The Pleasure Cruise Mystery

by Robin Forsythe

  Vereker raised a deprecatory hand. “We won’t discuss that side of the question. I ask nothing for my work. If I can recover the necklace I’ll be delighted. I’m not a ‘pro.’ at the detective game. Must try and keep up my amateur status so to speak.”

  “Very well, we’ll leave it at that,” said Colvin and hesitatingly extended a hand.

  Vereker shook it with more graciousness than warmth. He was particularly anxious not to be too friendly with Colvin at this juncture of his investigation, and yet he felt he must rouse no inkling of his purpose to probe deeper into the mystery surrounding Mrs. Mesado’s death. In his own mind he was still uncertain in what relation Colvin stood to his sister-in-law’s sudden death. That he was concealing something was to Vereker a fairly safe assumption, but such concealment, he felt, might in the light of further discoveries have either an indirect or no connection at all with such a serious thing as murder. In his statements Colvin had lied, but falsehoods are often uttered by men who, by ordinary criteria, would never be classed as criminals. He felt that he must keep an open mind. On reflection he decided that he must not be prejudiced against Colvin. Whatever weaknesses of character the man might display could not wholly efface a certain natural likableness, a kindly, easy-going disposition. Feeling that there was no reason for prolonging the interview he moved towards his cabin door and opened it.

  “Now for breakfast,” he said, and then by one of those flashes of inspiration for which there is no accounting he suddenly turned to Colvin and asked: “By the way, it would be just as well if you gave me a description of the missing necklace to work on.”

  “By Jove, yes,” replied Colvin. “I’d forgotten you hadn’t seen it closely. It’s a rope of specimen diamonds, cinnamon and white, strung together alternately. There’s a circular ornament of diamonds, blue, white, black, yellow—a unique collection, beautifully mixed—forming a pendant. The clasp is a small platinum lizard set with finest emeralds and rubies. There’s not another necklace like it on this ship, anyway.”

  “From your description I’d have no difficulty in spotting it at once,” said Vereker, and as Colvin stepped out into the alleyway he added, “Our slogan must be secrecy first. Leave everything to me, and I’ll keep you posted with all important news.”

  “Mum’s the word,” agreed Colvin, placing a dramatic finger to his lips as he stood for a moment facing Vereker before he turned and hurried back to his own cabin.

  “Well, I’m damned!” exclaimed Vereker to himself as soon as Colvin had disappeared. “This is mildly surprising to say the least of it!” He stood for some moments fingering the stones of the necklace with the emerald pendant and emerald butterfly clasp which he was carrying in his left-hand trousers-pocket before descending to the dining saloon on deck A for breakfast.

  Chapter Six

  I

  When Vereker seated himself at the breakfast table neither the captain nor Doctor Macpherson was present. The chief engineer, a rubicund Scot with light shaggy eyebrows and a genial, hearty manner, took the captain’s place and was inclined to be talkative. His conversation, however, turned on the subject of the belt of fog which the “Mars” had run into the previous night, a topic in which Vereker, occupied with the mystery of Mrs. Mesado’s death, was not deeply interested.

  “I’d rather have a sixty mile an hour gale than a fog,” remarked the chief engineer.

  “Give me the fog,” replied Vereker with a smile. “I’m not a good sailor and a gale fairly lays me out.”

  “Landsmen don’t realise the danger of collisions in a fog. Did you hear that vessel pass us shortly after two o’clock this morning? She must have been less than a hundred yards off. She was travelling much too fast. Possibly a cargo boat making up for lost time reckless of consequences.”

  “What could her skipper be thinking of?” asked Vereker to show he was listening to the engineer’s conversation.

  “Not always the skipper’s fault. He has to answer to his company’s directors for monetary loss. Delay would probably have been expensive. The truth seldom leaks out if there’s a smash up. A master’s lot is not an easy one.”

  “I wonder where she was making for,” said Vereker, pouring milk over his porridge.

  “God knows. Probably some French or Portuguese vessel heading for Lisbon.”

  At this point Ricardo appeared and sustained the conversation with the chief engineer until, having finished his breakfast, the officer departed.

