7
Captain Rostron put his hand on Mr Saxon's shoulder, it would be no discredit,' he assured his master-at-arms. 'Nobody could fault the work you've already done to solve the crime. All those statements — sure to be invaluable. It's just the fact that Inspector Dew — if this is indeed the man — is a specialist in murder.' He smiled, i ought to say the detection of murder. He had twenty years or more at Scotland Yard.'
'Yes, Captain,' said Mr Saxon in a voice that was not impressed.
'That ought to count for something,' said the captain. 'Murder is regarded in the police as a matter for the experts, is it not? Did you, er, come across many cases when you were a policeman in the Port of London, before you came to Cunard?'
Mr Saxon's mouth tightened. He shook his head, it was mainly customs offences, sir. I'm confident that I can cope with this.'
'Yes,' said Captain Rostron. 'You've made that clear. Mr Saxon, it isn't just a question of finding a murderer. It's just as important to show the passengers that we have their welfare very much in mind. This suggestion that we employ the services of Dew originated with the passengers. I can't ignore it, can I? It's a question of confidence, you see.'
'We don't even know if he is the Scotland Yard man,' put in Mr Saxon.
'That is one of the matters I propose to clarify. The other is whether he is willing to help. He may not be too pleased with the suggestion. He retired from Scotland Yard before the war.'
Mr Saxon looked more hopeful. 'He might prefer to act as my assistant, sir.'
The captain looked dubious, i don't think I can ask a man of Dew's reputation to be subordinate to you. And I think the passengers would be happier to be told that he was in control. But let's not jump to any conclusions, Mr Saxon. I simply wanted you to know the possibilities. I take it that I can rely on your cooperation whatever the outcome?'
'Yes, sir,' answered Mr Saxon flatly.
'I shall want you here to say as much if necessary, but say nothing until I ask you.' The captain reached for his jacket and put it on. 'He should be outside with the junior third officer. Be so good as to ask him to step inside, will you?'
The man who came in was tall enough to be a policeman. He was old enough to be a retired policeman. He had the heavy black moustache just familiar from the press pictures of Inspector Dew bringing Crippen and Le Neve off the ship to face their trial.
But today he looked more like the quarry than the sleuth. His eyes raced across the office as if searching for a means of escape.
Captain Rostron was on his feet and holding out his hand. 'So good of you to come and see us, Mr Dew. No point in introducing ourselves. I'm sure you know who we are, and we're pretty sure we know who you are.' The captain grinned as he spoke. He almost winked.
Walter stared glassily back.
'Let's all sit down,' suggested the captain, waving his guest towards a chair and perching himself on the edge of his great mahogany desk for informality. Saxon found a chair beside the door. 'I'm not one to beat about the bush,' said the captain. 'I haven't asked you here for cocktails, Mr Dew — if I may call you that — as interesting as that might be. As you know, we took a woman from the sea last night and she was dead, poor soul. You have heard about that?'
'Yes,' said Walter almost in a whisper.
'Mr Saxon over there took over. It's the master-at-arms who gets the job of inquiring into anything irregular while we're at sea. Mr Saxon was in the police, weren't you, Mr Saxon?'
'In the docks,' said Mr Saxon. 'Port of London.'
'He's very good with stowaways and smugglers, but suspicious deaths are something else. I'm confiding in you now, Mr Dew. I said suspicious deaths.'
Walter nodded gravely.
'Certain information has been laid before me,' Captain Rostron went on, 'information concerning you. It may be a mistake, of course. Coincidences happen. But if it isn't a mistake, you are the one man on the Mauretania who can help us with our inquiries.' He paused to see the effect of this.
Walter was looking down at his hands. They were shaking.
'You are Chief Inspector Dew, formerly of Scotland Yard?' said the captain a little less confidently.
Walter looked up. He looked at the captain. He looked at Mr Saxon. 'What is this about?'
'I thought I had explained. We need the help of an expert detective. Mr Dew, are you or are you not the same man who arrested Dr Crippen?'
