by Conrad Allen
Dillman was due to meet Genevieve soon so he walked toward his cabin. Disappointed to hear that she had elected not to press any charges against Wilmshurst, he hoped it might not be too late to change her mind. When he got to his cabin, he was alarmed to see that Polly Goss was waiting outside the door like a sentry. She rushed up to him.
“I knew that you’d come here eventually,” she said. “Any news, Mr. Dillman?”
“No,” he said, “but the trail is getting warmer.”
“When can I expect to get my flute back?”
“When I find it. Now, you must let me get on with my work, Miss Goss,” he said, crossing to the door of his cabin. “If I track it down, you’ll be the first to know. For the moment, you’ll have to excuse me.”
“But I came to tell you something,” she said. “About my father’s Egyptian relics.”
His ears pricked up. “Go on.”
“Well, when you first talked to him about the theft, I was too busy crying in my own cabin. I never had the chance to speak to you. My father tells me that you wanted the names of anyone who knew that those little stones were in his cabin.”
“That’s right. Apart from myself, the only other person in whom he confided was Sir Alistair Longton,” he said, concealing the man’s real identity from her, “and I can give you a categorical assurance that he was not the thief.”
“But he wasn’t the only person who knew the relics were there, Mr. Dillman.”
“Who else was there?”
“To be honest, I’d forgotten we’d even mentioned it. It was only a remark in passing and I thought no more of it. Mother was there, as well,” she said, “so it was as much her fault. We should have told you earlier.”
“Told me what?”
“Someone else did know that Father had those things in his cabin.”
“It was your accompanist, wasn’t it?” guessed Dillman.
“That’s right,” she confirmed. “Monsieur Vivet.”
Nigel and Araminta Wilmshurst were drinking tea in their cabin when the deputy purser called. Though he had some reservations about the decision that had been made, Martin Grandage passed on the news with an easy smile.
“I thought you’d like to know that Miss Masefield is not pressing charges, sir.”
Wilmshurst rallied. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, sir,” said Grandage. “You’re off the hook.”
As soon as he had gone, Wilmshurst turned to his wife and smiled for the first time that day. Araminta was as relieved as he was, but she had not forgotten the supreme effort of will it had cost her to write a letter of abject apology to Genevieve Masefield. While it may have achieved the desired effect, it had left her feeling slightly degraded. There was little sympathy in her voice.
“Now,” she said, fixing her husband with a stare, “I think I’m entitled to hear the whole truth. Why exactly did Miss Masefield break off her engagement to you?”
She was punctual. When he let her into his cabin, Dillman gave her a welcoming kiss.
“Under the circumstances,” he said, “I thought it would be safer to meet here.”
“I don’t think that Nigel will dare to cross my threshold again,” said Genevieve. “I had a letter from his wife, apologizing for the way that both of them behaved toward me. He’d obviously made her write it.”
“Is that why you dropped the charges?”
“Yes, George. I want to put the whole thing completely behind me.”
“But he attacked you.”
“I survived. He didn’t go unpunished,” she argued. “Nigel spent a night in solitary confinement and I daresay he has a lot of bruises to nurse. You hit him very hard.”
“I intended to, Genevieve,” he said. “Is there no chance you’ll reconsider?”
“None.”
“Fair enough.”
“Don’t look so downhearted,” she said. “Mr. Kilhendry told me that you made two arrests: Mr. Pountney and his father. I’d never have guessed they were working together. Sir Alistair seemed so genuine.”
“A genuine scoundrel,” he said. “However, we’ve got more important things to discuss. They may be out of action but the killer is still at liberty. I want him today, Genevieve. Did you manage to question Frau Zumpe?”
Genevieve nodded. She told him about her chat with the woman and the discovery that Walter Dugdale was a keen philatelist. As well as building up his own collection of stamps, he had established such a reputation in the field, that he had been invited to lecture to other enthusiasts.
