[Mark Twain Mysteries 03] - The Prince and the Prosecutor

by Peter J. Heck

  Mr. Kipling disagreed. “The attempt to kill Rubbia would seem to rule that out, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, that’s the one detail that alters the whole case,” said Mr. Clemens. He carried the ice-filled towel over to the washstand and wrung out the water that had begun to collect. “I think Rubbia had something on somebody—or at least, somebody thought he did. So Babson’s killing had to be more than an accident. Rubbia’s story may have been half true—but with the prince substituted for the real killer. I think he was protecting somebody from murder charges by accusing the prince. So the question is, Who stood to gain the most from Babson’s death—and whom could Rubbia most effectively blackmail?”

  “Those are good questions,” said Mr. Kipling. “But set them aside one moment—let’s think a little more about the timing of things tonight. Rubbia came to Ruckgarten’s stateroom and accused him of murder—not entirely convincingly, I think. But Ruckgarten didn’t really refute him, either. Then, shortly after, Rubbia goes out on deck where someone meets him and tries to beat the life out of him. When did he make the appointment, and with whom? Or was it a chance meeting?”

  “Or perhaps the killer followed him,” I suggested. “Suppose Rubbia made a habit of walking on deck every night. Then all we need to postulate is someone familiar with his habits who lay in wait for him.”

  “No,” said Mr. Clemens. “Rubbia said that he walked on the deck the night he saw Babson killed because he had insomnia. Remember his drivel about the stormy passions of the soul? He was lucky I didn’t come out of the bedroom and whack him on the head myself. So I think Kipling’s right—it wasn’t just something Rubbia did regularly. He was out there tonight to meet somebody. The same man who attacked me, unless I miss my guess.”

  “Whom neither of you saw close enough to identify,” said Mr. Kipling. He leaned back against the bulkhead, just to the right of the porthole, his hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. “A pity, really. If you had caught him—or even just recognized him, it would solve the whole affair without any further trouble.”

  “Yes, what a shame it isn’t that easy,” said Mr. Clemens. “I think the person he met must have been somebody who was in that room.” He slapped his hand on the arm of his chair. “Who else could have known what he’d been saying, and been in a position to arrange a meeting on such short notice?”

  “By Allah, you may be right,” said Mr. Kipling, his eyes lighting up.

  “But that doesn’t solve the whole puzzle,” said my employer. “I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles the fellow who jumped me wasn’t old man Babson, or Jennings, or even the first mate. Who the hell else was there?”

  “There had to be at least one more person,” I said. “Probably a crewman. Remember when Rubbia lost his temper at the end, Mr. Jennings said something like Get him out of here, men? He wouldn’t have been giving Mr. Babson orders. So there was somebody else we didn’t hear. I’m almost certain of it.”

  “Could it have been the fellow guarding the door?” suggested Mr. Kipling. “They might have brought him in with them, since there was no real need to keep an eye on the door with Jennings and Gallagher inside.”

  “I suppose so,” I said. “But that wasn’t the man who attacked us on deck. Watts is close to my height, and the fellow we saw was much shorter.”

  “Wentworth is right,” said Mr. Clemens, rubbing his bruised arm. “The bastard who came after me was strong as a bull, but he was no taller than five eight or nine. So who does that leave?”

  “Suppose somebody in the room was in league with the killer?” I suggested. “He might have gone straight to him with word of what went on, and then the killer might have gone to find Rubbia.”

  “That’s too tricky,” said Mr. Kipling, shaking his head. “It assumes the fellow could find the killer right away, and then that the killer knew where to find Rubbia—and just who is this mysterious fellow who pops up out of nowhere to kill Babson and attack Rubbia?”

  “There’s our question, isn’t it?” said Mr. Clemens. “I have an idea. Wentworth, if you aren’t too worn out yet, I’d like you to go back down to the corridor outside the prince’s room and see if Herbert Watts is still on duty. I’d guess he gets off sometime around midnight. If so, I want you to ask him to come visit us here. If there’s anybody who can tell us who all was in that room, I guess it’s him.”

