Read The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus Online

Authors: Michael Kurland

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Historical Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Mystery Fiction, #Detective and Mystery Stories; American, #Holmes; Sherlock (Fictitious Character), #Traditional British, #England, #Moriarty; Professor (Fictitious Character), #Historical, #Scientists

The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus (6 page)

BOOK: The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus
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"Wonderful," Barnett said. "What's that noise?"

 

             
"Noise?" Sefton asked.

 

             
The boss
caiquejee
clapped his hands together.
"Mujika!"
he yelled, slapping his assistant on the back. He turned to Barnett with a wide, black-toothed grin.
"Mujika!"
he insisted, holding his fists clenched with the thumbs sticking straight up and wobbling them in front of him.

 

             
"Bells," Sefton said. "Ship's bells. It must be the yacht."

 

             
The
caiquejeem
bent to their task with renewed vigor, and soon the sharp lines of the steam-yacht
Osmanieh
materialized before their eyes through the fog. Two smartly uniformed seamen aboard the yacht lowered a boarding ladder as the caique pulled alongside.

 

             
"Aha!" The boss
caiquejee
said, as Barnett stepped past him to grab the ladder. "Bang, bang!"

 

             
Barnett started. "What the hell?" he said.

 

             
"Bang, bang!" the
caiquejee
repeated, shooting his finger at Barnett. "Buffalo Beel. Beely de Keed. Whil'Beel Hitkook. Bang, bang!" He grinned and slapped Barnett on the back. "Cowboy!"

 

             
"Yes, yes," Barnett said, smiling back weakly. "That's right."

 

             
With this encouragement, the
caiquejee
broke into an expansive statement, accompanied with chest-thumping and a lot of wiggling of fingers.

 

             
"Well," Lieutenant Sefton said, staring back down at them from halfway up the ladder. "I wrought better than I knew. It appears that you have a friend for life, Barnett."

 

             
"What's he saying?" Barnett demanded.

 

             
"He says that he has a brother in Chicago, so he knows all about cowboys. His brother writes once a month. He, himself, hopes to move to America where all men are soon rich and they wear six-shooters."

 

             
"Well, I guess we're all brothers under the skin," Barnett said vaguely, as he climbed up the ladder.

 

             
"Bang, bang!" the
caiquejee
cried. "Steekemoop!"

 

-

 

             
The officer at the head of the ladder checked their papers and passed them on to a midshipman, who took them aft to the main cabin.

 

             
There were about twenty other guests in the cabin, mostly from the press and diplomatic corps of European countries. Red-robed servants wearing long, curved-toe slippers walked silently about, passing out cups of coffee and small breakfast cakes. Some minutes later, when the last of the invited guests found their way through the fog, the yacht got underway and the Captain Pasha came down to talk to the group. He spoke of the Osmanli naval tradition, and of Sultan Abd-ul Hamid's desire to live in peace with all his neighbors. He spoke of world trade and water routes, and of the strategic position of the Bosporus. He urged them to eat more of the little cakes, and assured them that they would be impressed with the day's display.

 

             
"Awfully confident, don't you think?" Lieutenant Sefton murmured to Barnett. "From my past experience with submersibles, they'll be lucky to get the thing running at all on the first trial. Either it won't start, or it won't sink, or it will sink only bow-first or upside down. Balky little beasts, these things are."

 

             
"I thought you were pro-submarine," Barnett said.

 

             
"Pro-submarine? Is that an Americanism, or merely journalese? Yes, I am impressed by the potential of the craft. When the designers get all the mechanical problems solved and the beasts become a bit more dependable, they'll be invaluable to the navy."

 

             
"How will they be used in warfare?" Barnett asked.

 

             
"They will primarily be used for scouting and messenger service, as well as for guarding harbors and fleets at anchor and such duty."

 

             
"What about attacking other ships?" Barnett asked. "I kind of picture them sneaking up on battleships and sinking them."

 

             
Sefton shook his head. "That's a common misconception—fostered, if I may say so, by the sensational press. You must take into account the limitations inherent in the device. First of all, they can never be used in the open ocean; they are too fragile and their range is too limited. Secondly, a submersible could never go against a modern capital ship. It would have to get too close to launch its torpedo. It would be vulnerable to the ship's gun battery. One shell from even a six-inch gun would sink any submersible, whereas it would take a dozen Whitehead torpedos to do any significant damage to a ship of the line."

 

             
"You disappoint me," Barnett said. "I thought the submersible was the weapon of the future. Now I don't know what to tell the readers of the
New York World.

 

             
"Oh, it is the weapon of the future," Sefton said. "Properly employed by an imaginative commander, submersibles would have a decisive effect on the outcome of any naval battle. They will eventually change the complexion of naval warfare."

 

             
"What do you know of the Garrett-Harris?" Barnett asked. "Is it any good?"