“He showed Frau Zumpe his watch,” she said. “It was presented to him by the Chicago Philatelic Association. The initials were on the back: ‘C.P.A.’ Mr. Dugdale also told her that he was going to speak to a couple of associations in Perth. That will explain the initials you found in his address book. One was ‘W.A.P.’ That stands for ‘Western Australia Philatelists.’ ”
“In that case, P.B.S. must stand for Perth’s Best Stamps.”
“You’re close, George,” she said. “I made a point of asking Frau Zumpe about the initials. P.B.S. is short for ‘the Penny Black Society.’ They’re extremely rare stamps and Mr. Dugdale had two of them in his collection. Frau Zumpe saw them. Did you know that the first adhesive stamps were issued in Britain, in May 1840?”
“No, Genevieve, I didn’t”
“The older the stamp, the more expensive it is to buy.”
Dillman snapped his fingers. “I knew he had something worth stealing in that cabin,” he said. “I’m just surprised he didn’t keep his album in the safe.”
“But he did. That’s the interesting thing,” she said. “Mr. Dugdale took it out during the day so that he could enjoy looking at it, then had it locked up again last thing at night. On the night in question, apparently, it remained in his cabin.”
“And so did Frau Zumpe.”
“I didn’t press her on that point.”
“I suspect that Mr. Dugdale may have done so,” said Dillman. “It’s quite clear from his address book that stamps were not the only things he collected. I think it’s time we retrieved that album, don’t you?”
She was astonished. “You know where it is, George?”
“I think so.” He opened the door. “Let’s go and ask for it back.”
Claude Vivet read the letter several times before putting it on the table to smooth out the fold in the stationery. Written in the Princess Royal’s own hand, it thanked him for the superb meal he had cooked and wished him well in his future career. The Frenchman was content. His work had won royal approval and he could use the letter as a reference. He was so busy staring at the elegant calligraphy that he did not hear the first tap on the door. A louder knock sent him across to open it. Vivet was taken aback when he saw Dillman and Genevieve outside.
“May we come in, Monsieur Vivet?” Dillman asked politely.
The Frenchman was defensive. “Why?”
“Because we need to speak to you. Miss Masefield and I work for P and O as detectives and we’ve reason to believe that you can help us with our inquiries.” Dillman raised an eyebrow. “It’s not a request, sir.”
“You wish to talk to me?” Vivet said with a look of injured innocence. “What am I supposed to have done?”
“We’ll tell you inside,” said Genevieve.
Vivet stepped back so that they could enter the cabin then he closed the door behind them. He offered them a seat but they preferred to remain on their feet. While Dillman did the talking, Genevieve looked around for possible hiding places.
“Certain items have been stolen on the ship,” said Dillman, “and, taken together, they’re of considerable value. In addition to money, a quantity of jewelry was taken, along with some Egyptian artifacts and a silver flute.”
“A flute?” he repeated.
“Belonging to Miss Polly Goss.”
“But I play the piano with her in the music room,” Vivet protested. “I love music. Why would I wish to take her flute away from her?
”
“Because it can be easily sold,” said Dillman. “Also, of course, since you did show an interest in Miss Goss, you would be the last person we’d even consider as the thief. You could take the flute with impunity.”
“And these other things—what do you call them?”
“Egyptian artifacts, Monsieur Vivet. Relics of an ancient civilization. The sort of thing that antiques dealers in Cairo would pay a lot of money for. We believe that’s where you intend to dispose of them.”
“I am no thief, Mr. Dillman,” pleaded Vivet. “I am only a chef.”
“You’re much more than that, I fancy,” suggested Genevieve. “You’re a pianist, a raconteur, and a talented actor. You took great care to attract attention to yourself so that we would all dismiss you as a ridiculous egotist. But that was only a mask.”
“This is very insulting to me, Miss Masefield.”
“Don’t stand on your dignity, sir,” said Dillman. “It’s not only the thefts that we’ve come to discuss with you. There’s the murder of Walter Dugdale as well.”
“Murder?” Vivet slapped his thigh. “Someone did me a favor and killed him?”
“Don’t pretend that it’s the first time you’ve heard about it.”
