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by J. B. Varney (Author)
It was cold and dreary November in '07 and 221B had been unusually quiet. "I wonder what has come of the criminal classes," Holmes complained.
"No doubt they're as active as ever," Watson reassured his friend.
Little did they realize that a veritable clarion call of mystery was speeding toward them at that very moment, as fast as motorcar dared go.
"I am Alfred Booth," the man said, in little over a whisper, "but no one can know that I was here or the subject of our discussion."
"If you've heard of us," my friend declared, "then you know your concerns are unnecessary."
The man was the chairman of the Cunard Line, whose newest ship, Mauretania, had just captured the Blue Riband for the fastest return leg on the Liverpool to New York route.
"I was on the Mauretania's maiden voyage," said he, "and it was murder, Sir, murder plain and simple or I don't know what I saw. I've come straight from docking to you Mr. Holmes."
The death of an American Scion, Mr. Stoughton Jacobs, and a missing ring, of little value, and Jaccard tie, all while an emerald necklace worth a hundred-thousand dollars was left behind in the open safe, spell a mystery that only Sherlock Holmes can solve.
