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asked, in somewhat sceptical tones.
    ‘Yes,’ said Holmes. ‘It shows a sad lack of imagination on the part of their parents. I never was able to deduce how the professor turned out to be so brilliant.’
    ‘Holmes, do you suppose he still blames you for his brother’s death. I recall the letters he wrote to the press after the Reichenbach Falls affair. They were a distortion of the facts.’
    ‘I do not know, Watson. As far as I have been able to determine, forgiveness has never been a Moriarty family trait. In any case, it appears that my modest disguise is about to be put to the test.’

Chapter Five

    T HE L ATE E VENING OF W EDNESDAY 10 A PRIL 1912
    T he Titanic had left Cherbourg shortly after eight o’clock. Its next stop would be Queenstown, in southern Ireland, late the next morning. After that, our trans-Atlantic crossing would begin.
    Miss Norton returned to her cabin, while Holmes and I walked down to the smoking room on promenade deck A. It was a pleasant room in which to end the evening. The walls were panelled in mahogany, with mother-of-pearl inlay. There were stained-glass windows along most of the outer wall, and a large, open fireplace, with a painting hanging over the mantel. A cloud of smoke filled the room, mingling the aroma of various fine blends of tobacco. While women were not strictly forbidden from entering the smoking room, it was respected by the ladies as a retreat for gentlemen.
    The room was crowded with men, still in evening attire, sipping drinks and engaged in casual conversation. Some were not so casual, as they sat around tables, intently looking at the playing cards that were fanned out in their hands. At least one of the games appeared to be for high stakes.
    I had read the notice about professional gamblers, which had been circulated with the passenger list. Card-sharps were common on trans-Atlantic liners. Passengers with a lot of money and little to do could easily be lured into a game. The steamship companies discouraged these high-stake games, but did not prohibit them. They did not want to get involved in policing gambling on their ships.
    Holmes and I stood beside one of the tables for a few moments, watching the four men play their hands. The centre of the table was filled with chips, indicating that the hand was well under way. Holmes tapped me on the shoulder and motioned to a tall man with a thin moustache. As we walked away from the table, my friend said quietly, ‘That man is cheating.’
    I looked back in astonishment. ‘What! How do you know? I saw nothing unusual.’
    ‘He clearly has more cards in his sleeve than he does in his hands.’ Indeed, the man, who later that evening was identified to me as Hugo Brandon, appeared to be winning handsomely.
    ‘Holmes, we must report this at once!’
    ‘No, Watson. There is more at stake on this voyage than the gambling losses of a few men. We dare not draw attention to ourselves. However, I will alert Captain Smith to the situation when we meet him tomorrow.’
    ‘We’ll be meeting the captain?’
    ‘Yes, more of a courtesy than anything else. He’s been more than helpful in assisting Miss Norton. And as captain, he is responsible for the safety of this ship. He would like to be kept informed on what is happening and who is involved. Mycroft has assured me that the captain is a man of the highest character and can be trusted.’
    We walked to the fireplace, where a group of men, some seated and some standing, were involved in a conversation. The fire was crackling,causing the brandy glasses resting on the centre of the table to sparkle. From this closer vantage point, I was able to read the inscription on the painting, Plymouth Harbour.
    A young man with a boyish face and an old man with a fluffy white beard were the centre of attention. They were engaged in a lively debate, and the contrast in their styles was striking. The younger man was somewhat formal — forceful in making his point, but careful not to