  “Well, mon brave, any further discoveries?” asked Manuel eagerly as soon as they were alone.

  “An amazing one, Ricky. I ran into Colvin after leaving you this morning, and we had a confidential pow-wow. He’s a slick sort of gent, as I told you, and I’ve decided on the ‘helpful friend’ approach as the best one to mask my real intentions.”

  “Unscrupulous hound! If you want to beat your man, take my tip and let the helpful friend stand unlimited drinks. What happened?”

  “I think I managed to deceive him up to a point. He was guarded, however, and seems devilish eager not to have any trouble about the missing necklace. He’s hiding something, and it strikes me that the necklace is a subsidiary factor in this business.”

  “It has nothing on a murder, anyway,” replied Ricardo and asked the waiter to bring him some grilled bacon and fried eggs.

  “I promised to exercise my powers as a private ’tec and restore the necklace without fuss or trouble, if possible. I could see he didn’t want anything in the nature of an inquiry or search,” continued Vereker.

  “When you restore it without fuss or trouble your stock as a private ’tec ought to boom in his estimation. I’m beginning to think you’re a hollow fraud, Algernon. I hope you didn’t minimise the difficulties of recovering an article that was simply chucked at your head.”

  “It’s not going to be as easy as you imagine, Ricky. I’ve struck a nasty snag already. The necklace that was chucked at my head is apparently not the necklace that’s missing.”

  “It’s certainly the one Mrs. Mesado wore,” said Ricardo emphatically.

  “Are you sure that this is not a good paste affair?”

  “My dear Algernon, I’m not a fool. As part of your sleuth’s equipment I suggest you learn a little more about precious stones. Did Colvin describe the missing necklace?”

  “It’s a rope of alternate cinnamon and white diamonds—all specimen stones. The pendant is a circular one studded with different coloured diamonds. The clasp is a platinum lizard set with the finest emeralds and rubies.”

  “Then where does the one you’re cuddling in your pocket come in? It’s one of Mrs. Mesado’s and certainly not negligible.”

  “I’ve got to find a solution to that little puzzle, but I’ve a hazy notion how it all happened.”

  “Splendid, Algernon. You’d worm your way through armour plate. What’s more, you’ve made me as keen on this business as a greyhound after an electric hare. I’m ready to start my side of the job instanter—no, not instanter, but after my second cup of coffee. Is there anything special you want me to find out?”

  “Yes. If you can get into conversation with Gautier, Mrs. Mesado’s maid, ask her all about her mistress’s car smash, especially where it occurred. You’re interested in motors, so it ought to be easy. Find out all about this man Miguel Dias from any source available. Miss Penteado will be most informative. Don’t probe Colvin because there may be some secret bond between them. I’ll investigate that line. Also question Gautier about the missing necklace and make certain whether Mrs. Mesado wore a signet ring or not on her left hand.”

  “Don’t overload me, Algernon, or I shall explode and make a mess of things.”

  “Have you got clearly in your mind all I’ve asked you to find out?”

  “Crystal clear. I don’t feel equipped for the part without a revolver and a pair of darbies. Still, I can borrow a marline-spike and a bit of string from one of the crew. I shall be at the races with Miss Gautier, and at the swimming pool with Rosa
ura today. At least them’s my intentions. To combine business with pleasure is nearly as profitable as combining it with religion.”

  “Don’t be too scrupulous in your methods, Ricky. The art of detection, like all great art, is above moral criteria. Morals are the outcome of social limitations, and the true artist’s outlook is unfettered. ‘Find out at all costs’ is the slogan of sleuthing.”

  “I’m a go-getter, Algernon, and I’m glad to hear you disregard costs. I shall be as amoral as a tiger and as expensive as counsel. I’ll see you before lunch. Have an apéritif ready in your cabin and I’ll then display my catch of news.”

  With these words Ricardo departed, and Vereker strolled out of the saloon and went up to the main promenade deck to sit and read in the sunshine.

