'So they may have deliberately lost.'
'Yes. In fact, they appear to have played quite well for a few hands and then gone all to pieces. She was critical of his play and he reduced her to tears at the end of the evening.'
'Do you think it was stage-managed?'
'It certainly seems to have convinced the Americans.'
'But what was the point?'
'To reassure them that Gordon and Miss Masters didn't know each other, couldn't play very well together and could easily be beaten. The American girl was left comforting Miss Masters and promising to play bridge the next night.'
'It does begin to sound plausible,' commented Alma. 'You really are a detective.'
Walter's face lit up. 'Do you think so?'
'But it doesn't explain why Miss Masters was murdered.'
'No.'
'And now that she is dead it will be very difficult to prove.'
Walter nodded glumly.
'Unless…' said Alma.
'What?'
'You could find out for certain whether she was on the concert committee.'
6
Giovanni Martinelli was in the barber's shop having a manicure and an animated conversation in Italian with the barber. They stopped abruptly when Walter entered.
'Signor Martinelli?' said Walter.
The great tenor raised his eyebrows.
'Forgive me for interrupting. My name is Dew, Inspector Dew, inquiring into the unfortunate death of Miss Katherine Masters. There is one small point that you may be in a position to clarify. I was informed that on the evening of her death Miss Masters was seen to approach certain guests to ask them on your behalf as chairman of the concert committee whether they were willing to participate in the ship's concert. I merely wish to confirm that she was so engaged and was an accredited member of your committee.'
Martinelli said nothing. He simply stared at Walter.
I am merely verifying statements from other witnesses. It is simply a formality.' Walter took out his notebook and pencil to reinforce the point.
Martinelli's face softened into a broad smile. 'Si.'
He took the notebook and pencil from Walter, wrote something and handed them back.
He had written G. Martinelli, Mauretania, 1921.
7
The edginess apparent between Paul and Barbara in their conversation with Walter persisted into the evening. There was dancing after dinner in the dining saloon and Paul joined the Livingstone Cordells at their table. He took the seat across the table from Barbara. He could have moved closer to her when Livy took Marjorie on the floor for a tango, but he did not. He could have talked to Barbara, but he gave his attention to the dancing. Barbara began to wonder why he had joined them at all. When the tango ended and Marjorie came back, she said, 'Aren't you young people dancing at all this evening? You shouldn't let the older generation show you up.'
Barbara said, 'Paul had a very exhausting game of deck tennis today, Mother.'
Paul ignored the taunt. He said to Marjorie, 'When you and Livy go on the floor it makes the rest of us look so wooden.'
'Flatterer,' said Marjorie with a ripple of pleasure that set her sequins shimmering. 'In that case, Livy and I will sit the next one out and give you two a chance to cut a rug.'
It was a waltz. They circled the floor solemnly to I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles. Paul was an adequate dancer, usually able to distract his partner from any imperfections in the movement with amusing conversation. This evening he was unwilling or unable to amuse Barbara. Towards the end of it, she said, 'I'm sorry.'
'Why?'
'Because my mother inflicted this on you.'
'She didn't. I asked you myself, didn't I?'
She nodded. A touch on the drums heralded the end of the dance.
'You make a beautiful couple,' said Marjorie when they got back to the table.
They sat out the next two dances and then had an old-fashioned St Bernard waltz too intricate for any dialogue to take place. When it was over, Paul said, 'I think I'll get an early night. I'm not much company for you.'
Barbara said, 'It's not easy with my parents at the table.'
'I'm not getting at them. They're nice people.'
'We could go for a walk on the deck.'
'It's too cold. The wind is getting up.'
'Too bad,' said Barbara. 'I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account.' Immediately she had spoken the words, she wished she had not. They were not meant to carry the rebuke that they did. They expressed her genuine frustration at the awkwardness that had crept between them. She said, 'I'm, sorry. Please don't go to bed.'
Paul's eyes registered bewilderment. He said quietly, 'Barbara, let's draw a line under today, huh? Maybe we can both be in a better frame of mind tomorrow. Goodnight.'
She went back to the table alone. She excused Paul's absence to her parents by saying he had not been feeling well. Her mother gave her a sharp look and said young men were more vulnerable than many women realised. Livy went to get them drinks and came back with the information that Paul was in the smoking room bar. 'I guess he needs a couple of whiskys to make his head better,' he told Barbara. 'Come on, you haven't danced with me yet.'
