19
Shortly after Mr. Babson concluded his tirade, I left the group in the smoking lounge to join Mr. Clemens and the Kiplings in our cabin, to share whatever we had managed to learn since our meeting the night before. Although Alan Mercer had attempted to make light of Babson’s obsession with convicting the man he believed to have caused his son’s death, none of the rest of the crowd seemed inclined to join him. With such a wet blanket thrown over their levity, I doubt most of them even noticed when I took my departure.
Mr. Clemens was already in the cabin, puffing on one of his corncob pipes while he paced the floor—or was it properly called the deck, here inside the cabin? He nodded absently at me as I entered and made a vague motion toward one of the seats. I sat down without speaking, pulling in my legs so as to take up as little as possible of my employer’s constricted pathway. There was no point in my breaking his concentration, since we would simply have to repeat anything of interest once Mr. and Mrs. Kipling arrived. So I sat and waited, trying to make sense of what I had learned in my investigations so far.
The opinion I had formed of Robert Babson was that he was spoiled, arrogant, and quite capable of gratuitous cruelty under the pretext of humor. The reports of my Yale friends and of Wilfred Smythe more or less supported my judgment. But young Babson’s usual companions painted a different picture. Had I known him only by their accounts, I should have thought him quite a capital fellow. And while it might be tempting to dismiss his friends as a frivolous bunch whose opinions were colored by camaraderie, I could see myself, in other circumstances, fitting comfortably into their circle. Except for the small matter of their parents’ paying their passage to Europe, they were not much different from me, or my classmates traveling in steerage.
A knock on the cabin door interrupted my train of thought. “That’ll be Kipling and his wife,” said Mr. Clemens, striding over and opening the door.
“Mr. Clemens, pardon the intrusion.” It was the officer we’d seen last night in the lounge, who’d come with the captain and Mr. Babson to take away the prince. Mr. Jennings, the master-at-arms, I remembered. “I’d like to speak to your secretary, Mr. Cabot. Is he here?”
“I’m here,” I said, standing and turning to face the door. “What can I do for you?” I now saw that Mr. Jennings was accompanied by Patrick Gallagher, the first mate, who’d been stalking my friends in steerage. I wondered if they’d finally been caught, and had claimed an invitation from me as their defense.
“We need to ask you a few questions,” said Mr. Jennings, stepping partway into the cabin. “Would you mind coming down to my office?”
I was about to answer when Mr. Clemens held up his hand as if to block the officer’s entry. “Cabot doesn’t mind answering your questions,” he said, giving me a look that I understood to mean that I should be on my guard. “But what’s wrong with right here? We were expecting visitors this very minute, and we might have some questions to ask you when they get here.”
Mr. Jennings took a step backward, evidently surprised at Mr. Clemens’s request. “To tell the truth, Mr. Clemens, we’re in the process of questioning possible witnesses to a serious crime that may have been committed aboard ship. I believe you know what I’m referring to.”
Mr. Clemens nodded and moved forward to block the door even more definitely. “Yes, I saw you take away Prinz Karl last night. Do you consider Cabot a witness? Or has someone accused him of killing that young fellow?”
“Neither one, to tell the truth,” said Jennings. He was about to continue, when Mr. Kipling arrived, alone.
“Hullo, Carrie asked me to give her regrets,” said Kipling. Then he looked at the two men in uniform. “I say, I didn’t expect such a large party. Should I come back another time?”
“Not at all,” said Mr. Clemens. “Why don’t you all come inside and have a seat—it’s plenty private here. We’ll get this straightened out in no time at all, and maybe everyone can learn something to his advantage, while we’re at it.” He stepped back, and made a sweeping gesture of invitation.
Mr. Jennings paused a moment, then nodded and said, “Very well. Come along, Gallagher.” He stepped into the room; Gallagher stood back to let Mr. Kipling enter, then came through the door himself, and stood to one side while Mr. Clemens closed it. Mr. Kipling and Mr. Jennings went to the couch, and (on Mr. Clemens’s signal) I planted myself in the adjacent armchair. Gallagher moved in behind the couch, standing with his legs apart and his hands clasped behind him, while my employer moved to the front of the little group, unobtrusively but unmistakably taking up the commanding position.
