by Conrad Allen
“Why?” Grandage said waspishly. “Was his wife waiting to be assaulted as well?”
“Martin!”
“It’s a fair point. Damn it all, they’re supposed to be on their honeymoon. What sort of husband deserts a beautiful young wife to wrestle on the floor with another woman? There’s no way you can whitewash this, Brian.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Then stop blaming Mr. Dillman. I think that he acted correctly.”
“Well, I don’t. Tomorrow morning, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Only if you side with Mr. Wilmshurst.”
“Passengers have certain rights. We can’t simply arrest them on impulse.”
“There was strong provocation in this case,” argued Grandage. “Lord knows what would have happened if Mr. Dillman hadn’t arrived when he did. I think it’s time you stopped riding him, Brian.”
Kilhendry bridled. “What do you mean?”
“You know quite well. You’ve been on his back since he joined the ship.”
“Only because I wanted to make sure that he did his job.”
“There’s more to it than that,” said Grandage. “You’ve resented him because he used to work for Cunard. Don’t you think it’s time you got rid of that particular chip from your shoulder? Just because you were rejected by Cunard when you applied for a purser’s job, you don’t have to carry out a vendetta against their former employees.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yes it is, Brian.”
“You know nothing about it.”
“I know more than you think. You have a phobia about people who worked for Cunard. In George Dillman’s case, of course, he committed a second unforgivable sin in your eyes: He was born in America.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“Then don’t punish him for something that wasn’t his fault.”
“Shut up, Martin.”
“It happened years ago,” Grandage said reasonably. “Don’t you think it’s time to forgive and forget? You can’t tar a whole nation with the same brush. All right, you had a hellish time. I can see that. You were treated abysmally. Does that mean you have to behave so badly toward Mr. Dillman? Grow up, man. Shrug it off.”
“It’s nothing to do with you,” Kilhendry said defensively.
“It is if it affects the running of this ship.”
“Mr. Dillman was too hasty. He should have used more discretion.”
Grandage was sarcastic: “What was he supposed to have done?” he asked. “Wait politely outside the door until Genevieve Masefield was raped?”
Dillman held her in his arms for a long time before he spoke. When he had arrived back at her cabin, Genevieve was still thoroughly jangled by the experience. All that she wanted was the comfort of his arms and the reassurance of his presence. There had been no tears. She was too annoyed with herself, wondering why she had been foolish enough to open the door of her cabin without first checking to see who the caller was. Profoundly grateful for the timely arrival of Dillman, she looked up at him with a wan smile.
“Is there anything I can get you?” he said.
“No, thank you, George.”
“Some brandy, perhaps?”
“I feel fine, now that it’s over.”
“Do you feel up to telling me what happened?”
“I think so,” she said, gently breaking away from him. “Though it all went so fast, it’s something of a blur…. After you gave me a signal in the lounge, I waited for ten minutes before coming back here. Almost immediately, there was a knock on the door.”
“And you assumed that it was me.”
“Yes, George. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. It was Nigel. I’d never have expected him to call on me at that hour,” she explained. “He and his wife had been dining with the Duke and Duchess. I thought they’d all still be together.”
“Why weren’t they?”
“Because of what I said, apparently.”
“What—to Mrs. Wilmshurst?”
“That’s right. At least, that was the accusation he hurled at me. Nigel claimed that I was trying to wreck his marriage by telling lies to his wife.”
“But you only told her the truth.”
“Part of the truth,” she said, “and I only did that because she goaded me into it. Why on earth did she have to come here in the first place? Why not simply ignore me?”
“I can answer that, Genevieve,” he said fondly. “You’re a gorgeous woman. Any wife would feel threatened by you if she knew that you’d been close at one time to the man she’d married. What brought her here was a mixture of curiosity and fear.”
“And a certain amount of arrogance,” recalled Genevieve. “She treated me with such disdain, as if I belonged to a lower order of creation. I wasn’t standing for that,” she said, with spirit, “and I let her know it.”
“Quite rightly.”
Genevieve pondered. “I wonder,” she said at length.
“You couldn’t let Mrs. Wilmshurst talk to you like that.”
“Perhaps not, George, but I took no pleasure in hurting her. When I told her that I was the one who’d broken off the engagement, she was rocked. Mrs. Wilmshurst left here in a daze. I felt almost sorry for her.” Her voice hardened. “Then she had a row with Nigel and he came here in search of revenge. I’ve never seen him so angry. He blamed me for everything. He demanded that I apologize to him and to his wife.”
Dillman was shocked. “He wanted you to admit that you were in the wrong?”
“He ordered me to lie about what happened between us. To pretend I was the guilty party. Nothing could make me do that,” she said. “Since I knew that you’d be coming soon, I tried to keep him talking as long as possible. But Nigel lost his temper. He just threw himself at me. You know the rest.”
“Not quite, Genevieve.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, reading the question in his eyes. “I don’t know if that’s what he would have done. There was a moment when I feared that might happen, but I don’t think that even Nigel was capable of that. He’d have been too worried about the consequences,” she decided. “Even in that state, he’d have realized that he’d have lost his wife for good if he’d gone any further.”
