by Evelyn James
“I can’t help you there. I don’t know what a lot of our customers look like. Many go through agents, or only ever direct their orders through letters and never in person. I did not, for instance, know that you were a good customer of ours, Captain O’Harris,” he broke into a smile, Clara was amazed as well as amused. “I rarely meet our customers face-to-face. Maybe there are some here tonight, though, I can assure you Captain Pevsner is not among them.”
He looked gloomily at his champagne flute. Clara felt they were achieving nothing. Simon Noble was as much a dead end as the others and she was beginning to feel slightly despondent about the whole affair. No one had motive, no one had opportunity. It was as if the killer had been a ghost, a phantom that had slain Henry Kemp for no better reason than that he was there.
She was about to end the conversation when she felt a tug on her hand. She glanced down and saw Bert at her side.
“Apologies!” Bert’s mother was hurrying over to catch up with her son. “He wants to show you how he completed that puzzle the captain gave him.”
Bert held up the bottle in one hand and opened the other to reveal the nail now sitting in his palm.
“Oh, well done!” Clara declared, smiling at him.
Bert grinned.
“I wanted to show you before I gave it back to the captain,” he said, then he turned around to show Captain O’Harris.
“Not bad, old man,” O’Harris praised him. “First rate puzzle solving!”
Bert was beaming with delight now, enjoying the praise. He turned towards Simon Noble, holding out the bottle and nail for him to see. Simon Noble was pretending he did not exist.
“Oh, hello again,” Bert said. “Is your friend feeling better?”
Simon Noble seemed to start, but when he spoke it was with his usual bluster.
“What is a child doing here? Someone take him away.”
Clara was not listening to him. She crouched down by Bert.
“You’ve met Mr Noble before?” She asked him.
“Yes,” Bert said, some of his jubilation ebbing.
“What? The child lies! Liars have their bottoms smacked, young man!” Simon Noble squawked.
Captain O’Harris loomed over him again.
“Shut up,” he hissed in his ear.
Clara edged Bert away from Simon Noble. The young lad was looking anxious. His mother was getting upset.
“He can’t talk to my son like that!” She said to Clara, then she turned on Simon Noble. “My son is not a liar!”
Clara had Bert face her and put aside the noise of Mrs Nightly and Simon Noble arguing.
“When did you meet Mr Noble before?” she asked him.
“When I was looking for my mum,” Bert said quietly.
“After you returned to the ship?”
Bert nodded.
“Where did you see him?”
Bert frowned.
“It was a big room downstairs,” he said. “There were lots of pots and pans about. I think it was a kitchen.”
“And he was with someone?”
“Yes.”
“This friend, he was unwell?”
“He was lying on the floor,” Bert explained. “I asked that man if he had seen my mum.”
He pointed to Simon Noble.
“What did he say?” Clara asked.
“He said no and that I should be on my way. I asked why the other man was lying on the floor, and he said he felt unwell and it was nothing to bother about.”
“What happened then?”
“I went to keep looking for mum.”
“There was no one else around?”
Bert shook his head.
“Bert, you have been most helpful, thank you,” Clara squeezed his shoulder.
Then she rose and Mrs Nightly approached to remove her son from Simon Noble’s presence.
“What a nasty man!” She remarked to Clara, before she took Bert away.
Clara turned back to Simon Noble. Her face had become very serious.
“You don’t believe that little imp, surely?” Simon Noble cried out. “The child is clearly mistaken or lying!”
“All this time I was working under the impression that Henry Kemp was killed while the lifeboats were away,” Clara spoke perfectly calmly. “I thought there would not have been time afterwards. Now I see I was wrong.”
“Why would I kill Henry?” Simon Noble laughed at her. “He was nothing to me, just our senior manager!”
Clara did not have an answer for that and, in truth, the case against Simon Noble was weak if all it hinged upon was one small boy seeing him standing over the dead man.
“Where is the evidence for it?” Simon Noble demanded. “If I had stabbed Henry, then why is there no blood on my shirt cuffs?”