  The fog of overnight had vanished and the sea and sky were gloriously blue. As he hunted about for his deck chair he noticed that Mrs. Colvin was temporarily occupying it. This at once suggested an opening for conversation. She was seated with a rug wrapped about her, and on her lap lay a book which she was making a pretence of reading. Her soft, sweet face was drawn and pale and there were dark rings round her eyes. The tragedy of her sister’s death had evidently been a great shock to her and had left its mark. At once she noticed that Vereker was in search of his deck chair and, sitting up, turned and glanced at the label pasted on the woodwork of the one she occupied. Vereker promptly seized the opportunity and approached her.

  “Please don’t rise. I can easily bag another chair,” he remarked pleasantly.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied; “I thought I was sitting on my own. You’re Mr. Vereker, I see. My name’s Colvin. You’ve already met my husband, Mr. Vereker, and I was hoping I’d run into you before long.”

  “Nice of you to say so, Mrs. Colvin,” said Vereker and, picking up the nearest vacant chair, seated himself beside her.

  Anthony Vereker, in spite of his urbanity, was afflicted with that peculiar downright sincerity which finds it difficult to play the social humbug, and for some minutes his conversation, which was an expression of condolence, was halting and painful. He had, however, met in Mrs. Colvin a woman who had the gift of making the first steps of acquaintanceship easy and soon their talk drifted into a more natural freedom.

  “It was the suddenness of the whole business that upset me,” remarked Mrs. Colvin, referring to her sister’s death.

  “I can quite understand that,” agreed Vereker, and added casually: “It wasn’t long after you bade her good night.”

  “I left Beryl’s cabin about one o’clock, and Dick, my husband, who had some business matter to discuss with her, followed later,” replied Mrs. Colvin innocently.

  “She wasn’t ill at that time?” asked Vereker.

  “As well as you or I.”

  “I can’t understand her going out on deck at that time of night. It was miserably cold and foggy,” said Vereker reflectively.

  Mrs. Colvin was evidently disturbed by this remark. An uneasy look passed swiftly across her features. She hesitated a moment and then replied quickly:

  “Doubtless she went up on deck for a breath of air. One of the symptoms of her trouble was a sense of suffocation. I believe it occurs in most heart cases.”

  “Of course,” continued Vereker, “the shock she got in her accident didn’t do her any good. Aftereffects so to speak.”

  “What accident?” asked Mrs. Colvin with a surprised air.

  “I was inferring that she had met with some mishap to injure her hands so badly,” said Vereker.

  “Oh, yes, she had a motor smash on the road from London to Tilbury. It was a wonder she wasn’t killed then. She was lucky to escape with minor injuries to her hands. Glass windscreens are awful things in an accident.”

  “Where did it happen, Mrs. Colvin?” asked Vereker casually.

  “Oh—er—let me see. What’s the name of the place?” said Mrs. Colvin, and puckered her brow in an effort to remember.

  “I don’t know the road very well,” said Vereker, awaiting her answer with suppressed eagerness.

  “Stifford—Stifford—that’s the name,” concluded Mrs. Colvin with an air of relief.

  “Can’t say I’ve heard of the place. She was motoring down to join the ship, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Skidded on a wet road and ran into a lamp standard. She had to leave her car in a local garage and hire for the remainder of the journey.”

  “That accident was the cause of all the trouble, I should say,” remarked Vereker.

  “It brought it to a head, anyway,” agreed Mrs. Colvin, “but we were led to expect her death at any moment.”

  “Had she her maid with her at the time of the smash?” asked Vereker.

  “Oh, yes. Gautier escaped without a scratch.”

  “She was lucky. No further news of Mrs. Mesado’s missing necklace?”

  “No. I’m afraid it’s gone for good—probably stolen.”

  “It’s the one with alternate cinnamon and white diamonds that’s missing, isn’t it?” asked Vereker, and turned to observe the effect of his words. He noted the air of perplexity that at once settled on Mrs. Colvin’s face.

  “Er—how d’you mean?” she asked hesitatingly, and her reply informed Vereker that he was dealing with a woman of charm rather than astuteness.

