The False Inspector Dew

by Peter Lovesey

  'The one who was in here talking to Barbara?'

  'Right. Jack made some chance remark about whist and the lady said she wouldn't bother us any more about the concert if we agreed to make up a game of whist. So I asked Barbara to be my partner and we had quite a nice game until the other two fell out.'

  'Why?'

  'The usual thing. She criticised his play. He took it pretty well until the end when she put some money on the table. Gambling for cash is not allowed and he told her straight to put the money away. It was all a little foolish, but people get like that over cards. He walked out and she was on the point of tears, but Barbara calmed her down. That was when I met you at the bar.'

  'I see. And this hasn't put you two off cards?'

  'Why should it? We didn't quarrel. We won.'

  'Barbara isn't so placid as she first appears. She can get quite forceful over a game of cards. She doesn't like to lose.'

  'I discovered that,' said Paul. 'Livy, it's a positive attitude. I like it.'

  3

  There were no individual tables in the second class dining saloon. There were tables for four or six. At breakfast Walter had come early. He had sat at the end of a table for six. A young couple had sat at the opposite end. They were probably just married. They had not said a word to Walter.

  Sunday lunch was different. The meal was served on time, at one o'clock. Everyone arrived together. Walter went to a table set for four. Three people were already seated. They were a couple with a child, a small girl with her hair in a plait that she kept flicking over the back of her chair. Walter asked if he could join them.

  'Please do,' said the man in a Midlands English accent. 'We'd like some company. I'm Wilf Dutton. This is my wife Jean and that's our Sally.'

  'Dew. Walter Dew.' Walter smiled and picked up the menu.

  'Why is that man sitting at our table?' enquired Sally.

  'It isn't ours. We share it,' said Jean, smiling shyly at Walter.

  'Better than home,' said Wilf.

  'I beg your pardon,' said Walter.

  'I said better than home. Three roasts to choose from.'

  'Yes, quite right.'

  'We're emigrating. No work to be had in Leicester. Have you been to Leicester? Don't suppose you have. Me brother has a business in Rhode Island. He's a builder like me. Told us to sell up and come out there. He even sent us the tickets, second class. Not bad, eh? Should I know you, Mr Dew?'

  Walter shook his head. 'I don't think so.'

  'I seem to know your face. Was you ever in Leicester?'

  'Wilf,' said Jean, 'don't ask personal questions.'

  'Nothing personal in that,' said Wilf.

  'I may have been there as a child,' said Walter. 'Certainly not recently.'

  'What line are you in, Mr Dew?'

  'Wilf,' said Jean in a long-suffering voice.

  'Retired,' said Walter. Turning to the child, he asked, 'Is this your first trip on the ocean, Sally?'

  'Sally, the gentleman is talking to you,' said Jean.

  'You don't look old enough to be retired,' said Wilf. 'What were you, a soldier?'

  'Answer the question,' said Jean.

  'No,'said Sally.

  'Why should she?' said Walter. 'She's just like me, slightly shy at first. Have you seen the menu, Mrs Dutton?'

  'If it isn't your face I know, maybe it's your name,' said Wilf. 'Walter Dew. You aren't famous, by any chance?'

  'It's quite a common name.'

  'A cricketer?'

  'He's coming to take the order, love,' said Jean. 'What's minestrone?'

  'Vegetable soup,' said Walter.

  'She asked me,' said Wilf. i could have told her that.'

  'Let's change the subject,' said Jean. 'Did you hear about the poor woman who fell overboard, Mr Dew?'

  The same topic was discussed across the round, linen-covered tables in the first class and the folding tables linked in lines in the third. Passengers expounded theories through the afternoon. A steady stream of witnesses with information made statements to the master-at-arms. Then they made further statements to the people in the deckchairs outside. It was learned that Mr Saxon was asking curious questions. He was interested in other people seen on deck or in the cabin areas near midnight. He asked several witnesses if they had heard a struggle or a scream.

  One of Mr Saxon's informants was a bellboy. He was very nervous. He stood rigidly to attention while he made his statement. He fixed his eyes on the lampshade over Mr Saxon's head.

