked, seeing her ashen face.

“I’ve been seeking you everywhere, Mr. Holmes. My husband has fallen down the elevator shaft! He’s dead.”

It was true. One of the first-class stewards had noticed the open gate on the top deck. Looking into the shaft, he was able to make out a body on top of the elevator car four floors below. Futrelle and I reached the scene just as the broken body of Pierre Glacet was being removed.

I stared hard at the body as it lay in the corridor, then said, “Let me through here, please.”

A ship’s officer blocked the way. “Sorry, sir. You’re too near the shaft.”

“I want to examine it.”

“Nothing to see in there, sir. Just the elevator cables.”

He was correct, of course. The top of the car had nothing on it

“Can you raise it up so I can see to the bottom of the shaft?” I asked.

Futrelle smiled at my request. “Are you searching for a murder weapon, Mr. Holmes?”

I did not answer, but merely stared at the bottom of the shaft as it came into view beneath the rising elevator car. It was empty, as I suspected it would be. Some first-class passengers came in to use the elevator, but the officer directed them to the main staircase or the aft elevator.

“Why is the ship listing?” one of the gentlemen asked.

“We’re looking into it,” the officer said. For the first time, I was aware that we were tilting forward, and I remembered the liquid in my glass. From far off came the sudden sound of a lively ragtime tune being played by the orchestra.

Franklin Baynes, the spiritualist, was coming down the stairs from the boat deck. “What’s going on?” he asked. “The crew is uncovering the lifeboats.”

Captain Smith himself appeared on the stairs in time to hear the question.

“It’s just a precaution,” he told them. “The ship is taking on water.”

“From that iceberg?” Futrelle asked.

“Yes. Please gather your families and follow directions to your lifeboat stations.”

Margo Collier seemed dazed. “This ship is unsinkable! There are waterproof compartments. I read all the literature.”

“Please follow instructions,” the Captain said, a bit more sharply. “Leave that body where it is.”

“I must get to May,” Futrelle said. I hurried after him. There would be time for the rest later.

Within minutes, we were on the deck with May. She was clinging to her husband, unwilling to let go.

“Aren’t there enough lifeboats for everyone?” she asked.

The answer was already plain. The Titanic was sinking and there was room enough for only half the passengers in the lifeboats. It was 12:25 a.m. when the order came for women and children to abandon ship. We had scraped against the iceberg only forty-five minutes earlier.

“Jacques!” May Futrelle screamed, and he pushed her to safety in the nearest lifeboat.

“Now what?” he asked me, as the half-full lifeboat was being lowered to the dark, churning waters. Do we go back for our murderer?”

“So you spotted it, too?” I asked, already leading the way.

“The missing cane. I only saw Glacet once, but he walked with the aid of a stout walking stick.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And I’m told he used it regularly. It wasn’t on top of the elevator car and it hadn’t slipped down to the bottom of the shaft. That meant he didn’t step into that empty shaft accidentally. He had help.”

We were on the Grand Staircase now and I spotted our quarry.

“Didn’t he, Mr. Baynes?”

He turned at the sound of his name and drew a revolver from under his coat. “Damn you, Holmes! You’ll go down with the ship.”

“We all will, Baynes. The women and children are leaving. The rest of us will stay. Glacet recognized you as a confidence man he’d once pursued, a man named Sanbey—a simple anagram for Baynes. Somehow, you got him into your cabin tonight to stare at your electric crystal ball. When the bright light had temporarily blinded him, you helped him to the elevator, then sent the car down and pushed him after it. Only you forgot his walking stick. That probably went over the side when you discovered it.”

The great ship listed suddenly, throwing us against the staircase railing.

“I’m getting out of here, Holmes! I’ll find room in a lifeboat if I have to don women’s clothes!”

He raised the revolver and fired.

And, in that instant, before I could move, Futrelle jumped between us. He took the bullet meant for me and collided with Baynes, sending them both over the railing of the Great Staircase.

Somehow I made my way into the night air. It was just after one o’clock and the orchestra had moved to the boat deck to continue playing. The remaining passengers were beginning to panic. Suddenly someone grabbed me and shoved me toward a lifeboat.