He revealed his perfectly white cuffs from the sleeves of his jacket. Clara was beginning to feel her own doubts. The timings did not add up, there would have been such a slim window of opportunity. There was no motive and no real evidence. Yet she had seen Simon Noble’s face when Bert had recognised him. She was sure that, just for a moment, he had been scared.
“I’ve had enough of all this,” Simon Noble barged past her, heading for the buffet table with his empty plate.
Clara let him go.
“Do you think he did it?” O’Harris asked her.
“I think he was there,” Clara replied. “I don’t think Bert was mistaken on that. Whether that means he found Henry Kemp’s body or actually was the one to murder him is harder to say.”
“But there is no proof,” O’Harris sighed.
Clara pursed her lips.
“There was someone else down below. Ronnie saw them. Maybe there is another witness to this crime and they have not come forward for some reason.”
“And the motive?”
Clara grimaced. That was the sticky question – what was Simon Noble’s motive to kill Henry Kemp?
Chapter Fourteen
Clara found Captain Pevsner and asked that they might have a word in private. They retired to the bridge and Clara revealed what she had learned. Pevsner became grim-faced as she explained.
“The lifeboats returned to the Mary Jane one at a time,” Clara said. “I have to assume that the lifeboat containing Simon Noble arrived back before your kitchen crew. Mr Noble came aboard and went in search of Henry Kemp, we don’t know quite why he did that, but he did. By luck, he went down below and came across Henry in the kitchen. Now, what I can’t say for sure is whether Henry had already been stabbed or whether something then occurred that caused Simon Noble to stab him.
“However, it seems somewhat odd that if Simon Noble merely found the body, he did not then raise the alarm himself. There is still a shadow of suspicion hanging over him.”
“This is not what I had hoped for,” Captain Pevsner said solemnly. “I will admit that I had hoped it was some accident involving a crew man, not a guest.”
“I had thought that a logical assumption too,” Clara agreed. “Until it came to my attention that there was a narrow, but highly possible, window of opportunity for someone to have committed the crime after the lifeboats had returned.”
“But you cannot prove anything?”
“My only witness is Bert, a sweet child, but not someone any court would take seriously. In any case, he did not see the murder committed. And Simon Noble was correct when he said that had he stabbed Henry Kemp there would have been blood on his sleeves,” Clara pulled at the sleeve of her dress to highlight her words. “The only possibility I can see to explain such a thing is that Simon Noble changed his shirt after the crime. It is not unknown for people to bring spare clothes to an event like this, especially when they expect to spend the night. Captain Pevsner, I would like to take a look in Simon Noble’s cabin.”
Pevsner looked as though she had just suggested he scuttle his ship. He ran a hand over his face.
“I cannot authorise you to invade a guest’s privacy, I am sorry.”
“I understand,�
�� Clara nodded. Her powers were not as great as those of the police, after all. “I am not sure what else I can do. We believed there may have been another witness to the crime, but we have not been able to identify them. The evidence I have is also far too flimsy to present to the police. I can tell them my views, but they won’t arrest a man on them, I can guarantee that.”
Captain Pevsner’s shoulders sagged. The situation looked unresolvable.
“Thank you for all your assistance, Miss Fitzgerald, I cannot fault your diligence. I shall allow the party to proceed and then, when we dock tomorrow, I must bite the bullet and summon the police. I cannot avoid the scandal any longer,” the unfortunate ship’s captain looked truly defeated. “Please, carry on with your evening. I have inconvenienced you too long already.”
“It was no inconvenience,” Clara reassured him. “I am sorry I could not have been of more use.”
“On the contrary, you have given me something to report to the police,” Pevsner smiled weakly. “Please, go and enjoy yourselves.”
Clara and Captain O’Harris strolled back onto the sun deck. Dessert had at last been served and there was an array of sweet things on the buffet tables. Clara’s stomach gave a rumble. They had missed out on the main course; she was determined not to miss out on dessert. She approached the buffet table, behind which stood several servers dressed in crisp white jackets. There were so many delightful things to eat, and she was so ravenous, that picking just one was difficult. She opted in the end for a large bowl of raspberry trifle, not that there was much in the way of natural raspberries in it, as they were out of season. But these days manufacturers could produce all manner of artificial flavours.
