Murder on the Mary Jane

by Evelyn James

  Elias Noble had not raised his head, he was staring at a knot in the wood of the table. But he coughed politely and spoke clearly.

  “I shall confess,” he said without hesitation. “I murdered Henry Kemp. You ought to arrest me now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Clara could feel Simon Noble grinning at her. She refused to look at him. She kept her face stony calm and tried to think of a good way to counter Elias’ confession.

  “Charles Walsh saw you on the sun deck during the time of the murder,” she said.

  Elias didn’t even blink.

  “He is mistaken.”

  “If you killed Henry Kemp, why did Simon’s shirt have blood on it?” Inspector Park-Coombs was frowning at Elias.

  “He saw what I had done and looked to see if Henry was alright, but he wasn’t,” Elias said placidly.

  “But you didn’t get covered in blood?” Park-Coombs plucked at his jacket cuff.

  “No, I didn’t,” Elias said, still what that infuriating dullness to his tone.

  Clara wanted to wring his neck. She knew he was doing this to protect his brother. The confession was worthless as all the evidence pointed to Simon, but it would muddy the waters bringing up that nasty spectre of ‘reasonable doubt’ once again.

  “This is…. This is….” Arthur Noble blustered and puffed out his cheeks. Suddenly he grabbed a hand to his chest.

  “Are you all right?” O’Harris asked him sharply.

  Arthur seemed to sway on his feet. Park-Coombs turned around quickly.

  “Someone get him a glass of water,” he ordered.

  Since neither Elias or Simon moved, Clara headed to the nearby drinks cabinet and produced a glass of water. Arthur was offered it and he sipped the contents between gasping breaths.

  “I want… my… solicitor,” he said.

  “I have not charged your sons,” Park-Coombs told him, trying to reassure him. “And, at this moment in time I won’t be.”

  “I don’t want it for them!” Arthur spat out, followed by having to take several breaths before he could speak again. “Want to… change my will… so these two… traitors… don’t get the firm.”

  “Father!” Simon Noble’s grin was now lost. “You don’t mean that! The papers were meaningless. Henry got the wrong idea. I was trying to assess the company’s worth, that’s all.”

  “I read them!” Arthur Noble hissed at him. “Do not lie!”

  “But who will you leave the company to?” Simon’s wheedling tone had turned hard. “You will be putting it out of the family if you do this!”

  “Your sister… Gertrude…”

  “Gertrude!” Simon Noble almost stumbled back in amazement and Clara wondered if he too was about to suffer a heart attack. “She’s a girl!”

  Arthur Noble did not reply, he was concentrating on breathing.

  “I think we need the ship’s doctor,” Clara said.

  “And… my… solicitor…” Arthur gasped angrily.

  O’Harris said he would run for the doctor. Park-Coombs kept a hand on Arthur Noble’s shoulder and tried to calm him. Simon Noble paced, occasionally throwing out rough comments to his father who was pointedly ignoring him. Elias stood in silence. Clara tried to catch his eye, but he resolutely stared at the floor. Whether it was loyalty to his brother, or whether Simon had offered him a share in the fortune he intended to gain when the company was sold, Elias was not now going to break his promise. The confession would stand, as ridiculous and as pointless as it was.

  “Clara, maybe a cup of tea would help?” Park-Coombs looked at her a little desperately. “And, some cold cloths for Mr Noble’s brow, he seems boiling hot.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Clara replied, glad enough to get out of the room.

  She hurried down to the deck containing the kitchens, feeling a twinge of unease as she found herself walking once again to the room where Henry Kemp had met his end. She was feeling awful. It looked as though Simon would get away with murder, and if his father was to now die he would inherit the company anyway and get everything he wanted. Clara had never felt so terrible about a case. She had never faced such failure before.

  Clara was running to reach the kitchen and in her haste she nearly stumbled over a small black object that was sitting in the middle of the corridor. She stopped herself in time and looked down at what first appeared to be a discarded fur muff. The muff lifted up a little head and meowed at her.

