The Pleasure Cruise Mystery

by Robin Forsythe

  “I saw the Colvins on deck this afternoon. His wife’s a good-looker, but I wasn’t too favourably impressed by him,” remarked Vereker.

  “In my opinion, he’s not a bad sort on the whole, Algernon. Suffers from a common form of throat trouble; the only remedy is alcohol. I’d be a martyr to it myself, but my pocket keeps it fairly well in check. See anything of Mrs. Mesado?”

  “She had just finished dressing for dinner when I passed her cabin. She has her maid with her.”

  “I know. I met the maid in the fairway just now. She’s a pirate’s prize. Has wet lips and swings her hips imperially. Her eyes are a misfit; they’re distrustful and tell you that man alone is vile. I stepped aside like a courtier to let her pass and smiled appreciatively. I was declined without thanks and crept into your shelter feeling thoroughly unbuttoned. Still, I’m not defeated. I must live romantically, and it’s either Mrs. Mesado’s maid or the dark lady from Buenos Aires. I shall have to toss up and decide some time tonight. The dark lady is an heiress to untold wealth, and I’m afraid it gives her a cynical bias against disinterested flirtation. She thinks every admirer is making a knight’s move on her fortune, while the maid fears you are making a frontal attack on her virtue.”

  “Come along, Ricky, I’m ready.”

  “About time too. I’m feeling in the mood for a Trimalchian feast.”

  The orchestra were playing the first few bars of Lincke’s waltz, “Venus on Earth”; the dining saloon was swiftly filling up with a vivacious and well-dressed throng of passengers; the air was humming with the noise of their movement and talk, the clatter of crockery, the clink of silver; every now and then the joyous pop of a wine cork came to the surface of this murmurous tide of sound; waiters hurried to and fro or bent attentively to take their orders; the wine steward, wearing his chain and key of office, moved with the dignity of a mayor; the maitre d’hôtel sauntered about, keeping deftly clear of his staff, a prandial commander-in-chief, his dark eye taking in every detail of his well planned campaign. Ricardo was critically studying the menu. Vereker was gazing interestedly at the little groups of people that moved together to their tables and then suddenly sank out of his sight into their seats.

  “Yes, consommé printanier royale sounds a good foundation, and then suprême de barbue à l’anglaise to follow,” said Manuel with gusto to himself. Turning to Vereker he exclaimed, “By Jove, Algernon, eating’s a great game played in moderation. I wish you’d attend to business instead of gazing yearningly at the beautiful feminine back at the next table. Your chit for a bottle of wine wouldn’t be out of order.”

  “Being lazy and ignorant, I’ll leave you to conduct the meal, Ricky. I’ll follow your lead. What on earth are paupiettes of Dover Sole?”

  “God alone knows, but don’t ask Him. They’ll be Dover sole anyhow, and that’s good enough to take a running jump at. Ah, there’s Miss Penteado just come in. That claret-coloured gown shows off her dark beauty to perfection. What art—only one large ruby ring!”

  Vereker glanced towards the entrance to the dining saloon and saw Miss Penteado, accompanied by her mother and the gentleman with the conspicuous diamond ring, moving leisurely to her table. A moment later a figure in pale blue georgette followed.

  “There’s Mrs. Mesado, Algernon!” exclaimed Ricardo in an eager whisper. “Beautiful but marmoreal. Still, with a breath of romance she might come to life. I prescribe Heidsieck when you’ve got past the prologue and first chapters with her. She’s positively lit up with diamonds; her necklace would keep me in luxury for the rest of my life. She has joined the Colvins. Damn this table; we’re a million light years away from them. If she’s not a widow she ought to be for the duration of the cruise. It’s not fair for such a lovely creature to entrench herself behind her marriage lines.”

  “What are you choosing to follow the fish?” asked Vereker, not deeply interested in the doings of Mrs. Mesado and her companions.

  “Chapon de France rôti, my lad, and then crêpes au citron, devilled sardines on toast, coffee and an orange curaçao with a nip of old brandy. I reckon that’s fairly sound architecture.”

  “Order the same for me, Ricky. And what on earth are you going to do with yourself after dinner? I’m bored with this cruise already; there’s absolutely nothing to do!”