He fingered his necktie. 'Well, yes.'
Captain Rostron looked across at his master-at-arms. 'That's a relief. For a moment I thought… Never mind.' He turned back to Walter. 'I'll be perfectly honest with you, Inspector. We believe the lady was already dead when she was put into the sea. We think she was murdered.'
'Why?' said Walter, frowning.
'I think you ought to see for yourself. Make up your own mind, Inspector. That is, if you will take the case.'
'What do you mean — try to help?'
'We had rather more than that in mind. We were hoping you would agree to be in charge of the investigation.'
Walter shook his head. 'No, I couldn't do that.'
'Why not, Inspector? Mr Saxon would be only too pleased to step aside for a detective of your eminence and experience.'
Walter turned in his chair and looked at Mr Saxon, who was staring into space.
'I, em, I retired from Scotland Yard,' said Walter.
'We know that,' said the captain. 'But you're a younger man than I am, I should think.' He gave a laugh. 'I tell myself I'm not decrepit yet. You can't tell me you aren't as sharp as the day you put the cuffs on Dr Crippen.'
'I don't have the authority. I'm just a private individual.'
The captain made a sweeping gesture with his hand. 'No worries on that score. You'll have my authority. That's sufficient. Good Lord, I can christen people, marry them and bury them, so I'm damned sure I can hire a good detective to look after them.'
'Look after them?'
'To find the murderer, Inspector. You see, I have a duty to the passengers.'
'I suppose you have.'
'And I see it as my duty to ask for your cooperation.'
'I'm just a passenger on your ship,' said Walter, i don't have any of the things a detective needs.'
'Such as..?'
He moved uncomfortably in the chair. 'Well, a notebook.'
'You shall have it,' said the captain. 'Handcuffs, a magnifying glass.' He started taking things from his desk. 'A pencil, a foot rule, everything you need.'
'Criminal records,' said Walter. 'It's very difficult without criminal records.'
'I can send a wireless message to Scotland Yard,' said Captain Rostron. 'You of all people ought to remember that, Inspector.'
'Oh, yes.'
'Have we convinced you?'
'Yes,' said Walter bleakly, i suppose you have.'
'Good man. We're very grateful to you, aren't we, Mr Saxon?'
'Very grateful,' repeated Mr Saxon.
'Immensely,' said the captain. He got up and walked to the door, i expect you want to see the body now.'
8
It may have been a day to set pulses racing and nerves on edge, but it was still Sunday. At 9pm in the first class lounge every seat was taken for the soirie. There were to be recitals on the pianoforte and the violin. The chief attraction was unquestionably Signor Martinelli, who had consented to perform some favourite arias in the second half of the evening.
Alma had found a place at the end of a row next to a woman in a black crepe and diamante dress who clearly had no interest in anyone other than the small man with a purple cummerbund to her left. It seemed as good a place as any to pass the evening quietly reassembling her thoughts. She had not reckoned with Johnny Finch, His voice spoke a couple of inches from her ear at the conclusion of Chopin's Revolutionary Study. He was in the seat behind her.
'Just thought you'd like to know that we pulled it off. The captain's a wily old character. Listened to our deputation without batting an eyelid. Anyone would th
ink he knew that Dew was on his ship, but I'm damned sure he didn't. Thanked us for mentioning the matter and said it was under consideration. Blow me if I didn't hear twenty minutes later that Dew was called up to his office.'
Johnny's last words were overtaken by a hissing from more than one direction. The pianist was poised to begin her next piece. Alma sat through it without listening. She was trying to assimilate the inconceivable. If Johnny's assumptions were correct, Walter had been invited to investigate the murder he had himself committed. It was bizarre beyond belief. But by degrees she began to see that if he could accept the role of self-pursuer, and be convincing in it, no-one would ever guess the truth.
'The word is that the captain will be speaking to us in the interval,' said Johnny during the applause for the pianist. 'My guess is that he won't be alone. He's got the trump card now and he wants us all to take a look at it.'