“He went well beyond the limit, as it is,” said Dillman.
“I can’t tell you how thankful I am, George.” She went back into his arms and he hugged her. Genevieve looked up at him. “Where is he now?”
“Locked up safely in a cell.”
“What about his wife?”
“That’s no concern of yours, Genevieve.”
“But it is,” she said, easing herself apart from him. “Lord knows, I don’t approve of what he did, but he is her husband. Mrs. Wilmshurst will be wondering where he is. If he’s away all night, she’s bound to get terribly upset.”
“I thought of that,” explained Dillman. “That’s why I asked Mr. Grandage to slip a note under the door of her cabin. It won’t give any details of what happened in here. It will just say that her husband is being detained because of drunken behavior.”
Genevieve was rueful. “If only that’s all it was!”
“It was a factor, there’s no doubt about that. In the cold light of day, of course,” he went on, “Mrs. Wilmshurst is going to learn the ugly truth.”
“Only if I press charges.”
“But you must, Genevieve. He assaulted you.”
“Let me sleep on it.”
“He deserves to be punished.”
“To some extent, he already has been,” she pointed out. “You beat him black-and-blue, George. I could see how much you hurt him. And a night behind bars will be a real humiliation for someone like Nigel.”
“So it should be,” he said. “Show him no mercy.”
“It’s his wife that I keep thinking about. She’ll suffer as well.”
“The decision is up to you, Genevieve. But you know my feelings.”
“I d
o. I’m still very confused by it all. Give me time.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” She kissed him on the cheek then lowered herself into a chair. “Well,” she said, “this has all been a distraction. When you came here this evening, you weren’t expecting to have to rescue me like that.”
“No, I came to talk about the other crimes that have been committed.”
“Then let’s do that, shall we? I saw you in the lounge with Roland Pountney.”
“Yes,” he said. “Mr. Pountney troubles me. When I’m listening to him, I feel as if I’m acting in a play with someone who’s taken a role so often that he knows the lines perfectly. All I had to do was to provide him with his cue.”
“Could he be our man, George?”
“He’ll certainly bear more scrutiny.”
“I wonder why he was expelled from Harrow.”
“I have a feeling that we’ll find out in due course,” said Dillman. “I also think that there’s one avenue we haven’t fully explored. If, as I believe, something was stolen from Mr. Dugdale’s cabin after he was killed, there may be a way of finding out what it was.”
“How?”
“By asking a person he invited in there.”
“Frau Zumpe?”
“She may have seen something, Genevieve, or he may have mentioned a valuable item that he kept in his cabin. I know it will be tricky,” he said, “asking a woman what happened during a tender moment, but it’s the only option we have.”
“I agree. I’ll be happy to speak to Frau Zumpe.”
“Good. It may give us the break we need.”
“While we’re on the subject of German passengers,” she said, “I still think we should keep Herr Lenz under observation. There’s something very odd about that man.”
“I’m glad that you mentioned him.”
“Why?”
“Because of something that happened when I left the lounge,” he said. “The thief has been able to get in and out of cabins at will. That means either he can pick a lock very easily or—much more likely—he has a master key. Only two people have master keys to all the cabins.”
“The purser and the chief steward.”
“Exactly. Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw Mr. Kilhendry sneaking out of a cabin on the main deck earlier on. He looked so furtive. I made a note of the cabin number and checked it against my list. Who do you think it belongs to, Genevieve?”
“Karl-Jurgen Lenz?”
“The very same,” he said. “Now, why should the purser be calling on him?”
Araminta Wilmshurst spent a sleepless night alone. After she heard her husband storm out of the cabin and slam the door behind him, she began to have misgivings about the way she had locked him out of the bedroom. She waited for him to return but he never came. Instead, a note from the deputy purser was slipped under the door. Araminta was appalled to learn that her husband had been arrested because of drunken behavior.
When he had walked out on her, she decided, he had turned to alcohol for solace—and had far too much of it. Araminta felt that she was partly to blame. Overcome with guilt, she wanted to go to her husband but she knew that he would hate to be seen in such circumstances. All that she could do was to lie on the bed and brood about the way their honeymoon had suddenly turned sour.
Next morning, when she heard a knock on the door, she bounded over to it.
“Nigel?” she asked.
“No,” said a guttural voice. “It is Karl-Jurgen Lenz.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I wish to arrange a time for the photograph, Mrs. Wilmshurst.”
“Not now, Herr Lenz.”
“I can speak with your husband, please?”
“This is not a convenient moment,” she said, anxious to send him on his way. “My husband is not here, I’m afraid. He’ll get in touch with you when we’ve made a decision. Good-bye, Herr Lenz.”
“Good-bye.”
There was a long pause before she heard his heavy footsteps retreat down the passageway. Araminta was consumed with embarrassment. How could she and her husband even contemplate having their photograph taken when there was so much unresolved hostility between them? What would people think of the couple when they discovered that he had been locked up in a cell for the night? Araminta felt lost, lonely, and utterly bewildered. The cruise was turning into a nightmare.