  “Nothing to do? Why, there’s conversation in the lounge; there’s a card room; you can pirouette on the light fantastic in the ballroom; you can lose money at the diddler machines, if you enjoy losing money. If you’re merely out for a restful time, I can give you a packet of chewing gum and you can sit in your cabin and read Professor Dorsey’s Why We Behave Like Human Beings. It’s science with a pizzicato touch and goes down well with chewing gum. I’ll lend it to you if you’ll promise to be good and not cry any more.”

  “I suppose you’ll be found in the ballroom if wanted?”

  “Certainly, if Miss Penteado dances. I’d like to hold the floor with her and dance a Tango Ranchera. It’s the nearest thing in human life to a dance of the butterflies. Most significant, Algernon, most significant! You’d enjoy the symbolism. You needn’t want me unless you’re prepared to stand iced fizz. Friendships are tested by time, and as you know time’s money!”

  “Very good. After dinner you can lend me your Dorsey, and I’ll try and digest him over a cigar.”

  “Algernon, you’re ossifying. You’re losing your capacity for enjoyment. You’re beginning to live in a straight line instead of rhythmically. A book and a cigar! You prefer them to the enchantment of music, the swing of a waltz and the perfume of a woman. I must dig you out of this spiritual tomb, strip you of the cerements of asceticism and lead you back naked and unashamed into the noisy market place of life. It was one of the reasons why I persuaded you to come on this bally cruise.”

  “I’m beginning to regret…”

  “Don’t interrupt me. You can go and incubate in your cabin tonight, but after tonight I’m going to pull you by the nose into the charming social life of the ‘Mars.’ Tomorrow you’ll emerge an imago—Algernon the mayfly! I should take a couple of liver pills on retiring; they’re an excellent beginning for a spiritual catharsis!”

  After dinner both Vereker and Ricardo chatted for some time over their coffee and liqueurs in the lounge, and then the latter wandered off to the ballroom, having first lent his friend the book he had promised. Vereker lit a cigar and withdrew to his cabin, where he could read with complete absorption. He was immersed in the opening chapters of Dorsey’s book when he heard voices in Mrs. Mesado’s cabin. There were two voices; a man’s and a woman’s. First there would be a passage spoken in a deep undertone, and then would follow the higher and more penetrating feminine notes. For some time he continued to read, keeping his mind free from their interrupting influence, but all the while they beat an insistent tattoo on the outer doors of his consciousness. Gradually his concentration on his book weakened and transferred its awareness to the conversation proceeding beyond the dividing wooden wall of his cabin. He dropped the extinct butt of his cigar into an ash tray, lit another, closed his book and threw it on to his bed. As he lounged in his easy chair, his hands clasped behind his head, his eye lazily following the wreaths of smoke from his cigar, his extremely acute hearing began to pick up the more loudly spoken words of the speakers beyond.

  “You’ll have to do the job as soon as possible, Dick. I can’t stand this any longer,” came a clearly spoken sentence from the woman.

  “All damned fine talking! How the hell… be reasonable, Beryl… risks… consider the awful risks…”

  “You’ve got to take them… your suggestion…”

  “Don’t talk so loud…”

  The agitated voices sank until they were inaudible once more. Vereker, who had listened to the conversation with only casual interest, was now roused to inquisitive alertness. Dick and Beryl! Dick was undoubtedly the Mr. R. Colvin of the passenger list which had been handed out that evening to all the diners at their tables. Vereker drew
the list from the pocket of his dinner jacket and glanced through the names again. Mrs. G. Mesado and maid. Was Beryl Mrs. Mesado or Mrs. R. Colvin? he wondered, and then came to the conclusion that the matter was irrelevant. At least it didn’t concern him. Strange how intriguing an overheard conversation could be! It set one thinking; the mind seized on a few broken sentences and began to weave them busily into a glowing pattern—an idle if amusing pastime.

  “You’ll have to do the job as soon as possible. I can’t stand this any longer.”

