Jacques Futrelle looked up at the twinkling stars in the crystal clear night and was overwhelmed by their beauty. He lowered his gaze to the astonishingly calm sea and watched a small boat disappear into the hidden depths of the frigid night and thought how wonderful it was to be alive. He felt curiously more concerned for the occupants of the lifeboat than he did for himself standing at the rail of the foundering Titanic. Turning from the sea, he briefly looked at the terrified faces of those around him and then made his way along the promenade deck to the first class salon. Somehow he knew Professor Van Dusen would be there waiting for him. He opened the door and gazed about the room, completely empty except for a man at a table with a bottle and two glasses.
    "I thought I'd find you here." The writer sat down and poured himself a glass of champagne.
    "Is she safe?"
    "Yes, she went on the last boat."
    "So now it's just us."
    "And hundreds more on deck."
    "No, there's nothing we can do for them."
    "Is there something we can do for us?"
    "You've already done it."
    "Done what?"
    "Made us immortal by writing stories."
    "Oh, that!"
    They laughed and the Professor refilled their glasses. They sat together sipping champagne and reminiscing of former days and watched the icy water creep along the luxurious carpet - as slow and relentless as time itself.
 
 

    Information on Mr. Futrelle as well as links to his stories can be found  here.