  When the boy had finished, Mr Saxon asked him, 'Are you sure you aren't confused? You see a lot of passengers on embarkation day. How can you be sure?'

  'Don't know, sir.'

  'What did you say her name was?'

  'Mrs Brownhoff, sir.'

  The master-at-arms looked towards one of the officers assisting him. The officer looked at the passenger list. He shook his head.

  'There is no-one of that name aboard. You say she was a passenger with an embarkation card.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You showed this lady to her stateroom. Which room was it?'

  The boy looked down.

  'Don't you remember, lad?'

  'It was a portside room, sir.'

  'How do you remember that?'

  'She asked me which side of the ship she was. She gave me a shilling.'

  Mr Saxon glanced aside. 'That probably is reliable information.' He addressed the boy again. 'And you say you haven't seen this lady since. Do you make a point of checking up on all the passengers you have shown to their staterooms to see if they are still aboard?'

  'No, sir.'

  'If your Mrs Brownhoff happened to be unwell in her first day at sea, isn't it possible that she might stay in her room, and that you wouldn't see her about the ship?'

  'I suppose so, sir.'

  'You suppose so? What do you mean by that?'

  'I mean no, sir. I wouldn't see her.'

  'I think we're wasting valuable time,' said Mr Saxon.

  The officer with the passenger list said, 'We have a Mrs Baranov in stateroom 89.'

  The officer taking down the statements said, 'She isn't missing. She was at the service this morning. Dark-haired, rather pale, doesn't smile much, but attractive. Late twenties, early thirties.'

  Mr Saxon asked the bellboy, 'Does that sound like the lady who gave you a shilling?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Well, it looks as if we've solved your little mystery. Did someone put you up to this?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Because if you were deliberately obstructing me in the performance of my duty I would see to it personally that you were not employed on the Mauretania or any other ship again. Get back on duty.'

  The work of taking statements continued through the afternoon. It had to be got through, but Mr Saxon was uneasy. Other things needed to be done. Someone ought to check that every stateroom on the ship was occupied. He didn't trust cabin stewards. He knew their reputation, the stories of their unrestraint with unaccompanied lady passengers. It ought to be an independent check. He had insufficient time and insufficient help.

  4

  By teatime it was rumoured that the woman had been murdered. In the first class lounge designed in the eighteenth century style to provide an atmosphere of quiet grace, appalling theories of homicide were aired across the salmon sandwiches and silver teapots. Ladies listened open-mouthed as their companions told them what horrors lurked beneath them on the lower decks. Lascars with daggers, drunken Irish stokers, rapacious engineers, thieving emigrants skulked in the steerage waiting for the night. No-one was safe. It was a horrifying prospect. There was no escape. They were imprisoned in the ship.

  The anxieties were voiced in varying degrees in all the public rooms:

  'There could be a maniac at large. What action are they taking?'

  'My dear, they're not taking action. They're only taking statements.'

  'That's absurd. The captain ought to give us some protection.'

&nb
sp; 'You're not really frightened, are you? You've always been so brave.'

  'Don't give me that soft soap. If you cared the smallest bit about my safety you would go and see the captain and demand to know what he is doing to protect us from this maniac'

  'Give him a chance, my dear. He's doing his best, I'm sure.'

  On the boat deck, Alma overheard a similar conversation. The wind carried the last of it to her ears after she had passed the speakers: it's poor women like her that I feel sorry for. Fancy being all alone when there's a murderer at large.'

  She had spent the afternoon reading in the stateroom. She had come out to get some air. At the word "murderer" a shock went through her body. She began to tremble. Had she misheard? She felt nauseous. She turned towards the sea and gripped the rail.

  'I say, do you need help?' a man enquired.

  'No thank you.'

  'You look frightfully pale. Have you tried Mothersill's? They're very efficacious. I've got some with me if you'd like one.'

  'No, it isn't that. I'm perfectly all right.'

  Below, on the main deck, Wilf and Jean Dutton were walking arm in arm. Sally was behind them with her skipping-rope. Jean kept glancing back.