After this, Alma spent the violin solo sending up prayers for Walter. The poor man could hardly have got over the shock of being called to the captain's office, and now he was about to be paraded in front of the passengers. Would he be equal to the ordeal?
The violinist was into his second piece when Alma turned to ice at the sight of the captain standing just inside the door with Walter, deathly pale, at his side. They waited for the last note. They waited for the applause. They stepped to the place where the soloist had stood.
Everyone went silent. The captain spoke: i shall not delay your enjoyment for long, ladies and gentlemen. Those of you who were at Morning Service today will remember that 1 mentioned a distressing matter, the death of a lady passenger. Some of you have been good enough since then to place information with the master-at-arms pertaining to the incident. However certain questions remain to be answered. I know that there is concern among you that the matter should be cleared up quickly, and of course I share your sentiments. I am pleased to tell you that I have accepted an offer of help from this gentleman on my left. He is a former Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard and a famous detective, indeed, outside the world of fiction I can think of no detective better known than the man who caught Crippen — Chief Inspector Dew.'
At this, there was a burst of spontaneous applause. The audience shifted in their chairs and craned their heads to look at the man who had caught Crippen. Walter's eyes bulged slightly, but he stood his ground.
The captain went on, 'In the circumstances I have asked the Chief Inspector to take over the inquiry from Mr Saxon, who of course has many other responsibilities on the ship. I don't know whether you would care to say anything at this stage, Inspector…'
'No,' said Walter firmly.
'In that case, I will only add that I am sure you will have the full co-operation of the passengers and crew in bringing the inquiry to a swift and satisfactory conclusion.'
'Hear, hear,' said someone, and there was more applause.
'And now there will be a fifteen-minute interval before Signor Martinelli sings for you.' Captain Rostron turned to say something to Walter and they left the lounge together.
'Didn't I tell you?' asked Johnny.
'Yes,' said Alma, beginning to breathe again.
Further towards the front, Marjorie turned to Livy and said, 'Seems like they've got a professional on the job. Who was this Crippen guy?'
'He made a lot of headlines a few years back. Some doctor living in London. He poisoned his wife and cut her into small pieces. Then he buried them in the cellar of his house and took a boat to Canada with his lover.'
'Gee,' said Marjorie, 'these English may have beautiful manners, but they do some Godawful things to each other.'
'Honey, Dr Crippen came from Coldwater, Michigan,' said Livy.
Yet there was no doubting the approval of British and Americans alike that Chief Inspector Dew was now in charge. His career was eagerly discussed over the coffee and chicken sandwiches. In his twenty-odd years as a detective, only one case of murder had remained unsolved in all those he had featured in, and that was his first, the case of Jack the Ripper, when Dew was just a junior. There was not a brighter copper anywhere. The fears accumulated through the day were scattered to the winds. The conversation was a chorus of praise for Dew and Scotland Yard and sensible Captain Rostron.
So buoyant was the mood that when Martinelli sang, he had never known a better audience. They clapped and cheered and asked for encores. It passed quite unremarked that the last aria of the evening was Nessun Dorma — None shall sleep.
9
When the singing was over, Alma turned down Johnny's invitation to a "nightcap or two" and made her way forward past the dining saloon and through the embarkation hall to the drawing room. In the days before the war when the smoking room had been a male preserve, the drawing room had been a refuge for the ladies. It retained an atmosphere of quiet refinement. It had fabric-covered armchairs and a soft green carpet. There were copies of Vanity Fair and Vogue on low round tables. Alma preferred it to the stateroom. She was soon in conversation with a woman from Baltimore who was escaping from a former husband who wanted a reconciliation. It was a consolation to listen to someone else's problems.
Some time towards midnight a bellboy came into the drawing room and announced that he was paging Mrs Baranov. He repeated it twice before Alma reacted to the name. He had a note for her. It said, Lifeboat Station 3, Boat Deck, as soon as possible. W.