 

             
"Excellent," Lieutenant Sefton said. "There are said to be some clever innovations on the craft. If what I've heard is true, they have developed a valving mechanism that I would most especially like to get a look at."

 

             
"I doubt if you'll get the chance," Barnett said.

 

             
"Well, they're certainly not going to trot it out for inspection," Lieutenant Sefton agreed. "We've been invited to watch the boat perform, not to examine its innards. I fear one would have to pay for that privilege."

 

             
The fog was clearing now, and the foreign observers were called on deck by a Turkish officer. There, a hundred yards off the port beam, rode the Garrett-Harris submersible boat. It looked like a giant steel cigar, and rode so low on the water that the deck was awash and only the small conning tower was clear of the waves. The craft rocked and rolled alarmingly with every swell that washed over it, but there was something very businesslike in the look of the riveted steel-clad deck, and an ominously efficient look to the streamlined, cigar-shaped hull.

 

             
Sultan Abd-ul Hamid came onto the flying bridge of the
Osmanieh,
causing an instant swell of whispering and murmuring among his foreign guests. It had not been known that he would be present, and the diplomats aboard were trying to decide what his presence signified, so that they could send portentous reports to their governments.

 

             
The sultan waved his hand at the two men perched on the wet deck of the submersible, and they popped open a hatch and scrambled below.

 

             
"The test commences," announced the Turkish officer.

 

             
A spray of foam churned up from the rear of the Garrett-Harris as the four-bladed screw turned over, and the ship moved forward cleanly through the sea.

 

             
Barnett took out his notebook and a pencil and stared pensively at the retreating craft.
The ironclad cigar cut through the water with nary a ripple on either side to mark her passage,
he wrote.
Slowly she sank beneath the waves until but one slim tube connected her with the surface, and then that, too, disappeared. Now only the slight phosphorescence
of
her wake marked her passage beneath the surface
of
the Bosporus.

 

             
"You will excuse me," Lieutenant Sefton murmured in Barnett's ear. "I have some business to transact."

 

             
"Of course," Barnett said, hardly noticing as Sefton moved away. His attention was held by the spectacle before him. There, a couple of hundred yards away, a sloop sailing confidently up the deep channel was being stalked by a craft riding under the calm surface of the Bosporus.

 

             
The Turkish officer rang a small bell to get their attention, "You are about to witness a major happening in naval warfare," he announced solemnly. "When, during the American Civil War, the Confederate States' submersible
Hunley
sank the Union
Housatonic
it used a torpedo affixed to a long lance. But the Garrett-Harris boat has solved the problem of launching mobile projectiles from under the water. It is equipped with a device to enable it to fire one of the new design sixteen-inch Whitehead torpedoes without coming to the surface. The torpedo will then unfailingly propel itself to the target. Please observe!"

 

             
Barnett took up his pencil:
Now the slim vision tube returns to the surface, almost invisible in the slight swell. The Garrett-Harris moves into position to line up on its unsuspecting target. There is a pause while the target sloop sails into the perfect spot for the launching
of
the Whitehead torpedo, which carries a dummy warhead but in wartime would be filled with eighty pounds
of
high explosive. Now, with the sloop perfectly lined up—with twenty-five members
of
the international press and diplomatic corps watching from along the rail
of
the royal yacht
Osmanieh,
and Abd-ul Hamid II, Sultan
of
the Osmanli Empire, himself watching from the bridge—

 

             
A giant plume of water shot up from the hidden submersible. As the sound of a tremendous explosion reached the yacht, the little undersea boat threw itself out of the water bow first and then fell back, breaking in half as it hit. For a second the two halves floated separately, and Barnett thought he saw someone inside the forward half scrambling to get out; then a wave closed over the halves and they disappeared from view.

 

             
The underwater shockwave hit the yacht, which bobbed and tossed violently for a few seconds, knocking several people down. Water from the explosion plume fell back, soaking those on deck and adding to the general confusion. Barnett saw some activity at the rear of the yacht, where sailors were trying to heave a line to someone who had been washed overboard by the wave. Finally the man grabbed it, and they hauled him back up.

 

             
Nothing was to be seen of the Garrett-Harris submersible or its two operators.

 

-

 

             
A motor launch took the assembled foreigners back to the quay on the Stamboul side of the Golden Horn. They were assured by an expressionless captain of marine that a statement would be issued later by the proper authority.

 

             
Barnett and Lieutenant Sefton walked back to their hotel. "What do you suppose happened?" Barnett asked.

 

             
"It blew up," Sefton said.

 

             
"That much is clear," Barnett agreed, trying not to look annoyed, "but how?"

 

             
"It could be faulty venting of the gasses from the electrical accumulators," Sefton said, "but personally I doubt it."

 

             
"What, then?"

 

             
"A deliberate act of subversion by foreign agents."

 

             
Barnett took out his notebook. "I was hoping you'd say that. Pray, continue."

BOOK: The Infernal Device & Others: A Professor Moriarty Omnibus
13.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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