  I rose to my feet, somewhat more slowly than usual. Perhaps my ankle wasn’t sprained, after all, but it still hurt like the devil. “Very well, I’m on my way,” I said. “And while I’m gone, I suggest you send out for more ice. I think I’m going to need it.” I went out the door and limped down the passageway, on one more errand for Mr. Clemens. I hoped he wasn’t just fishing in an empty pond this time.

  27

  Herbert Watts looked uncomfortable standing in Mr. Clemens’s cabin, but he had declined my employer’s offer of a seat and a drink. “I best not stay up in the first class too long, sir,” he said. “We’re not supposed to be up ’ere except we’re on duty ’ere, so I ’ave to be back in the forecastle ’fore Gallagher misses me. And I don’t use strong drink no more. Strong drink is ragin’, the Bible says, and I believe it’s true. I saw what it done to that poor boy who went missin’.”

  “Well, I could still give you a glass of soda water. But I won’t need to keep you long,” said Mr. Clemens, looking up at the tall seaman from his reclining position on the couch. “I just have a couple of quick questions for you. No reason you can’t be back in your bunk in ten minutes.”

  “I’ll answer you best I can, sir,” said Watts. He still clutched his copy of A Christian’s Duty, Dr. Smythe’s book. I was mildly puzzled that a man who seemed pious and upright in so many ways had been so quick to accept a bribe to let us interview the prince—but men had made stranger moral compromises. And I realized that piety and honesty were not necessarily the same.

  “When Mr. Jennings came to the prince’s cabin, we ducked into the bedroom and hid,” said my employer. “So we didn’t see everybody who was there, and we didn’t realize until later that we might need to know. We heard Mr. Babson, and Rubbia, the Italian fellow. But who else was there?”

  “Them’s the only passengers, sir,” said Watts. “There was two crew there besides Mr. Jennings: First Mate Gallagher, and Andy Jones, who bunks next to me. That’s all—I was outside the whole time, and nobody else came in or out. I would’ve seen ’em if they did, sir.”

  “Did anybody else enter or leave the room besides my group and Mr. Jennings’s group—either before we got there or after we left?”

  “No, sir,” said Watts, “not durin’ my watch, they didn’t. Hit was dead quiet, except for you gentlemen and the party Mr. Jennings brought.”

  “What about the fellow who brings Ruckgarten’s dinner?” asked Mr. Kipling. He leaned forward eagerly. “Surely he ate a meal this evening. But the plates had been cleared before we came.”

  “Aye, and before I came on duty, too,” said Watts, spreading his hands and shrugging. “Hit would be one of the stewards, but I don’t rightly know which one ’as charge of that section of the cabins. Mr. ’Arwell, maybe, or Mr. Garner—but that’s just guessin’, ’cos I never laid eyes on ’im.”

  “That shouldn’t be hard to find out, if we need to know it,” said Mr. Clemens. “One last question—think carefully about this, it might be important. When Jennings and his party came out, did they all leave together, or did they split up?”

  Watts rubbed his chin, thinking, then said, “Gallagher stayed a few minutes to talk with me—tellin’ me what ’ad ’appened while ’e was inside—and the others all went off.”

  “Well, we’re lucky he didn’t stay too long,” said Mr. Clemens. “We might have walked out right into his arms, and then there’d have been hell to pay.”

  “Aye, I reckon so,” said Watts, with a bit of a wry smile. “I was worryin’ when you’d come out the ’ole time ’e was talkin’—I couldn’t ’ardly pay attention to ’im for fear you
gentlemen ’ud pop out the door, but I didn’t want to ask ’im to repeat it all, either. It ’ad me sweatin’, it did.” The sailor shook his head as he remembered the close call, though I got the impression that he had actually enjoyed the sense of excitement.

  “I can believe it,” said Mr. Clemens. “Well, I guess that’s all I need to know, Herbert, unless either of my friends here have questions for you.”