  “You must be Jack, and what an awful place you have sat yourself,” Clara declared, reaching down to move the cat out of harm’s way. “Ah, I see, a warm pipe runs under this piece of floor.”

  She picked up the cat, which was lovely and toasty. He purred at her.

  “I really think you will get trod on down there, however…”

  Clara froze. Ahead of her, down the bottom of the corridor, she could see the shadow of a person. Her mind was flicking back to the testimony of the young sailor. Someone else had been in the corridors near the kitchen other than Henry Kemp. What if that person had returned?

  Clara knew it was a long shot, but she was at a stage when she would take anything she could get. She put down the cat and ran to the bottom of the corridor. The shadow had vanished before she reached the turning. She feared it was an illusion and that no one would be around the corner at all. She almost fell over her heels as she spun to the right.

  There was a man walking down the corridor with empty trays.

  “Hello!” Clara called out.

  The man did not react. She started to follow him.

  “Hello! You there!”

  The man was reaching another turning. She was waving at him now, calling out. He made no response to her shouts.

  “He won’t hear you.”

  Clara was startled by a voice behind her. She spun and saw that one of the kitchen lads had appeared at the turning of the corridor to see what was going on.

  “He is stone deaf,” he explained.

  Clara turned back to her escaping shadow man. He had turned down another corridor. She ran after him and finally grabbed his arm. He turned around in surprise and almost dropped the trays.

  “I must speak with you,” Clara said, hoping the man lip-read.

  He frowned. He was wearing the uniform of one of the waiters who had served them yesterday evening. After a moment he nodded. Clara almost sagged with relief that he understood. She motioned with her arm for him to follow her and she took him back to the kitchen.

  Food was still being prepared for the guests who had been detained. Clara glanced around the staff and saw the kitchen lad who had briefly spoken to her.

  “Who is this gentleman?” She asked him.

  “Mr Greene,” the lad answered. “He used to be part of the crew, until he retired. Sometimes the captain hires him for a little job, so he gets some extra money.”

  Clara turned back to the deaf gentleman.

  “Mr Greene?” She asked.

  Greene nodded with a smile. He was in his seventies, his face lined from many long years at sea. He wore a beard about his chin, it was white as snow and frizzy. He looked a little puzzled at being accosted.

  “Mr Greene, where were you last night during the mine emergency?”

  Greene’s forehead furrowed.

  “What mine emergency?” He asked her, his voice extremely loud.

  The kitchen staff could not help but overhear. They now wandered over.

  “You did not evacuate the ship with the others?” Clara asked again.

  Greene shook his head.

  “I’ve not left the ship since I boarded yesterday.”

  The cook dipped his head in shame.

  “We forgot him,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe we did that. If something had happened…”

  Greene was staring at him, unable to read his lips because he had his head down, but noting his expression.

  “Mr Greene,” Clara persisted, tapping Greene’s arm to draw his attention back to her. “You wa
lk back and forth along that far corridor a lot during your job?”

  “I take the full trays from the kitchen along that corridor to top deck, and I bring them back the same way.”

  “Last night, did you notice a gentleman wandering about this deck? He was very drunk.”

  Mr Greene nodded.

  “He bumped into me,” he said. “He knocked all my trays out of my hands. Luckily they were empty.”

  “Did you only see him once?” Clara asked, feeling somewhat desperate now.

  Mr Greene shook his head.

  “I took the empty trays to the kitchen, then I took the rubbish bins to empty into the big container below. It took me longer than I expected because I dropped one of the bins on the stairs and I had to clean the mess up. Eventually I returned to the kitchen,” Mr Greene scratched his head. “No one was around, which I thought off. The man was in the kitchen mumbling to himself. I went to look for everyone. I did a circuit of this deck and I was just getting back to the kitchen when I saw another man walk in. He was dressed like a guest.”