“Well, Mr. Jennings, you have some questions for Cabot,” said Mr. Clemens. “Why don’t you start off by asking him whatever you need to know, and then we’ll see what else the rest of us have to say.”
“Very well,” said the master-at-arms. “But I’ll request that you allow Mr. Cabot to answer without prompting, if you please. I don’t think Mr. Cabot has anything to conceal, but it would make things easier if I could be certain of that.”
“Of course, of course, ask away,” said Mr. Clemens, waving his hand nonchalantly. He picked up his corncob pipe from the ashtray where he’d set it down, and began poking at it with some sort of pipe tool he pulled out of his pocket. But I saw that his attention was focused on the two crew members, rather than on the pipe.
Mr. Jennings looked at Mr. Clemens a moment, then turned to me. “Mr. Cabot, you had a bit of a run-in with Robert Babson, the missing passenger, the day before he disappeared. Is that correct?”
Once I had realized that the two officers were here about Babson, rather than my Yale friends, I had been expecting this question. I nodded and said, “Yes, you could describe it as that. Mr. Gallagher was there, and I’m sure he can tell you what happened.”
“I’ve already talked to Gallagher, thank you,” said Mr. Jennings. “We’ve served together on City of Baltimore for a number of years, so I have a great deal of confidence in his reports. But could you please tell me in your own words what went on between you and Robert Babson that day?” He had taken a notebook out of his pocket, and held a pencil ready.
“It wasn’t much, really,” I said. “I accidentally bumped him in the smoking lounge, and spilled his drink. I tried to apologize, but he didn’t want to hear it. Then, after lunch, Mr. Gallagher apprehended me under the false impression that I was a steerage passenger trying to sneak into first-class. Babson came along just then, and told Mr. Gallagher that I had been annoying the first-class passengers for some time. Luckily for me, Prinz Karl happened to come by at just that time, and reminded me that I had a key to this room—so I could prove that I belonged here. Babson must have realized that his lie was refuted, because when we turned to look for him, he was nowhere to be seen.”
Mr. Jennings nodded. “Well, that jibes with what Gallagher has said, except for the parts he didn’t see. And one of the smoking lounge waiters told us about the earlier part.”
“There, you see?” said Mr. Clemens. “It’s all explained. No reason at all to suspect Cabot.”
“Apparently so,” said Mr. Jennings. “You understand, I have to verify all the possible suspects’ stories, and your run-in with Babson makes you a suspect, Mr. Cabot. I assume you can account for your whereabouts on the night Babson disappeared?”
“He was with me the whole evening, first at the concert and afterwards in the lounge,” said Mr. Clemens. “Here’s a question for you. Can Gallagher account for his whereabouts that night?”
“If you please, I’d like to hear what Mr. Cabot has to—” Jennings began, but he was interrupted by the mate.
“What the bloody hell is that about?” demanded Gallagher, with some vehemence. “Mr. Jennings knows I didn’t have a thing to do with it.”
“But I don’t know it,” said Mr. Clemens, still speaking to Jennings. “Babson made a monkey out of Gallagher with his lie about my secretary sneaking up here from steerage. Gallagher might be the kind of man who holds a gru
dge. If he was on deck that evening and saw Babson, he might have decided to give the boy a piece of his mind. Drunk as Babson was, he might have gotten his back up about it. Maybe he shoved Gallagher, and Gallagher shoved him back, and Babson lost his balance and went over the side.”
“That’s too damned many mights and maybes,” said Gallagher, turning red. “I bloody well didn’t do it, and that’s all.”
Mr. Jennings turned to face the mate. “Easy now, Gallagher, I see Mr. Clemens’s point,” he said, shaking his pencil in mild reproof of the man’s intemperate language in front of passengers. “He has every right to be suspicious of the crew, especially since he doesn’t know what I know.” He faced Mr. Clemens again. “We don’t leave anything to chance in a matter this serious, Mr. Clemens. I’ve already checked on Gallagher’s whereabouts that night. Two men have told me that he was in his bunk early, and stayed there the whole night. I’m satisfied that he had nothing to do with Babson’s death.”
