The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [22]
The young man from the dining hall, still as eager as before, caught Doyle's eye again. A respectful, urgent appeal: now, sir? Doyle nodded to him: yes, in my cabin, half an hour. He wanted to talk to the priest first—where did he go? Doyle turned: no sign of him.
There was Pinkus in the corner. Throwing up into his hat.
So the evening shouldn't be a total loss.
Innes rushed back into Doyle's cabin.
"Miss Hills is resting comfortably...."
"And the priest?'' asked Doyle, looking up from a book in his hand.
"Nowhere on deck. I tried to page his cabin from the steward's office, but no one seems to know which cabin he's in. The dining room staff says his name is Devine; Father Devine from Kilarney...."
A soft knock at the door. Doyle nodded. Innes admitted the nervous young man; mid-twenties, medium height, high forehead, large owlish eyes, thinning curly brown hair, posture slightly stooped—the apologetic air of a man perpetually exuding self-effacement. Dark circles under his eyes provided the only shading in his ghostly pallor.
"Mr. Conan Doyle, thank you, sir, thank you so much fori seeing me. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience...." American: traces of New York. The man glanced at Innes, uncertain if he should continue.
"My brother will not violate your confidence, sir. Who are you and how may I help?"
"My name is Lionel Stern. I came on board when you gentlemen did. Traveling with a business associate of mine. I wanted to speak with you, sir, because we have reason to believe someone on this ship intends to murder us before we reach New York."
"You've taken this up with the Captain." The conversation overheard on the bridge.
"At some length. He maintains his ship is safe, every reasonable precaution taken; he was unable to offer us any additional guarantees."
"What did you offer him to authenticate this threat to your lives?"
Stern appeared taken aback. "We were followed all the way from London to Southampton...."
"And, you believe, onto this ship."
"Yes."
"Have any direct actions been taken against you?"
"Not to date, but—"
"Have you seen or had any contact with the person or persons you believe are planning to kill you?"
"No." The man looked at them both sheepishly; this seemed to be the limit of his hard evidence. No mention of the "book" Doyle had heard them talking to the Captain about. Doyle gave Innes a look—back me up on this—then moved to the door, opened it, and gestured firmly to Lionel Stern.
"I will ask you to leave my cabin, sir."
Stern's jaw dropped. He looked ghastly. "You're not serious."
"I cannot be expected to help you, and I would resent this unwelcome intrusion from any man unless he is willing to part with the truth. You will please leave at once."
Whatever force of will had been holding Stern together dissolved; his plain features fell. He collapsed into a chair and cradled his head in his hands. "Sorry. You don't know the strain I'm under. You can't imagine...."
Doyle closed the door, walked over, and studied Stern for a moment. "You were born and raised on the Lower East Side of New York City. The oldest son of Russian immigrant parents. You are a secular Jew, thoroughly and willfully assimilated into American culture. That you have rejected the religious observances of your father has been a matter of no mall dispute between you. You sailed to London approximately six weeks ago from Spain—Seville, I believe—where, over a period of at least one month, in partnership with the man who accompanied you on board the Elbe, you negotiated a complicated transaction involving the use or purchase of an extremely rare and valuable book, which you are now transporting to America. A book of some profound religious or philosophical significance. This book is the cause for these well-founded concerns about your safety, Mr. Stern, and I will enjoy your