  'Can't you forget her for a moment?' said Wilf. 'She's not daft. She won't jump over.'

  'You know why I want to keep an eye on her,' said Jean.

  'Love, it was a grown woman. Men who go after woman don't bother with little girls. If anyone's at risk, it's yourself.'

  'It's horrible,' said Jean, i wish we'd stayed in Leicester, job or no job.'

  'Well, I don't. Hey, isn't that the bloke we had lunch with?'

  Jean looked at the hunched figure staring at the ocean. 'Yes, that's him. Leave him, Wilf. He's not our sort. He doesn't want to mix.'

  'He's no-one special. We established that. Mr Walter Dew, retired. Retired from what, I'd like to know. Why was he so cagy when I asked him? What do you reckon he did for a living, Jean? Kept a pawnshop? No, that's not his style. Something smarter. One of them lounge-lizards. Hey, that's more like it. How would you fancy a foxtrot with him?'

  'Don't be so daft'

  'Well, if it isn't that, what is it? Something shady, or I'll eat my hat.'

  'Good thing if you did,' said Jean, it's horrible. Greasy and fraying at the sides. I don't know what your brother's going to say. They don't wear things like that in America.'

  'I've got it. He's the murderer. That's why he won't say much.'

  'Keep your voice down, Wilf.'

  'DrCrippen himself.'

  'Stupid. He was hanged before the war.'

  'I know that. It's just a joke. Poor old Crippen on the boat, and …' Wilf stopped. 'By God, I do know who that is!'

  5

  The hour between seven and eight in the evening was when the passengers congregated in the lounge for cocktails. It was the hour when the ladies paraded their evening gowns and the rich colours of the silks and satins were seen in brilliant glimpses among the black jackets and boiled shirts of the men. At this climax of the day even the intricate workmanship of the three hundred Palestinian craftsmen who had carved the mahogany panels in the lounge did not seem too ornate for the occasion. The Mauretania had been conceived for just such dazzling scenes.

  Barbara was in an emerald green dress in taffeta by Lanvin that she had bought in London. It would have cost her half as much in Paris, but she had not given a thought to fashion then. It was a good thing Livy was so generous with money. She had pendant ear-rings set with emeralds and she was carrying a black fan. She had found the previous night that the cigar fumes in the smoking room got quite overpowering, but she would not let that deny her another game of cards. She wanted Paul to partner her at bridge. She was sure they would be a winning combination.

  'We'll have to see if Jack is interested,' Paul told her as they sipped sherry. "We ought not to assume he is.'

  'Katherine will play,' said Barbara. 'She said to me last night that bridge is a better game than whist.'

  'They might not want to play together after that dust-up over the money.'

  'It was just too silly,' said Barbara. 'My guess is that they will both be glad of a chance to start over again.'

  'Maybe,' said Paul. 'We'll need to ask them. Have you seen either of them today?'

  Over the conversation came the sound of the bugle.

  'Pity,' said Paul, it would have been nice to catch them before dinner.'

  Barbara's eyes were on the arch connecting with the smoking room. 'There's Jack. He just came in.'

  They moved round a large group to meet him as he came through. He had a preoccupied look that remained on his face as Paul greeted him.

  'Jack, you're just the guy we were looking for. How about some more cards after dinner? Barbara wants to learn bridge.'

  'What?' said Jack vacantly.

  'Katherine says I'd like it better

  'Katherine says I'd like it better than whist,' said Barbara in support.

  'Katherine — have you been talking to Katherine?'

  'Last night after you went. She said a sea-trip is the ideal chance to learn.'

  'Yes,' said Jack without a trace of enthusiasm.

  'If you'd rather not, I guess we could find someone else,' said Barbara. 'It must be pretty dull playing with a beginner.'

  'It isn't that,' said Jack, it isn't that at all.'

  'Put it this way,' said Paul, if we talk to Katherine, and she is agreeable to a game, shall we meet in the smoking room like last night?'

  Jack seemed not to hear the question. He said to Barbara, 'What else did she say last night?'

  'I don't know. Nothing important. We had a coffee. She was a little unhappy, but she soon got better. It was mainly women's talk.'