“Good,” said Mr. Clemens. “I just wanted to make sure we were all on equal footing here. I reckon you’re a good officer, but you might have had a blind spot about your own men. It’s natural to get into the habit of taking your crew for granted—and I’ve learned just how bad a mistake that can be. Now I know you aren’t making that mistake. Did you have anything else you wanted to ask my secretary?”
Mr. Jennings looked at his pad, as if to see where he’d left off his questions. “Yes, just a few more points I’d like to verify. Mr. Cabot, you didn’t mention Prinz Karl’s response when he learned that Mr. Babson had run away. Did he say anything to that?”
“No,” I replied. “He seems to have disappeared almost at the same time. Mr. Clemens came up just then and asked what was going on, and when we looked for the prince, he’d gone away. It was rather an inconvenience, since we’d invited him here for a meeting.”
At this, Mr. Jennings looked up from his notebook. “Hmm—I don’t suppose you had any idea where he’d gone?”
I shrugged. “No, we thought he might have gone after Babson, but that’s just a guess, really.”
“Perhaps, but it’s the same guess I’d have made—unless he changed his mind about the meeting. Do you gentlemen mind telling me why you’d called the prince here for a private meeting?—I assume that’s why you had it in a cabin, instead of in the lounge, or on deck.”
Mr. Clemens answered. “Kipling and I had become suspicious of the prince’s origins—neither one of us had ever heard of the place he claimed to hail from. We were concerned that he might be some sort of swindler, but since we couldn’t be sure, we were going to give him the chance to explain himself. When he didn’t show for the meeting, we came and told you what we suspected. That was the last we spoke to him until just before he was arrested.”
“Yes, your report brought him to our attention,” said Mr. Jennings, rubbing his chin. “We did a little bit of research of our own, based on your information, and asked a few key people on the staff to tell us if they noticed anything curious about him, any sort of hint that he might be up to something. We got an earful every time he tangled with Babson, but other than that, there was nothing to single him out.”
Mr. Clemens thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. “I don’t suppose he’s told you anything since last night, has he?” he asked Jennings.
“Nothing except to insist that he’s innocent,” said the master-at-arms. “And to demand that we set him free, of course. If we can’t find anyone who saw him push the boy overboard, we’ll have to do just that.”
“I wonder if he’d talk to me,” said Mr. Clemens. He stared out the porthole for a moment, then turned and continued. “Prinz Karl had come to the smoker looking for me in particular, just before you showed up to haul him off to the brig. I think he had something to tell me, and he didn’t get the chance. Maybe it’s something that could help us get to the bottom of things.”
“Well, I’d certainly like to get to the bottom of things,” said Jennings. “If the prince was playing some sort of confidence game, it was too subtle for us to spot. It’s a complete enigma to me.”
“So why don’t you let me go talk to him?” said Mr. Clemens. “Maybe I can find out something that makes your job easier. Wentworth forgot to pack my arsenal and burglar kit, so I can promise you I’m not about to smuggle in a Gatling gun or hacksaw. Besides, even if I did help him escape, it wouldn’t do him much good in midocean.”
Jennings laughed. “We aren’t much worried about that,” he said. “We haven’t really locked him up—he’s in his own stateroom, with a guard outside the door. If it were up to me, I’d let you talk to him, but I have to get the captain’s approval before I can say yes or no. I’ve got a couple of other witnesses to interview before I see the captain—he’ll want a full report before he makes any decisions. What say I give you an answer before dinner?”
“Fair enough,” said Mr. Clemens. “We’re planning on asking a few people some questions, ourselves.”
Jennings looked at my employer with a curious expression. “Are you running your own investigation, Mr. Clemens? Frankly, I don’t see the need for it. We’ve got the matter well in hand, and I can assure you we’re not in the least inclined to prejudge the gentleman’s guilt or innocence. We’ll let the facts speak for themselves.”
Mr. Clemens pointed his pipe stem at Jennings. “Answer me this, then. If you’re not inclined to prejudge him, why the hell is there a guard outside his door?”
“Captain’s orders,” said the master-at-arms briskly.
“Is that so? And what reason did the captain give for putting a guard on him?”