Walter. He needed her. Poor man, he had suffered an enormous shock. The plan had rebounded on him. He had lost control. This was his cry for help.
She told her companion she would have to go.
'You should be careful,' the woman warned her. 'Don't take any chances.' In their conversation this was the first reference to the subject that obsessed so many others.
Alma went first to the stateroom and put on Lydia's black velvet evening cape. It would be cold outside. She pulled up the hood before she went on deck.
The breeze caught the cape and swept her forward. She pulled it closer to her body. The boat deck looked deserted. She guessed it was not the wind that had discouraged people from taking moonlit walks. She knew there was nothing to fear, but she still felt a fluttering in her stomach as she moved along the deck.
She was not sure how the lifeboat stations were numbered. She had to hope that number 3 was on this side.
Then she felt her shoulder gripped. Fingers stabbed into her flesh. She was swung round. The hood slipped off her head. She gave a cry. She was facing Walter. In the ship's light his eyes looked demoniac.
'Alma!' he said as if amazed. 'My God, you gave me such a shock. I thought…' He pulled her close and held her. 'Alma, forgive me. I must be mad. In that cape I thought that you were Lydia.'
'She's dead,' said Alma, shivering with fright. 'Lydia is dead.'
'Yes. I lost control. It was quite irrational.'
'It's understandable considering what you've been through,' said Alma.
He shook his head. 'Whatever it was, I frightened you. Did I hurt you?'
'Just a little.'
A strand of hair was whipping across her face. He lifted it off her brow. She thought he was about to kiss her, but he did not.
He said, 'There's no-one up here. I've been right round the deck. Let's walk a little.'
She had raised her face to meet his lips. She lowered it as if she had meant to nod. Walter had not noticed. It was salutary to recall that men without exception in romantic fiction had to be tutored in the subtle ways of women. She would persevere.
She said, 'What a fright you must have had when you were asked to see the captain.'
'Yes, I wondered why he wanted me. I should have guessed.'
'It was my fault,' said Alma. 'It was my idea to call you Walter Dew.'
'We thought of it together.'
'We never dreamed this would happen — that they would ask you to investigate Lydia's death. Darling, what you must have been through! You looked as white as chalk when the captain introduced you to the passengers. But you were marvellous — so conv
incing!'
'If I was white,' said Walter, 'there was a reason for it. I had just come from looking at the body.'
She gripped his arm with both her hands. 'Walter, how dreadful! I had no idea.'
'It was somewhat disturbing. You see, it wasn't Lydia.'
'What?' Alma's spine gave a twitch. 'Not Lydia?'
'I know,' said Walter in a level voice, it seems impossible.'
'Are you quite certain?'
'Positive.'
'People can look different after death.'
'Alma, I was not mistaken. This was another woman.'
She had the appalling thought that Walter's mind had gone. It had not been equal to the strain. She said as calmly and as rationally as she could, 'How is that possible, Walter?'
He gave a shrug. 'I have no idea. But it means, you see, that we are safe. As the body is not Lydia's, we are free.'
She forced herself to talk as if she accepted what he had told her. 'But there is still a difficulty, isn't there?'
'What's that?' asked Walter.
'Everyone now believes that you're Inspector Dew. They expect results.'
'In that case, I shall have to do my best to provide them,' said Walter without a trace of perturbation.
'How can you, Walter? You're not really a detective.'
'Oh, but I am.'
'No,' insisted Alma, 'Walter, you are not.'
'Let me finish please. In the eyes of everyone aboard this ship — except for you — I am Dew, and that's what counts. I have satisfied the captain. I have his authority to back me up. You heard him in the lounge this evening. I am the man who arrested Crippen. The safety of the passengers has been vouchsafed to me.'
'Yes, darling, they believe it, but you are not a detective. You don't know what to do. We have four more days at sea. There's a dead woman on the ship and you say she isn't Lydia. That isn't much to work with.'
The False Inspector Dew Page 15