  “What happened?” Clara was almost trembling with excitement.

  “I thought I should tell them that guests are not meant to be in the kitchen,” Greene said. “I should have told the other fellow, but he didn’t seem to be doing any harm. As I stepped to the doorway of the kitchen I saw that the new man had picked up a knife and was waving it at the other man. I was about to say something when he struck out at the first man and stabbed him. I quickly made myself scarce.”

  Mr Greene looked abashed.

  “I should have said something, but everyone started to return and, the next time I checked, the hurt fellow was gone and everyone was acting normal. I figured he had been taken to his cabin. Is he feeling better this morning?”

  “Oh my,” the cook put a hand to his face.

  Clara let out a soft sigh.

  “The gentleman died,” she told Greene.

  Greene blinked his eyes furiously.

  “He died?” He said. “I… I panicked when it happened. I thought I would just step away for a bit and then come back to check everything was fine. No one said anything to me about someone being murdered, otherwise I would have said something.”

  Greene looked about him at the kitchen staff.

  “I’m not a coward!” He declared. “But I am old, and… and you don’t talk about the guests’ private business. I only retreated to the linen cupboards for a short time, just to recover myself. My nerves are not what they used to be.”

  No one was listening to Greene’s feeble excuses. He had witnessed a murder and run away. His ignorance of the latter investigation could be excused by his deafness. He had not heard the captain’s announcements that his crew should assist Clara’s enquiries, he had not been able to. He had spent longer in the linen cupboard than he realised and when he returned to the kitchen everything had been cleaned up and Henry Kemp’s body removed. It would have been easy to imagine that nothing serious had happened at all.

  “Would you recognise the man who held the knife?” Clara asked Greene, ignoring the fact he had runaway from a crime scene. She had other things on her mind now.

  “I would,” Greene said. “My ears are broken, but my eyes still see good.”

  “I need you to come with me, please,” Clara took his arm and led him back along the corridor.

  “What is happening?” Greene asked.

  “I need you to look at some people and tell me if one of them was the man with the knife,” Clara told him.

  Greene pulled a face and hesitated. Clara almost lost her grip on his arm.

  “We shouldn’t gossip about guests,” Greene started to back off.

  Clara reached out for him again, catching hold of his sleeve.

  “Mr Greene, a man died last night. You are the only person who saw what happened. I need you to point out the killer, otherwise this man will walk free and never be brought to justice for his crimes, do you understand?”

  Mr Greene stood as still as a statue, his face was contorted into an anxious grimace.

  “I can’t, Miss.”

  “Why not?” Clara demanded. “It is your duty!”

  Greene suddenly flopped against the wall of the corridor and started to give tense, tiny sobs.

  “I want to, Miss, I want to help,” he said, his voice broken by his emotion. “But I can’t.”

  “Please, explain to me,” Clara begged him, touching his arm in sympathy now. “Help me to understand.”

  Greene’s weathered face was wet with tears. He had once been a powerful man, but those days were gone and he felt every year of his age. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face.

  “I’m as poor as a church mouse, Miss,” he said. “Since I had to give up the sea, me and my wife live on a pittance. She is very sick, probably dying, but we can’t afford a doctor. These last five years we have lived in an alms-house, else we would be on the streets homeless.”

  Greene sniffed and the tears threatened again.

  “I don’t like what I did, Miss. It was an awful thing. I stood by and watched a man be attacked. I hoped he was all right, but I had to run. I had to. I had to think of my wife. Our alms-house is part of a charity scheme supported by the Noble and Sons company.”

  “And you recognised Simon Noble,” Clara understood.

  “I met him when we applied for our house. The Nobles take part in approving those who reside in their alms-houses. He was there. Do you know how hard it was for us to get that house? How close we were to destitution? I couldn’t put my wife through that again,” Greene could not hold back the tears any longer, they ran down his face. “I know I was cowardly. I know. But I did it for her. I had to. I love her and she is my responsibility.”