“Only twelve aboard starboard number one, sir. Plenty of room for you.”

“I’ll stay,” I said, but it was not to be. I was pushed bodily into the boat as it was being lowered.

It was from there, an hour later, that I saw the last of the great Titanic vanish beneath the waves, carrying a victim, a murderer and a mystery writer with it. Two hours after that, a ship called the Carpathia plucked us from the water, amidst floating ice and debris. Margo Collier was among the survivors, but I never saw her again.

A final note by Dr. John H. Watson: It was not until 1918, at the close of the Great War, that my old friend Holmes entrusted this account to my care. By that time, my literary agent, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, had embraced spiritualism. He refused to handle a story in which a spiritualist was revealed to be a sham and a murderer. This most dramatic of adventures has remained unpublished until now.

EDWARD D. HOCH: An Appreciation

W
HEN WE BEGAN TO
talk over the idea of doing a volume collecting all of Ed’s Sherlock Holmes short story pastiches, I never imagined this would turn into a memorial edition. However, it may be fitting that his last book, is a collection of his beloved Sherlock Holmes stories.

An appreciation—a few short words at least—was certainly warranted for this edition. However, I did not want the sad fact of his passing to preface the book and perhaps interfere with your enjoyment of Ed’s wonderful stories, hence this brief afterword.

Ed Hoch was a talented and versatile writer. He excelled in the short story, a form of entertainment with often severe limitations that make it very difficult for most writers to do really well. Ed always did his stories really well, producing quality, thoughtful and entertaining tales. In fact, Ed’s incredible short story success beginning in the 1950s numbered almost one thousand stories published professionally. A new story appeared in every issue of
Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine
every month for the last 35 years! His Simon Ark and Nick Velvet stories, among many others, are avidly read and collected. Ed Hoch was a writing legend.

Ed was also a great guy, a gentle and kind man. We had fun getting to know each other, emailing each other, as we worked to get this book out. While Ed never saw the final edition, he did see a preliminary of Jukka’s wonderful cover and he liked that very much.

Ed Hoch passed away of a heart attack on Thursday, January 17, 2008, just after this book had been finalized but before it appeared. He was 77 years old and his death was a terrible blow to his many fans and friends the world over.

Gary Lovisi

Brooklyn, New York

February, 2008

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All stories published with kind permission of the author.

“Introduction” by Edward D. Hoch is copyright © 2007 by Edward D. Hoch. The Stories originally appeared as follows: “The Most Dangerous Man” as by R. L. Stevens in
Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine,
February 1973, copyright © 1972 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Return of the Speckled Band” by Edward D. Hoch in
The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,
St. Martins Press, copyright © 1996 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Manor House Case” by Edward D. Hoch in
The Resurrected Holmes,
St. Martins Press, copyright © 1996 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Christmas Client” by Edward D. Hoch in
Holmes For The Holidays,
Berkley Books, copyright © 1996 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Adventure of Vittoria, the Circus Belle” by Edward D. Hoch in
The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures,
Robinson Books, copyright © 1997, by Edward D. Hoch. “The Adventure of the Dying Ship” by Edward D. Hoch in
The Confidential Casebook of Sherlock Holmes,
St. Martins Press, copyright © 1998 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Adventure of Cipher in the Sand” by Edward D. Hoch in
The Adventure of Cipher in the Sand,
Mysterious Bookshop, copyright © 1999 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Christmas Conspiracy” by Edward D. Hoch in
More Holmes for the Holidays
, Berkley Books, copyright © 1999 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Adventure of the Anonymous Author” by Edward D. Hoch in
Murder in Baker Street
, Carroll & Graf, copyright © 2001 by Edward D. Hoch. “the Adventure of the Domino Club” by Edward D. Hoch in
The Strand Magazine
, February-May 2005 issue, copyright © 2005 by Edward D. Hoch. “The Addleton Tragedy” by Edward D. Hoch in
Sherlock Holmes @ 35,
The Bootmakers of Toronto, copyright © 2006 by Edward D. Hoch. “A Scandal in Montreal” by Edward D. Hoch in
Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine,
February, 2008 issue, copyright © 2007 by Edward D. Hoch. All Rights Reserved.