The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [25]
The feeling grew steadily worse as we made our way to Southampton and onto the Elbe. I don't know how else to describe it: a crawly feeling up the back of my neck, small sounds that stay just out of earshot when you stop to listen, shadows that seem to move from sight as you turn...."
"I am familiar with the sensation," said Doyle.
"Bloody spooks at a seance don't help much," said Innes.
"Absolutely; I don't know about you but I found that business tonight terrifying," said Stern. "And I can't tell you why but I felt that what we saw tonight and what I've been going through are somehow related. I consider myself a logical man, Mr. Doyle; I hope you will never hear me utter a more perfectly illogical statement."
Doyle felt his responses to Stern softening; once the man unburdened himself of his initial reluctance, his honest modesty and intelligence grew considerably more appealing.
"When such a feeling comes from deep levels of the intuition, I advise anyone to pay attention to it," said Doyle.
"That's why when the Captain said he could not help us I turned to you: I've read newspaper accounts of your assisting the police on a number of mysterious cases. You also strike me as a man who is not afraid to take a stand for what he believes in...."
Embarrassed, Doyle waved off the compliment. "Where is your copy of the Gerona Zohar now, Mr. Stem?"
"Under lock and key in the ship's hold. I checked it this afternoon."
"And your companion, Mr...."
"Mr. Selig. In our cabin. As I told you, Rupert's concerns for our safety have been even greater than mine. Since we sailed, he's refused to go out on deck after dark...."
Innes snorted contemptuously—in the tradition of the Royal Fusiliers—then realizing the inappropriateness of his response, disguised it as the onset of a protracted coughing fit.
"Must be the goose feathers in my pillow," said Innes.
"Perhaps we should have a word with your Mr. Selig as well," said Doyle, not stooping to dignify Innes's outburst with even an evil eye.
Lionel Stern knocked softly on the door to his cabin: three rapid knocks, then two slower ones. Innes was appalled at the lack of luxury in this second-class passageway, but in mixed
company decided such an observation was best kept to oneself.
"Rupert? Rupert, it's Lionel."
No reply. Stern looked at Doyle, concerned.
"Asleep?" asked Doyle.
Stern shook his head and knocked again. "Rupert!"
Still no answer. Putting his ear to the door, Doyle heard a creak of movement inside, followed by a slight click.
"Your key?"
"Left in the room," said Stern. "We decided it was best not to go walking around the ship with it."
Innes rolled his eyes skyward.
"We should ring for the steward," said Doyle. "Innes?"
Doyle gestured him off with a toss of the head. Innes sighed and idled down the hall in search of a steward, thinking they must be a rare sight down here among the unwashed.
Stern rattled the door handle. "Rupert, please open the door!"
"Keep your voice low, Mr. Stern. I'm sure there's no reason for alarm."
"You told me to pay attention to my intuition, didn't you?" He banged his fist on the door. "Rupert!"
Innes returned with a steward, who absorbed a quick explanation before opening the cabin with his passkey. The door jerked to a halt at six inches, stopped by a taut security chain.
The steward began explaining the chain could only be removed by someone inside when Doyle raised his boot and gave the door a mighty kick; the chain snapped, the door flew open.
The cabin long and narrow. Double bunks bolted to the left wall. Closed and locked porthole over a washbasin at the far end.
Rupert Selig lay on the cold steel floor, legs fully extended, arms raised to the level of his shoulders, fists clenched, mouth , and eyes frozen open in as perfect an expression of ungodly terror as Doyle had ever witnessed.
"Stay back," said Doyle.
The steward ran for help. Stern slumped against the wall; Innes propped him up with a free hand. Doyle stepped cautiously over the bulkhead,