  Clara squeezed his arm.

  “I truly understand what you are saying,” she said. “And I can see why you acted the way you did. However, things are different now. There is a lot of evidence that proves Simon Noble was at the scene of the crime, all that we need is for a witness to testify to seeing him strike the fatal blow. You are that witness, Mr Greene.”

  “I’ll lose my home,” Greene sobbed.

  “I promise, on my honour, you will not,” Clara was begging him now. “Please, come forward so that a murderer does not walk free. I will not allow harm to befall you or your wife. I swear to it.”

  “What can you do, Miss, honestly?” Greene looked at her sadly.

  “You would be amazed at what I can do, Mr Greene,” Clara took his hand and held it tightly. “Just trust me. Now is the time to step up and do your duty. Will you help me, Mr Greene?”

  Greene hung his head. He said nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The occupants of the room had fallen into silence. Arthur Noble was being tended by the ship’s doctor. The immediate emergency seemed to have passed, though he was still insisting on having his solicitor summoned to the Mary Jane, just in case something was to occur that would prevent him changing his will later. Captain Pevsner had sent out a messenger after he heard what was happening.

  Simon Noble was sullenly standing by the porthole window, gazing out at the ocean. He clenched his fists and his face was set in a grimace of rage. Even if he was going to get away with murder, he had lost.

  Clara entered the cabin and closed the door behind her. She looked around at the people assembled. Inspector Park-Coombs nodded to her.

  “I’ve asked for a large pot of tea to be brought up,” Clara said. “How are you feeling Mr Noble.”

  “Bloody awful,” Arthur Noble gasped. He still had a hand on his chest, though his breathing was fine now.

  “It was a scare, but nothing major,” the ship’s doctor said, standing up from his patient. “Nothing a little exercise and weight-loss wouldn’t resolve. Your heart would be a lot happier if you were a few stone lighter, sir.”

  Arthur snorted derisively at such a comment. A light tap came at the cabin door. Clara answered it and a crewman entered c
arrying a tray of tea things. He kept his head down as he moved towards the table and started arranging everything. Simon Noble looked over. At that moment the crewman happened to raise his head and their eyes met.

  “You recognise the man over there, Mr Greene?” Clara asked.

  Mr Greene pursed his lips together, then he nodded uneasily. Simon Noble’s face drained of colour, even if his expression did not change. Clara might have been the only one who noticed it.

  Inspector Park-Coombs now started to pay attention. He glanced at Simon Noble, observed his pallor and then turned back to the old man placing tea things on the table. Clara placed a hand on Greene’s arm to attract his attention.

  “Mr Greene, might you tell Inspector Park-Coombs where you last happened to see Simon Noble?”

  “What is this?” Simon Noble barked before that could happen. “Who is this old fool you have brought in? Some sort of trick? Who would believe a word he says?”

  “He hasn’t spoke as of yet, Mr Noble,” Park-Coombs pointed out to Simon coldly. “From your reaction, I would guess that what he is about to say is quite incriminating.”

  Greene had not been able to hear Simon Noble’s words, but he had eyes in his head and had been able to see the man’s rage. He started to tremble. Clara kept her hand on his arm. It had taken a great deal of persuasion to get Greene up here. She had promised him that she would judge Simon Noble’s reaction before asking him to speak. For that reason, she had placed him in charge of the tea tray, so that he had a valid reason for coming into the room.

  Clara was afraid Mr Greene might lose his nerve now that he had seen Simon Noble’s face.

  “Mr Greene has been anxious about speaking up before,” Clara directed her attention to Park-Coombs and Captain O’Harris. “He fears it will be to his detriment if he speaks out, that there will be repercussions for him and his wife.”

  “I’ll say there will be repercussions!” Simon Noble snapped.

  Inspector Park-Coombs moved in front of him and faced Mr Greene.