“When the captain gives an order, it’s my business to carry it out, not to ask his reasons,” said Mr. Jennings. He had stiffened his posture, and I could see Gallagher scowling as he stood at attention behind him. “Nor do I consider it necessary to defend his orders to passengers.”
“Well, I can see why you don’t want to defend it,” said Mr. Clemens, raising his voice and pointing the pipe. “It’s a damn-fool order, and any man with a nickel’s worth of sense would be embarrassed to have to explain it. The prince can’t go anywhere, he isn’t likely to hurt anybody, and there’s no goddamned reason to lock him up like a common crook. I’ve got a good mind to go give the captain a cussing-out he won’t forget. Jesus H. Christ, this kind of idiocy makes me worry whether he’s smart enough to trust with running the ship. Why, if there was another boat I could switch to, I’d do it in less than a minute—and I wouldn’t care whether I got my feet wet doing it.”
Mr. Jennings said nothing, but his jaw was firmly clenched; Gallagher’s eyes were open wide. I could see that my employer had a full head of steam up, and I feared he was about to continue. But Mr. Kipling interrupted him with a raised hand. “Now, Clemens,” he said, “I know how you feel, but this is no time for tilting at windmills. I’m sure Mr. Jennings is as anxious as we are to see justice served, but he has to do things by the book. You know that—even on your Mississippi river-boats, there must have been a proper chain of command.”
Mr. Clemens brought himself under control—with a good bit of an effort, I thought. “You’re right, Kipling. I apologize, Mr. Jennings. I still think it’s a pointless order, and I’ll tell the captain as much when I see him. But I shouldn’t hold your feet to the fire for it. Just tell the captain that if he’ll let me speak to Prinz Karl, I think I can learn something useful. And I promise to pass along anything I learn from him that might clear things up.”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Clemens,” said Jennings, rising to his feet. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were cold and his posture was as stiff as ever. “I shall certainly expect you to pass along anything you learn from anyone else, as well—as Mr. Kipling says, my aim is to see justice served. That puts us on the same side, I should hope. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have more people to interview. Thank you for your help, Mr. Cabot.” He turned to me and nodded his head a fraction of an inch; then he and Gallagher left the cabin
.
Mr. Clemens closed the door behind the two men, then returned to take a seat facing me and Kipling. “Well, they may have locked the prince up, but at least they haven’t stopped looking for other possibilities,” he said. “Maybe they’ll turn up evidence to exonerate him, and save us the trouble.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Mr. Kipling. “Jennings’s intentions seem good enough, but he was much too willing to take your word that Cabot was with you that night—he didn’t follow up his questions at all, or try to catch you in a contradiction. If you two were hiding something, he’d never have twigged to it. I’ll wager he was no more diligent in checking Gallagher’s alibi. He may think he’s conducting a full and open-minded investigation, but unless an anomaly jumps out of the brush and bites him on the ankle, he’s going to march right past it.”
“Do you think he’s already made up his mind, or is he just lazy?” I asked.
“There ain’t much difference, is there?” said Mr. Clemens. “What worries me more is the possibility that he’s under orders not to ask embarrassing questions.”
“What, from the captain? I can’t believe it,” I said. While I’d had almost no contact with Captain Mortimer, he hardly seemed a man who would impede a murder investigation on his ship.
“Not impossible, though I wouldn’t think it likely,” said Mr. Kipling. “Clemens, you’ve seen more of the captain than I have. Does he strike you as corruptible?”
“Hell, I’ve never met the man you couldn’t corrupt if you knew what to offer him,” said my employer. He sucked on his pipe; belatedly realizing it had gone out, he snatched it out of his mouth and gave it an irritated look before continuing. “Captain Mortimer seems pretty honest, in the regular line of things. I reckon losing a passenger overboard hasn’t made him happy—not under these circumstances. There’ll be a board of inquiry when he gets to port, and he can’t be looking forward to that. It’s in his best interest to have everything wrapped up like a Christmas present—nice and tight and pretty, so nobody can tell him he should have done anything different.”
[Mark Twain Mysteries 03] - The Prince and the Prosecutor Page 20