  “I was under the impression that it was her other one, of pure white diamonds with an emerald clasp in the shape of a butterfly,” said Vereker carelessly. Producing his cigarette case he opened it and offered it to Mrs. Colvin. A delicate scarlet flush had mounted to her cheeks, and her brow was knit in a frown of displeasure or distress.

  “Oh, we have that one all right,” she replied with false assurance.

  “Fortunate that the thief didn’t collar them both while he was about it,” said Vereker.

  “Well, you see, Beryl had locked that one safely away in her jewel-case. She had doubtless left the other lying on her cabin dressing table. She was terribly careless with her jewellery. She never seemed to realise the value of things,” continued Mrs. Colvin with glib improvisation.

  “One of the prerogatives of being rich,” said Vereker and, feeling that he had gathered sufficient information for the moment from his interview, excused himself by saying that he had forgotten to bring the book he was reading with him and departed. He ascended leisurely to the upper promenade deck and was about to indulge in his usual morning exercise when he noticed Doctor Macpherson leaning over the taffrail, smoking his pipe and lost in a brown study. Vereker joined him and, after some adroit fencing on the part of the doctor, dragged the conversation round to the subject of Mrs. Mesado’s death.

  “D’you know, doctor, there’s something about the whole affair that puzzles me,” remarked Vereker.

  “How d’you mean?” asked the doctor, turning a suddenly interested gaze on the speaker.

  “There was a heated discussion and a scuffle in Mrs. Mesado’s cabin only a quarter on an hour before Ricardo found her body on the deck.”

  “Is that so?” remarked the doctor distantly. The conversation had evidently entered forbidden territory as far as he was concerned.

  “You see, I’m in the next cabin, and I heard the row,” continued Vereker obstinately and not in the least disconcerted.

  “H’m!” grunted the doctor, “even if there was, we can’t interfere in the private quarrels of our passengers as long as they keep within certain bounds.

  “I suppose not; but don’t you think it had some connection with the lady’s death?”

  “Indirectly. Might have brought on the seizure.”

  “I’m referring to a more direct connection—say murder.”

  “Nonsense! You’re being romantic, Mr. Vereker. There’s not the slightest evidence to suggest such a thing.”

  “Did you notice that her hands were all cut and bruised, doctor?”

  “Her sister said that she had met with those injuries in a car accident.”

  “There’s something rather unsatisfactory
about that explanation. Why didn’t she get her hands bandaged as soon as possible after the accident?”

  “I really can’t say. It also struck me as unusual.”

  “Besides, I saw, or thought I saw, one of her hands the previous day, and there was no sign of injury on it.”

  “You probably made a mistake. We’ve got to accept her relatives’ story as true as far as I can see.”

  “There’s a further complication,” continued Vereker.

  “Oh, and what’s that?” asked the doctor, his interest increasing.

  “Of course this is strictly confidential. The dead lady had a very valuable diamond necklace, and it’s missing.”

  “Good Lord!” exclaimed the doctor impatiently, “the skipper won’t like to hear that news. This damned cruise seems to be bewitched.”

  “Being romantic, I coupled Mrs. Mesado’s death with the loss of her necklace. Of course I may be utterly wrong. It may only be fancy,” observed Vereker quietly.

  “I don’t think there’s anything in it, Mr. Vereker. Sheer coincidence in my opinion.”

  “Possibly. I suppose rigor mortis has set in, doctor?”

  “Oh, yes, I took particular notice of that when the body was being removed to the sick bay this morning.”

  “Then the flaccidity of the body when we came upon it wasn’t secondary?”

  “How could it possibly have been?” asked the doctor with a note of impatience. “Do you know what secondary flaccidity is?”

  “Yes, the relaxed state of the muscles which sets in after the stiffness called rigor mortis has passed away.”

  “That’s so, and in the light of your knowledge I can’t see what you’re driving at.”

  “Only theorising, doctor. I’m afraid it’s a bad habit of mine. Your information about rigor mortis has temporarily upset one of my little fancies.”

  “I believe you’re a keen amateur detective, Mr. Vereker?”

  “I have that reputation, with an emphasis on the amateur.”