Captain O’Harris chose a serving of Spotted Dick and custard, and warmed his hands on the bowl as they walked to a couple of free chairs and sat to eat.
“This is reminding me of an incident that happened during the war,” Captain O’Harris carefully cut a portion of his pudding with his spoon and dipped it in the thick custard. “This fellow was murdered, a sergeant. He was killed in a dug-out when other men were in there sleeping and not a single one could say who had done it. It might have been one of them, but they all declared they had been asleep and no one could suggest a motive. It was very mysterious.”
“I don’t like leaving a case unsolved,” Clara said, her enthusiasm for her trifle waning as she considered the possibility of failure. “I am almost certain Simon Noble is the culprit, I can’t think why he would otherwise not have reported Henry’s death.”
“He might be covering for someone.”
“You mean he stumbled on the killer, recognised them and then let them escape all before Bert spotted him? The timing would not only be very tight, but what would be the odds of him knowing the killer and being so inclined to protect them?”
“Maybe he did not go after Henry Kemp alone?” O’Harris postulated.
“Which brings us back to the first question, why? What motive did Simon Noble or anyone he was with tonight have for killing Henry Kemp?”
That was becoming the impossible question. Without a motive, it was going to be hard to convince the police to arrest Simon Noble on suspicion of murder. Even Clara’s friend, Inspector Park-Coombs, would need more than her guesses and assumptions. Simon Noble was a powerful man, that could not be ignored. His father could command expensive solicitors. Park-Coombs would not touch the man without strong evidence that he was the killer, he would be risking his job otherwise.
“Miss Fitzgerald?”
Clara glanced up and saw that Miss Dodd was hovering near her. She had emerged from the group of guests silently, creeping up on Clara without her noticing. Clara wondered how much she had overheard.
“Are you any closer to knowing who killed Mr Kemp?” Jane Dodd asked with such desperate hope in her voice that Clara felt quite dreadful.
Clara wanted to offer her something.
“I have a theory, but I cannot prove it,” she said.
Miss Dodd looked disappointed.
“Is there anything I can do, anything at all?” She asked pathetically.
Clara could see that what the others had implied about Miss Dodd – that she had a soft spot for Henry Kemp – was not just male gossip.
“Please, sit down,” Clara motioned to an empty chair beside her. “Maybe you can help me. Tell me again, in as much detail as you can, what happened when you returned to the liner from the lifeboat?”
Miss Dodd was frowning as she sat down.
“We were helped back aboard the ship,” she began.
“Out of your party, who climbed back aboard first?”
The frown deepened. Miss Dodd pulled back the curtains of her memory and tried to think.
“I was sitting with Mr Walsh,” she said, painting herself a picture of the moment. “The two Mr Nobles were ahead of us. But I can’t say which of them climbed aboard first.”
Clara restrained the sigh that almost escaped her lips at this news. She took up another spoonful of trifle.
“I remember Mr Walsh was very insistent on finding Mr Kemp, he was most concerned that he did not appear to be on the other lifeboats,” Miss Dodd continued.
“Were you concerned?” Clara asked her.
Miss Dodd blushed.
“Yes. I was most concerned,” she clasped her hands together, the fingers deeply intertwined. “Mr Walsh said we should all look for Mr Kemp, I agreed with him. Mr Simon Noble actually agreed with us. Said he would like to have a few words with Mr Kemp about his behaviour.”
“He was angry with Henry Kemp?” Clara asked. This was new information.
“Not so much angry, as annoyed,” Miss Dodd replied. “He felt that Mr Kemp had behaved inappropriately and that would reflect badly on Noble and Sons. Now I think about it, he must have climbed up first. Yes, because he said he was going to find Mr Kemp and when his brother protested a little, he told him to hold his tongue.”