  Here was the foundation for some grim imaginative edifice. Interested in crime and the detection of crime, Vereker seized on the very word “job” as significant; it was the generic term that criminals applied to any of their sinister acts from common larceny to a gigantic fraud, from blackmail to murder. The male reply had been defensive; it had thrown up obstacles to an immediate accomplishment of the mysterious job; it had asked the speaker to consider the “risks.” Risks! Did the word “risks” prove conclusively that the job was one which might bring in its wake the consequences which follow detection of an infringement of the law? It was a reasonable inference. No danger, no risks. The injunction, “Don’t talk so loud,” was an admission that their conversation if overheard might prove disastrous. It all looked very suspicious when viewed from a certain angle. Here were a gathering of people, bent on a pleasure cruise which was only possible to those blessed with a certain amount of leisure and means. These wealthy holiday-makers carried money and valuables. They were of the type that were notoriously careless, and many of them from their very circumstances of birth and affluence, circumstances which had shielded them from contact with their predatory fellows, unbelievably credulous and trustful. There would be human sharks among this company, ready to prey on the unwary; for them it was not a pleasure cruise to lands of sunshine, mystery and romance; it was a business undertaking which might yield a profit on their investment and the risks incurred. And yet this overheard conversation might have an altogether innocent interpretation. The conclusions one arrived at were entirely coloured by one’s mood. For some minutes Vereker’s thoughts wandered into the obscure and complex subject of human emotion. It was emotion which magically formed one’s settled convictions rather than reason. It entirely depended on one’s emotional mood whether a statement was a terminological inexactitude or a damned lie. Words were the mysterious criteria framed by feeling which made things culpable or venial, right or wrong.

  “I detest this man Dias… he’s a crook…” came again the woman’s voice in raised tones.

  “Old Miguel’s all right... prejudice...”

  “You simply sponge on him for drinks!”

  “Shut up, Beryl…”

  Again the voices subsided and a smile crossed Vereker’s face. The lady evidently disliked Mr. Miguel Dias. It bore out Ricardo’s first impression of that gentleman. Ricky had called him “an untidy bit of sculpture,” and Manuel was gifted with a very shrewd insight into human nature, an insight which was almost as instantaneously intuitive as that of a child or a dog.

  A period of silence followed, and then the woman’s voice was raised in a distinct note of alarm.

  “Dick, Dick, Maureen’s necklace has gone!”

  “Necklace? What necklace?”

  “The one Guillermo gave her—the one that caused all the trouble.”

  “But you don’t mean to tell me she had it on?”

  “Of course she had. I wouldn’t touch the accursed thing. I felt it was obscene!”

  “Impossible! You must be dreaming, Beryl!”

  “I know... I know...”

  “All rot… distracted… no one has access…”

  “For heaven’s sake speak quietly! You’ll be overheard.”

  The voices died out, and at this juncture a knock sounded on Vereker’s cabin door and next moment Ricardo walked in.

  “Hello, Ricky; enjoyed yourself?”

  “Famously. I’ve already made a wide circle of admirers.”

  “Dance with Miss Penteado?”

  “Several times. She’s an incarnation of Terpsichore. I also sat out in the deck garden with her, and she became quite confidential. I’m joining her tomorrow at the bathing pool or ship’s Lido. We shall admire one another’s figures shamelessly.”

  “Was Mrs. Mesado dancing too?”

  “No. She and Colvin disappeared together after dinner, and I haven’t seen them since. Mrs. Colvin, her sister, was there. I had the pleasure of one dance with her. It was unimpassioned perambulation to be truthful. Her name is Constance and bears out my first impression of her. A name’s a terrible thing; the subconscious mind moulds one’s whole character to fit it. Arnold Bennett was doubtless scared to death of Enoch, and Oscar Wilde must have trembled at the O’Flaherty.”

  “So her name is Constance, and her sister’s is Beryl!”

  “Algernon, you’ve been at your old game of sleuthing. By what cunning ruse did you discover it? I knew Mrs. Mesado would put a lighted match to you.”

  “I happened to hear Colvin call her Beryl.”

  “Amazingly clever! I wish I had your powers of deduction.”

  “Was the man Dias in the ballroom?”

  “Oh, yes, old Koh-i-noor was tripping it with Latin energy. I managed to ditch him beautifully, as the Americans say, whenever he wanted to dance with Rosaura—that’s Miss Penteado. She told me frankly that Miguel Dias had a crush on her but that she had no intention of crumpling up under the pressure.”