“But it is, Mr. Dillman. First I am a thief. Now, I am a murderer also.” He spread his arms. “What else do you wish to accuse me of?”
“We need to search your cabin,” said Dillman.
“I insist,” Vivet said angrily, opening the door of the closet and pulling out the drawers in the dresser. “Look anywhere you wish. Take the cabin to pieces. And when you do not find anything, I will expect you to apologize to me on your bended knees.”
Dillman looked hard into his eyes. The injured innocence had been replaced by a calculating stare. Vivet was urging them on so that he could humiliate them. Dillman’s eye fell on the letter on the table. Vivet snatched it up.
“Here, look at this,” he cried, thrusting it at Dillman. “It is a letter of thanks from the Princess Royal. She knows my true worth. She does not call me a thief or a murderer. She respects me.”
“Excuse us, Monsieur Vivet,” said Dillman, backing to the door. “I can see that we don’t need to search your cabin, after all.”
“Why not?” asked Genevieve.
“Because he’s much too cunning to hide anything in here, Genevieve. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the place where Monsieur Vivet has stored his booty.”
Most of the passengers on the Marmora had taken luggage with them that was not wanted on the voyage itself. Marked as such, it was stored in the hold. The royal party had a special arrangement. A large storeroom on the main deck was set aside solely for their luggage, so that they could have access to it at any time. Having borrowed the key from Mr. Jellings, the two detectives let themselves into the room. It was packed with trunks, valises, and assorted bags. All of them were ticketed as belonging to the Duke and Duchess of Fife.
Genevieve was puzzled. “Why have we come here, George?”
“Because it’s the only way he could get the stuff safely off the ship,” said Dillman. “Monsieur Vivet knows that his bags will be searched at Port Said so he’s taking no chances. The only people whose luggage will not be touched are the Duke and Duchess. It has the same immunity as diplomatic baggage,” he explained, starting to search among the trunks. “All that Monsieur Vivet has to do is to reclaim his haul once it’s been waved through customs.”
“I hope that you’re right about this, George,” she said, still unconvinced.
“No wonder he was ready to cook a meal for them. They’re doing Monsieur Vivet a much bigger favor. They’re taking his stolen goods ashore.”
“Unless we can find them.”
“Oh, they’re here, all right, Genevieve. I feel it in my bones. Help me search.”
They moved trunks, lifted valises, and shifted the various other items the royal family had felt were necessary on their vacation in Egypt. Dillman looked for a bag that was different in color and type from the others. When he finally found it, it was tucked away behind the largest of the trunks. He hauled it out. Protruding through the top of the bag was a long object that was wrapped in a piece of thick cloth.
“I’ll bet that’s Polly Goss’s flute,” he said.
“What about Mrs. Prendergast’s money?” asked Genevieve.
“That will be here. So will everything stolen from Frau Zumpe and the Braddock sisters. Then there’s Mr. Dugdale’s stamp album—that is worth a small fortune. My guess is that the haul would have been even bigger by the time we reached Port Said.” He felt inside the bag. “Ah, this is what I was expecting to find.”
“The Egyptian relics?”
“Still in their cotton wool, Genevieve. All safe and sound.”
“That’s more than I can say for you, Mr. Dillman,” said a voice from behind them. “And don’t think I’m afraid to use this gun, because I’ve already done so once.”
They had not heard Martin Grandage coming into the room, closing the door gently behind him. Holding a revolver on them, he took a few paces forward. His voice was cold and peremptory.
“Now, take your hand out of the bag, Mr. Dillman,” he ordered. “That’s stealing.”
“You’d know all about that,” said the detective, removing his hand but keeping a few of the stone fragments in his palm. “You and Monsieur Vivet made an excellent team. You let him into the cabins and he did the rest. Then you hid everything in here.”
“You should have let us get away with it.”
“We couldn’t do that, Mr. Grandage. We have standards.”
“That was your trouble, Mr. Dillman,” said the other. “You and Miss Masefield were too tenacious. I thought we could shake you off, but you wouldn’t give up, would you?”