  'What do you mean by that?'

  Barbara felt herself go pink. 'Well, I was telling her how I got to know Paul.'

  'That was all?'

  'Just about. She went to bed soon after. Is there anything I should have noticed?'

  'No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be inquisitive.'

  'I don't think she would want to make an issue out of one small incident in a game of cards,' said Barbara.

  'Probably not,' said Jack, if you'll excuse me now…' He started moving with the general drift towards the door to the dining saloon.

  Barbara started to say, 'But you still haven't told us '

  Paul touched her arm and said, 'Let's leave it for now.'

  6

  'Here you are!' said Johnny Finch as if he had made the most momentous discovery of the crossing. 'I haven't seen you for hours.'

  'I spent the day quietly,' Alma explained.

  'And no wonder at that,' said Johnny. He was standing by Alma's table in the dining saloon. He bent his head confidentially closer. 'Look here, there's a certain matter I'd rather like to ventilate with you. Would it be terribly pushy of me to invite you to my table again?'

  Alma had rehearsed this speech several times. 'Mr Finch, I appreciate your kindness and I enjoyed your company at dinner yesterday evening, but I think it right to tell you that I am travelling alone by choice. So perhaps you will forgive me for declining your invitation.'

  Johnny blinked. 'Oh my word, what have I said? Dear Mrs Baranov, I must have given you quite the wrong impression. The matter I mentioned is not of a personal character at all. I'm not the sort of fellow ladies often take me for. This is a matter of public interest, I assure you. It concerns the unfortunate business of the lady who was taken from the sea last night.'

  Alma stiffened. Her heartbeat quickened. She needed all her strength to keep a semblance of control. She said, 'That's another matter, I agree, but it is not a very suitable topic for a conversation over dinner.'

  Johnny looked disappointed. 'I can't dispute that.'

  'Anyway,' added Alma, 'I don't see how it could possibly concern me.'

  'Only insofar as it concerns every unaccompanied lady on this ship,' said Johnny with an air of nonchalance that did not deceive Alma.
'But as you obviously prefer not to discuss it ' He held out his hands in a gesture of indifference.

  'Will it wait till after dinner in the lounge?'

  He gave a smile. 'I'll reserve a chair for you.'

  'You see,' he told her an hour later as coffee was poured for them at a table discreetly situated behind a potted palm, 'there is a certain amount of concern among the passengers about the way the inquiry into this unhappy incident is being conducted. There is a feeling that the master-at-arms — who I am sure is perfectly conscientious — is not going about the job in the most effective way. From what one hears, he is rapidly burying himself under a mass of statements, while nothing definite is being done to establish who the woman was and how she met her death. There are disquieting rumours that she was murdered.'

  'So I heard,' said Alma, 'but it's only talk I expect.'

  'I hope you are right,' said Johnny. 'The talk is pretty general through the ship. People are frightened, my dear. They have no confidence that Mr Saxon can protect them. Unaccompanied ladies such as yourself are entitled to protection.'

  'Oh,' said Alma, trying to conceal her relief. She had read in Ethel M. Dell — or was it Elinor Glyn? — about would-be Lotharios who offered to guard the virtue of gullible females travelling alone. 'I don't feel the need of any protection, thank you.'

  Johnny's wrinkles twisted into a pained expression again. 'You are missing the point, my dear. My purpose in speaking is to ask you if you wish to join the deputation.'

  'Deputation?'

  'Of passengers united by their concern. There are twenty or more of us already, mostly men. We need a lady to put the feminine point of view. I thought of you.'

  'No,' said Alma firmly, 'not me.'

  'Why not? The captain is only human. He can't eat us.'

  'I don't see any point in it. What do you hope to achieve?'

  'I was coming to that,' said Johnny, i don't know if I mentioned that this is by no means confined to the upper decks. We have chaps from the second class and the steerage just as bothered as you or I about the way this is being handled. And they have passed the word up that by sheer good fortune there is a passenger in the second class who is far better qualified to investigate a mysterious death than Saxon. Even you must have heard of him — Inspector Dew of Scotland Yard.'