  “You seem to have entered rapidly into the charming social life of the ‘Mars,’ Ricky.”

  “Taken a header, my boy. I never stand on the brink of flirtation and shiver at the possibilities of marriage. In and out again and a rub down with the rough towel of indigence is my philosophy—pace Veneris.”

  “Dias seems to be an old friend of the family?”

  “Merely an acquaintance of Mrs. Mesado’s husband, Guillermo Mesado. The latter’s an Argentine millionaire according to Rosaura. Mrs. Mesado and Mrs. Colvin are English.”

  “How did Mesado make his pile?”

  “Argentine meat trade. I didn’t ask too many questions. Must leave some topics of conversation for the remainder of the trip. Even I can’t make love at the Herculean pitch.”

  “What does your Rosaura think of Colvin?”

  “Didn’t say much about him, which may mean she thinks a lot or nothing at all. Possibly doesn’t know him very well. I should say he was a feckless idiot, and the gods always bless feckless idiots with millionaire brothers-in-law. From what I can gather he’s Mesado’s mentor when he’s living in England. Mesado has bought a beautiful country place called Firle House at Jevington in Sussex, and likes to do everything in our fashion. Plus anglais que les anglais. Colvin advises him on the outdoor side of how to be a Britisher. He has taught him to sing ‘Rule Britannia,’ which shows he has a sense of humour.”

  “You say the Penteados are wealthy too?”

  “Filthily. Meat packing business. Rosaura’s the only daughter and will come into the doubloons when the packers cease from packing and the weary are at rest.”

  “I suppose your flirtation will have an ulterior motive, Ricky?”

  “God forbid, Algernon! I belong to the noble army of artists in prose fiction. With us money’s a secondary consideration. The primary condition is how to get it and spend it recklessly. But I’m tired and feel like a reviver. You haven’t a bottle of Scotch hidden anywhere?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Poltroon! Have a Haig and Haig ready tomorrow night. I’m accustomed to a nightcap. I saw Colvin at the bar and think I’ll join him and gather some more gossip. I feel I’ve interested you in some of your fellow passengers of culture and refinement. Good night!”

  On Ricardo’s departure Vereker once more picked up his book and continued to read, but soon felt an overwhelming desire to sleep. Drawing the curtains of the windows, for there were square glass lights instead of portholes on D deck, he undressed a
nd got into bed. The wind had freshened and the “Mars” had acquired a slow heel and toe motion that Vereker found decidedly pleasant. For some time he lay awake and then fell off into a light doze. He was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the promenade deck without and wondered what time it might be. He was about to switch on the electric light and look at his watch when he heard the ship’s bell. It was two bells of the middle watch. He remembered that that was one o’clock in the morning and became inquisitive as to the identity of the late promenaders. As the footsteps became audible again he glanced through a chink in the curtain and saw a man and woman pass. They were well wrapped and muffed, so that it was impossible to see their faces clearly, but as their receding figures became silhouettes against one of the deck lights he distinguished them as belonging to Mrs. Mesado and Colvin. He lay back once more in his bed and tried to sleep. At regular intervals he heard the passing footsteps of the two patrollers as they made their circuit of the promenade. Remembering their conversation which he had overheard in the adjacent cabin some time previously, he wondered what might be the object of this strange nocturnal meeting. He had a curious persuasion that it was not altogether innocent, and at the back of his mind there lurked the suspicion that it had some connection with the “job” which Dick had been enjoined to do as soon as possible. He recalled the various items of information he had gathered from Ricardo’s gossip, and gave himself up to lazy conjecture about these strangers who had thus merged into the area of his observation. Before the end of the voyage they might be his enemies or friends or merely those polite acquaintances who are mere puppets on the stage of life, that are seen awhile and pass away, leaving nothing but an impersonal memory. Lost in idle dreaming, he heard once more their steady pacing as they passed outside his cabin and then in the ensuing silence he heard three bells. It was half-past one; the half hour had seemed hours. Gradually his thoughts became more diffuse and detached from reality and he fell into a sound slumber.