“Now I see why you pretended to be so helpful to us,” said Genevieve. “It meant you could keep an eye on everything we did. You only asked us to act as unofficial bodyguards for the royal party because it would keep us distracted from you and your accomplice.”
Grandage smiled. “The plan worked beautifully, at first.”
“Did it have to involve killing Mr. Dugdale?”
“No, Miss Masefield. That was forced upon me, I’m afraid. Mr. Dugdale found out something that threatened the whole scheme, so he had to be removed. Also, he’d insulted my partner and I couldn’t allow that. When I took him his precious stamp album one day, I also took this,” he said, holding up the gun. “All I had to do was to club him from behind when he turned his back. If I’d let you take out the album, Mr. Dillman, you’d have seen that it had bloodstains on it.”
“So do you, Mr. Grandage,” said Dillman. “All over your hands.”
“I’m not in the mood for metaphors.”
“You must have thought you had the perfect system. As deputy purser, you had knowledge of where best to strike, and a master key to get into the cabins. What let you down was Monsieur Vivet’s vanity,” said Dillman. “He simply had to show off by cooking that meal for the royal party.”
“I arranged it for him,” said Grandage. “The evening was a great success.”
“Not really. Your accomplice had a letter of thanks from the Princess Royal. He waved it in my face. It was then I realized how he’d get the stolen items off the ship. In short, Mr. Grandage,” he said, “that meal was a mistake. Indirectly, it gave the game away.” His palm tightened around the stone fragments. “What do you intend to do with us?” he asked.
“Silence you, of course,” said Grandage, with venom. “Like this.”
He moved quickly forward, raising the gun to dash it down against Dillman’s skull, but the detective had anticipated the attack. He hurled the stones into the other man’s face and caused a momentary distraction. It gave Dillman the chance to grab the wrist that was holding the gun. The two men grappled fiercely. Grandage still held the weapon but Dillman managed to twist the barrel upward and away from him. Genev
ieve did not stand idle. Snatching up a large valise, she swung it hard and struck Grandage on the back of the head. The gun went off with a deafening bang in the confined space but the bullet lodged harmlessly in the ceiling.
Dazed by the blow from behind, Grandage was soon overpowered by Dillman. Though he tried to fight back, the deputy purser was at a disadvantage. The detective was bigger, stronger, and fueled by anger. Dillman disarmed him, punched him until he begged for mercy, then stood over him.
“You’re a disgrace to that uniform, Mr. Grandage,” Dillman said with contempt. “I’m glad that you’ll never get the chance to wear it again.”
Everyone was delighted to have their property restored to them. Mrs. Prendergast sobbed with relief, the Braddock sisters were overjoyed, and Frau Zumpe was so pleased that she gave Genevieve an impromptu kiss of thanks. When he visited the Goss family, Dillman chose to take his partner with him, explaining that Genevieve had been working covertly with him to solve the theft. It was also a polite way of telling Polly Goss that he was not, after all, traveling alone on the ship. Happy to have her flute back, she was saddened to realize that her fantasies about Dillman had no hope of fulfillment. It was Morton Goss who was the most grateful.
“A thousand thanks, Mr. Dillman,” he said, nursing his stone fragments. “And to you as well, Miss Masefield. I can’t tell you what it means to have these relics back. You’ve saved my professional life.”
“Then it’s a fair exchange,” said Dillman, “because they helped to save our lives.”
Brian Kilhendry was both shocked and humbled. Having boasted about his ability to sniff out criminals, he was compelled to admit that he had been working alongside one without having the slightest suspicion. The arrest of Martin Grandage, and the revelation that his deputy was a killer, had badly shaken him. He watched with deep embarrassment as Grandage and Claude Vivet were locked in separate cells. His discomfort was even greater when he gave a full report to the captain. By the time he summoned the detectives to his office, he was feeling very jaded but he was prepared to give credit where it was due. The purser insisted on shaking them both by the hand to congratulate them.
