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I immediately assured Holmes that he could rely on me, for indeed I could not possibly have declined such an appeal. He explained the need for quick action, since the Friesland would undoubtedly leave port once new cargo was loaded. A quick journey in a hansom cab had us climbing that ship’s gangway within the hour. The captain, a stolid Karl Neustaedter, was most co-operative. He took pains to emphasize that Brouwer had been appointed First Officer on the basis of merit, not family connections. They had sailed together previously on another ship where Brouwer had been a conscientious and more than competent Second Officer. He had upgraded his qualifications since, and the captain had been pleased to find him available in London on such short notice.

“Have you signed on another First Officer then?” I asked.

“Mr. Calhoun has been named to that position on a probationary basis. It was obvious from the start that he expected to get the post, but I had misgivings about his close friendship with the two other Americans aboard. Any suspicion of favoritism would have quickly created tensions and resentment among the rest of the crew, who mostly hail from Asia. I am trusting that Mr. Calhoun will keep a check on his deplorable tendency to disparage anyone not of the white race. But here he comes now.”

The man who approached had skin that shone like burnished mahogany, made the more striking by a white goatee and the blazing white of a dress uniform.

“Request permission to go ashore, Captain. I need to complete arrangements for Brouwer’s service and burial tomorrow.”

“Of course, Mr. Calhoun. But first these two gentlemen were wanting a word with you about Mr. Brouwer’s mishap. Let me introduce the famous detective Sherlock Holmes and his colleague Dr. Watson.”

Betraying no surprise, the First Officer spoke even before we had finished shaking hands. “I’m right pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen, and am willing to give you whatever time is needed for your inquiries. But the undertaker is even now expecting my arrival. Would it be possible for you to return this evening, say at two bells of the first watch, when we could talk at our leisure?”

So it was that in the last rays of daylight Holmes and I again made our way along the narrow and unsavory passages which led to the vast West India Docks. We had just started down Preston Road when an unexplained premonition of deep foreboding caused me to spin round, and I realized that I had unconsciously drawn my service revolver from my overcoat. I shouted a warning to Holmes before I became fully aware of the gang of swarthy ruffians bearing down upon us. The nearest drove his knife toward my left forearm just as I managed to shoot him in the leg. Arms around one another, we fell to the greasy stone surface and grappled for some moments until I was able to subdue my attacker.

Meanwhile Holmes was engaged in routing the others. Although they were armed with knives, cudgels and weighted coshes, they were no match for a man skilled in baritsu and the art of singlestick combat. As they fled down the alley, Holmes prised my assailant off me and slammed him roughly against the wall of a brick warehouse.

“If Watson is seriously hurt you will not live another minute,” he growled.

“There is no need for such desperate action, Holmes,” I said. “My heavy coat deflected his blade and I have suffered little more than a scratch. But I had better bind up the gunshot wound in that fellow’s thigh before he bleeds any more.”

The ruffian was understandably relieved to receive such immediate medical attention and readily answered all of our questions. He and his comrades had been hired by a ‘Yank’ from the public bar of The Gun, a pub on a nearby thoroughfare called Coldharbour. They’d been given our description, probable route and likely time of arrival. After the assault they were to dump our bodies into the water.

“He didn’t say nuffink about you being armed, Guv’nor, or about your mate being able to use a cane like that.