  Mr. Kipling shook his head, but I raised my hand. “I have a question,” I said. Mr. Clemens nodded, and I thought for a second how to phrase what I wanted to ask. “You seem to me to be an honest man, Herbert. I see you’ve been reading Dr. Smythe’s book, and I get the feeling you’re sincerely religious.”

  Watts glanced at the tract in his hand, as if he’d almost forgotten it was there, then nodded his head in agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Wentworth. I ’aven’t always been the best of Christians, but I try to lead a good life, these days. My mama was a churchgoin’ woman, and she tried to bring up me and my little sisters the right way. I slid back some when I went to sea, but I ’opes to do better, God willin’.” I could see that the sailor was pleased by my compliment.

  “Now, I don’t want you to take my question the wrong way,” I said. “But I can’t help wondering why a man with your beliefs was willing to let us talk to Prinz Karl? Didn’t that conflict with your orders?”

  Watts’s mouth fell open, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he looked at the floor and said, “Well, sir, I guess I thought the poor bloke ’adn’t got a fair show. My mate Andy told me ’ow Mr. Jennings and the lawyer, Mr. Babson, and that Italian gentleman all was sayin’ ’e killed that poor boy, and there wasn’t nobody tryin’ to ’elp ’im prove ’e didn’t. I thought maybe you gentlemen would give ’im a chance to get ’is neck out of the noose. That’s all—I just wanted ’im to ’ave the chance to tell ’is side of the story to somebody what’ll listen to it.”

  His gaze remained fixed on the floor during this entire speech, but when he concluded, he looked around the cabin, as if seeking understanding. It was an awkward moment, and I found myself at a loss for anything further to ask. Then Mr. Clemens clapped his hand on the sailor’s shoulder and said, “Very good of you, Herbert. We mean to help the prince, if we can. I don’t know if we’ll need your help again, but I’m glad to know you have the same interest we do in helping him prove his innocence. Now, I know it’s late, and tomorrow’s a working day for all of us, so go grab some sleep. Thanks again for all your help.”

  “It’s my pleasure, sir,” said Watts, smiling. He gave a little salute and took his leave of us.

  When the door had closed behind him, Mr. Clemens looked at me and said, “That was a very interesting question you asked, Wentworth. What did you think of the answer?”

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” I said. “I don’t know what he knows about Prinz Karl, or what his notions of justice are, but I’d be curious to know exactly why he thinks the prince needs help to get his neck out of the noose. You’d think he’d be the last to question what seems an open-and-shut case—that is, Signor Rubbia’s eyewitness testimony.”

  “Yes, you’d almost think he knew something to the contrary of what Babson and Rubbia are promoting,” said Mr. Clemens. “He’s not a complete innocent like some I’ve known, but I guess he believes wholeheartedly in what he believes. Well, unless either of you has a notion how to proceed from here, I say we get a good night’s sleep and find out what we think in the morning. Anyone opposed?”

  There were no dissenting voices heard, and so we all went to our beds, and to a well-earned repose. I had no doubt that I would sleep well, and my judgment was vindicated almost as soon as my head touched the pillow.

  The next morning was calm and sunny, and there was a feeling of excitement in the air. Even before breakfast, there were passengers on deck, laughing and greeting one another while the crew busied themselves about their morning chores. There was a betting pool being organized on when we would first sight land, although short of the ship’s sprouting wings and flying, that event would not come until the day after tomorrow. The storm in which Robert Babson had disappeared was almost forgotten—though the disappearance and alleged murder were not.

  I had just stood up from the breakfast table and was making my way down the corridor to our cabin when a whispered “Cabot!” caught my ear. I turned to look who had called me, and saw the DeWitt brothers, Tom and Johnny, lurking in a doorway.

  “Hello, boys,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

  Johnny stuck his neck out a bit, looking carefully in both directions. “I think that first mate is after us again—I spotted him just as we came up on this deck, but I think we’ve lost him for now. We have news for you and your boss, though—Is there someplace we can talk without being rousted out?” He snatched his head back into the doorway as someone rounded the corner, but it was only one of the maids with a fresh load of towels. He gave a little nervous laugh.