She was thankful for Livy's thoughtfulness. He quite often took the edge offMarjorie's remarks and now he was helping her to get over the feeling that Paul had abandoned her. He said, 'Don't worry about him. He cares about you. I've watched him. He's got a lot to learn about the ladies, but he's trying. Give him time.'
Barbara kissed Livy lightly on the cheek and said, 'You're very sweet to me.'
She decided to watch a couple more dances and then go to bed. Livy took Marjorie on the floor for a foxtrot. Barbara watched them, wondering whether Marjorie really appreciated his worth.
'All alone, then?' said a voice behind her.
She looked over her shoulder and saw Jack Gordon leaning towards her. His blond hair and white shirtfront caught the light that was over the dance floor.
'Not entirely,' said Barbara. 'My parents are dancing.'
'And why not you? Would you give me the pleasure?'
At any time previously she would have politely declined, but now she did not hesitate. She got up and took Jack's arm and stepped on to the floor. She felt the confidence of his dancing at once. He guided her without strain and with a sense of rhythm that she knew enhanced her own movement.
'I didn't know you liked dancing,' she told him.
He smiled. 'I'd be a fool not to like it when it gives me the chance to put my arm around such a beautiful girl.'
She rated this as one of the fastest remarks that she had heard from a man, and warning signals buzzed in her head, but she was still glad he had said it. She said, i haven't seen you on the floor before.'
'I haven't seen you alone before.'
She tried to steer him onto a less personal course. At the rate he was going it was certain to end in embarrassment, i believe bad weather is forecast for tomorrow.'
'I don't particularly care about tomorrow.'
'You would if you were as nervous as I am about the prospect.'
'Don't give in to it, Barbara. I know a very good remedy for seasickness.'
'Yes, Mother has some tablets in her room.'
'I don't mean tablets. This is much more pleasant to take. A glass of brandy every two hours. Would you like one now to lay the foundation?'
She practically gasped at the speed of his technique. 'We're in the middle of a dance.'
'We can wait to the end.'
'It's most generous of you to offer me a drink, but I'd rather not.'
'Why?'
'There's someone outside I would rather not be seen by. I don't know exactly where he is, but I heard he was drinking.'
'Someone I know?'
'I'd rather not say.'
'I'll collect the brandy and bring it in here.'
'I was sitting with my parents.'
'Couldn't you go to another table?'
His pers
istence was beginning to trouble her. What had started as a timely boost to her confidence was rapidly losing its charm. 'Jack, I don't want the brandy, thank you. Can't we just enjoy this dance?'
'Forget the brandy, then. Enjoy the dance. We'll slip out when it's over and find somewhere quieter.'
'No. I want to stay here.'
'What are you afraid of? I won't hurt you.'
The music stopped. Barbara said, 'Goodnight,' and turned smartly aside to meet Livy and her mother as they left the floor.
'Who was that?' asked Marjorie. 'He looks like a charmer.'
'Just help me to get away from him,' murmured Barbara. But Jack was already on his way out.
After the last waltz the three of them returned to their staterooms on D deck. Barbara's was three doors farther along the corridor than her parents'. She kissed them goodnight and moved on. She took her key from her bag and turned it in the lock. As she opened the door she was conscious of somebody standing behind her. He was so close that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. She had a thought that it might be Paul, wanting to apologise for their friction earlier. She turned.
Jack stood a foot from her. He said in a low voice, 'You forced me. It needn't have been like this.'
She drew her breath to scream as he moved towards her.
8
'Card-sharpers?' said Captain Rostron.
'That is one theory I am working on,' said Walter guardedly.
They were in the captain's stateroom. His personal steward had brought them a decanter of scotch and a soda siphon and two crystal glasses. Walter was smoking a cigar.
'I won't say you're wrong, Inspector,' said the captain, 'but we keep a pretty close eye on that sort of thing. I don't mind admitting it was getting out of hand before the war, but we've tightened up a lot — I'm speaking of the Cunard fleet now — and I'm glad to say that there isn't much of it going on now. Of course, you can't stop people from playing cards, so it's still difficult to detect, but that's what the master-at-arms and his staff are paid to do. Mr Saxon may not be a Sherlock Holmes when it comes to murder, but he knows his card-sharpers, I assure you.'