Clara was getting a better idea of those few moments before Henry Kemp met his fate. There would have been just a few minutes leeway, during the time it took for the kitchen crew to be returned to the ship. Simon Noble could have found Henry Kemp and killed him.
“Did Simon Noble have any reason to dislike Henry Kemp?” Clara asked Miss Dodd.
The woman looked immediately surprised.
“Well, no. They hardly saw each other, certainly not outside the board meetings. I always took notes in the meetings and there was never anything uncivil. Mr Noble might have been cross that Mr Kemp had been rude to the crew when they wanted him to get into a lifeboat, but to think he disliked him is too strong a term.”
Miss Dodd stared across the deck to where Simon Noble was stood once more with his brother Elias. They both had bowls piled high with pudding.
“Miss Fitzgerald, I feel you are getting at something?” Miss Dodd turned sharp eyes on Clara. “Why are you interested in who climbed out of our lifeboat first?”
The woman was clever, Clara had never doubted that. She had made a career for herself in a male dominated world, and she was good at it. She was wily enough to see through Clara’s indelicate attempts to get further information about Simon Noble’s activities.
“You think Mr Simon Noble was responsible?” Miss Dodd filled the silence that had followed her last question.
“I only can say that I know Simon Noble was seen near Henry Kemp’s body before the alarm was raised.”
“And he did not raise the alarm himself,” Miss Dodd could guess the rest. “He acted as if he had no knowledge of where Mr Kemp was. He lied to us. You are absolutely certain he knew Mr Kemp was dead before you approached us?”
“Yes. I am certain,” Clara told her. “There is a witness. That does not mean Simon Noble is a killer.”
“But it begs the question why did he not call for help or alert the captain,” Miss Dodd’s hands were knotting together tighter and tighter, her face growing hard and stern. “Why did he lie to us all and pretend he had not found Mr Kemp? Th
at does not seem like the actions of an innocent man.”
“I can’t answer those questions, just as I can’t explain how Simon Noble’s shirt sleeves are unmarked by blood or why he would want to seriously harm Henry Kemp.”
Miss Dodd’s soft gaze had turned savage as she stared across the deck at the man who would one day be her employer.
“He could have changed his shirt.”
“Yes,” Clara agreed. “But I can’t prove he did.”
“You would need to find the shirt he wore,” Miss Dodd was rushing on.
“Supposing he has kept it and not thrown it into the sea.”
Miss Dodd was silent a moment, then she opened her handbag and fumbled around inside it. After a moment, she withdrew a cabin key.
“I was given charge of the spare keys to all the rooms,” Miss Dodd said. “Mr Noble insisted. He values his privacy and he does not like the idea of a key to his room being left in charge of a steward. He doesn’t trust anyone, you see, except for me. I have the spare key for all the Noble rooms.”
She pressed the cabin key into Clara’s hand.
“This is the key to Simon Noble’s cabin. Search it, for the sake of Mr Kemp,” Miss Dodd almost choked on her emotions. There was no doubting now that she had strong feelings for Henry Kemp. Suggesting she had loved him might be going too far, but she was certainly extremely fond of him.
“This could get you into a great deal of trouble,” Clara pointed out to her.
“Is there any worse trouble that can befall you than being dead?” Miss Dodd asked her, the determination in her face etched into every line. “I am not a fool, Miss Fitzgerald, the moment I learned that Mr Kemp had been stabbed I came to the conclusion that it must have been one of our party. I could not say who, but it was far too obvious. There was no one else on this ship who had such a grudge against Mr Kemp to want him dead. Mr Noble mentioned the possibility of Mr Kemp getting into a fight, he seemed to think that a plausible explanation for his death, but I never believed that.
“Mr Kemp was never a violent man, even when he was drunk. I knew he was drinking heavily, I edited the truth to make it seem less than it was when I explained that to you, but the truth is I think these last few weeks he has been nearly constantly intoxicated. But he did not start fights. He could be moody, and would say sharp things, but he was not a man to become violent. That was not in his nature.”