  I put my hand on his elbow and said, “I think we can get to my stateroom without being spotted—breakfast’s just over, so everybody’s moving up and down the corridors. Follow me,” I said, and led them to the cabin.

  I had just gotten them seated on the couch when Mr. Clemens came in. “Aha,” he said. “I hope these fellows aren’t just here for conversation. Not that I mind your conversation, boys. But there’s a killer aboard the ship, and we haven’t the foggiest notion how to find him. I hope you’ve learned something that can help us.”

  Johnny said, “Well, I don’t know how much help it’ll be, but we have learned something. In fact, Tom knew it all along. Tell ’em what you saw the other night.”

  “Well, it was the night of the big storm,” said Tom, sitting up straight on the couch. “I had been seasick for two days, and I was pretty miserable. I could barely stay in my bunk with all the heaving and rolling of the ship— it felt as if every wave was picking me up ten feet and dropping me back down with a crash.”

  “I can imagine,” said Mr. Clemens, seating himself in the chair opposite Tom. “In the old days, when the ships were smaller, every voyage was like that.”

  “Yes, well, right after six bells—I guess that’s eleven o’clock, shore time—I decided to see if fresh air would help me any, so I put on my hat and coat and went out on deck. The other fellows in our dorm were sleeping like logs, and I was almost the only one stirring. It was miserable out, so I wasn’t surprised, but the air seemed to do me some good, and so I walked under a stairway, where there was a little shelter from the rain. I stood there for a few minutes, just looking at the storm. It was sort of relaxing to watch, though I knew I would probably feel better once it had stopped.

  “I had been there a short while, when I heard the door open and two men came out on deck. One was that German fellow, the prince, dressed up as if he was going to a ball, with a cape and everything. They looked around as if to make sure they were alone, so I didn’t move—I was sort of hidden from them. They moved over near me—trying to get out of the rain, the same as I was. I thought for a moment they’d spotted me, but then they stopped and began talking.”

  “I’ll be damned!” said Mr. Clemens, leaning forward and rubbing his hands together. “This may be a real stroke of luck! Could you hear them? Do you remember what they talked about?”

  “I didn’t understand a single word they said,” said Tom, shrugging. “It was all in some foreign language—German, from the sound of it.”

  Mr. Clemens slumped back in his seat. “Well, it figures. Did you at least see who the prince was with?”

  “Yes, that much I can tell you,” said Tom. “He was one of the passengers who’d been traveling down below with us—some sort of commercial traveler from out West. I remember him talking about beer and grain with two of the other men.”

  “And are you sure the fellow in the cape was the prince?” said Mr. Clemens.

  Tom nodded vigorously. “Yes, I’d recognize him anywhere—a stout fellow with a little beard. I’
d seen him when I was sneaking around up on the top decks. I wondered what he was doing down in steerage, but then I realized he’d probably gone there to talk to the other man. It was obviously some sort of important business, because the fellow from steerage kept jabbering at him as if he was trying to sell him something, and the prince kept shaking his head and saying Nine, nine, as if that were the price or something.”

  “Aha, they were speaking German, then,” said Mr. Clemens. “That’s the German for No. This may clinch the prince’s alibi—at least for that particular time. Would you recognize the other man if you saw him again?”

  “I guess so” said Tom confidently. “It was pretty dark, and I wasn’t making any real effort to see them—I felt sort of foolish, hiding like that, and I thought I’d wait until they left to come back out. I didn’t think they’d stay out in the rain very long, and I was right. They went inside after ten or fifteen minutes—I didn’t have a watch, so I can’t swear how long it was.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t understand German,” I said. “It would be useful to know what they were talking about. It might have been anything—for all we know, the prince was trying to hire the fellow to kill somebody for him.”

  Tom seemed dubious. “Well, if anybody was trying to hire someone, it was the fellow from steerage. He did most of the talking—all the prince did was shake his head and keep saying Nein. And I don’t think they struck any kind of bargain—they didn’t shake hands or anything.”