She went back into the other room and sat disconsolately on the bed. It was all her fault, she decided. If she had not been impelled to confront Genevieve Masefield, none of these unpleasant consequences would have happened. Thanks to her, a rift had opened in the marriage and she had no idea how to close it. She heard a key being inserted in the lock and rushed into the sitting room. Nigel Wilmshurst let himself into the cabin and stood despondently before her. His face was bruised, his eye black, and his shirt stained with blood. There was a hangdog expression on his face.
“Nigel!” she cried, embracing him. “What happened to you?”
George Porter Dillman had never enjoyed any of his visits to the purser’s office but the one he paid this morning was particularly uncomfortable. Without even consulting him, Brian Kilhendry had gone over his head.
“You released Mr. Wilmshurst?” Dillman said angrily.
“I’d never have locked him up in the first place.”
“He assaulted Genevieve Masefield.”
“Then he needed to be cautioned and sent back to his cabin,” said the purser. “That’s what I did this earlier this morning. You can thank your lucky stars he’s not going to sue you for grievous bodily harm.”
“I only used necessary force.”
“He claims that you beat him to a pulp.”
“The man was attacking Genevieve,” retorted Dillman. “I couldn’t let him do that. Don’t you care if a member of your staff is set on like that?”
“Of course. I take it very seriously.”
“Then why do you side with the attacker and not the victim?”
“I side with nobody until I’ve heard the full facts of the case.”
“But you already have, Mr. Kilhendry. I was a witness.”
“Yes,” said the other, “but your version of events doesn’t quite accord with the one I had from Mr. Wilmshurst. What I really need to hear is Miss Masefield’s account. It’s up to her whether or not charges are pressed.”
“The man deserves to be locked up for the rest of the voyage.”
Kilhendry was offhand. “That may be how you did things on Cunard, Mr. Dillman,” he said, “but we try to handle things with more tact on the P and O. And there’s another consideration. Mr. Wilmshurst has friends in high places. The last thing we want is bad publicity.”
“Are you telling me that you’re afraid of him?” Dillman challenged.
“Not at all. I just prefer to tread carefully. You should do the same.”
Dillman was fuming. “If I hadn’t intervened last night, my partner might have been seriously injured and perhaps even sexually assaulted. I witnessed the attack,” he emphasized. “How was I supposed to ‘tread carefully’ in that situation—ask Mr. Wilmshurst if he needed some help?”
“There’s no call for sarcasm,” said Kilhendry.
“You should have talked to me before you even thought of releasing him.”
“I make the decisions on my ship, Mr. Dillman.”
“Does Mr. Grandage approve of what you’ve done?”
“Leave him out of this.”
“In other words,” concluded Dillman, “he doesn’t. He has some notion of loyalty to his staff. Follow your code and we’d let people like Mr. Wilmshurst run riot at will. What does he have to do before you sanction his arrest—assassinate the Princess Royal?”
“A night in the cell sobered him in every sense,” said Kilhendry. “He’s deeply sorry for what happened and is prepared to make a full apology to Miss Masefield.”
“He committed a criminal act against her.”
“Then it’s up to
her to take the matter further, Mr. Dillman. You can huff and puff all you like. Until I’ve spoken with her, the sensible thing is to release Mr. Wilmshurst so that he can go and explain things to his wife. Have you considered her?”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “I asked Mr. Grandage to put a note under her door.”
The purser was offended. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“Perhaps he felt that you’d overrule him.”
Kilhendry stared at him with undisguised dislike. He was quite unrepentant about what he had done. Dillman met his gaze without flinching. Ever since they had met, the purser had put a series of obstacles in his way. Though Kilhendry exhorted the two detectives to solve the crimes that had been committed, he did nothing to help them. Now that someone had actually been arrested, Kilhendry had seen fit to release the man.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” Dillman said quietly.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, I think you do, Mr. Kilhendry. It’s not just the fact that we used to work for Cunard. For some reason, that puts us in your bad books straightaway. But there’s something else as well. It’s to do with me.”
“I warned you that I don’t have the highest opinion of your nation.”
“That’s unfortunate,” said Dillman, “because I have great respect for the Irish. At least, I did until I met you. Most of the Irishmen I’ve encountered have been friendly, outgoing people. You’re the opposite. Why is that?”
“I can be friendly and outgoing with people I care about.”
“That seems to cover almost everyone on board except Genevieve Masefield and me. I’ve even seen you being nice to the other Americans on board,” noted Dillman. “You turn on that Irish charm of yours like a faucet. Why do we never see it?”
“Because you’ve done nothing to deserve it yet,” said Kilhendry.
“I made an arrest. That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“But this case is not as simple as it looks. It transpires that there’s some history between Mr. Wilmshurst and your colleague. At one time, it seems, they were engaged to be married. According to him, some provocation was involved.”
“He forced his way into her cabin.”
“So did you, Mr. Dillman. There’s a broken lock to prove it.” He turned his back. “So why don’t you leave it to me to sort out this mess? You should be out there hunting the real criminals we have on board.” Kilhendry faced him again. “What are you waiting for?”