'I don't doubt it,' said Walter.
'My chief purser has a very good memory for faces. He always tips me off when professional gamblers come aboard. They're quite well known, most of them. They spend their lives crossing the ocean — like me.'
'So you think it is unlikely that Mr Gordon and Miss Masters were involved in card-sharping?'
' won't say it's impossible. I'm as sure as I can be that they haven't gambled on the Mauretania before, but there are dozens of other ships making the Atlantic crossing, as you know. I can ask Mr Saxon to make a few inquiries if you wish.'
'Not at this stage, thank you,' said Walter. 'I would prefer to work alone.'
'The best card-sharpers rarely appear in the smoke-room,' said the captain. 'The games are played behind locked doors in the staterooms. The "pigeons", as they call their victims, are allowed to win vast amounts of money. It is all recovered, of course, and much more, in one last game that is usually played after we dock, on the boat train, or in some New York hotel. We may have suspicions, but by then it's out of our control. These parasites are very artful, Inspector.'
Walter gave a nod and blew a perfect smoke ring. Captain Rostron wondered whether the Inspector was holding something back. He was certainly not saying much.
'If they were card-sharpers,' the captain ventured, 'why should one of them be murdered?'
Walter drew on the cigar, exhaled, and said with great significance, 'Exactly.'
'I suppose it's possible that one of their former victims may have recognized them and decided to take revenge,' the captain went on, 'but murder is an extreme form of revenge.'
'Extreme,' agreed Walter.
'A man would have to be very desperate to resort to that, or very callous.'
'Either,' said Walter.
'Yes,' said the captain.
'Indeed,' said Walter.
There was silence between them. It was a long time since Captain Rostron had come across anyone so unforthcoming as Inspector Dew. It was beginning to antagonise him. The man clearly had a lot more going on in his head than he was prepared to discuss. The only way to prise it out was by direct questions.
'Well, Inspector, have you decided why Miss Masters was murdered?'
'No.'
'Do you have any suspects yet?'
'Suspects?' repeated Walter. He reached for his glass and took a sip of whisky. 'No.'
'I see. The case is proving difficult?'
Walter considered the question. 'No.'
'I asked to see you in the hope that you would have some ideas about the murder, but all we seem to have discussed is whether the victim may have been a card-sharper. Let's suppose for the sake of argument that she was. Where will you go from here?'
'To bed,' said Walter. 'To sleep on it.'
The captain sighed heavily.
Walter cleared his throat, i was about to observe…'
'Yes?'
'That this is a very good whisky, captain.'
'Oh. I'm glad you like it. 1 hope you enjoy your sleep. Make the most of it. There are squalls ahead.'
9
That night Alma slept badly. She dreamed that she was being pursued by Walter. He was wearing his long overcoat and bowler hat. He was no longer Walter Baranov. He had become Inspector Dew, and she was Ethel Le Neve. He was hunting her through every section of the ship, around the decks, through companionways, into the second class and the third and the galleys and the holds and the bilges. Each time she found a place to hide, he came towards it and she fled in terror. Everyone was hostile, pointing at her, telling Walter which way she had gone. At last he trapped her in a passageway deep in the part of the ship where no passengers ventured. As he came towards her his eyes were gleaming like a madman's and his hands were spread like talons. She reached out to protect herself and her hand came into contact with a doorknob. She turned it and a door opened and she threw herself inside and slammed it shut. She was in a brick-lined cavernous place filled with motionless figures. It was the Chamber of Horrors. Suddenly one of the figures moved, a woman in a long black cloak. Her face was pallid and there were strips of seaweed in her hair. It was Lydia. She took Alma's arm and guided her across the stone-paved floor past the effigies of infamous killers, Burke and Hare, William Palmer, Dr Pritchard and Neill Cream. There was one figure standing alone. A plaque in front of it said H. H. Crippen. Alma looked at the face and screamed. It was Johnny Finch. They had executed Johnny, sweet-natured, innocent Johnny.
10
The master-at-arms, Mr Saxon, led Walter down another iron stairway and along a passage lit with bare electric light bulbs. Their shoe-leather clattered on the grating with a sound that offended the ear after the carpeted corridors upstairs. Yet Mr Saxon walked with a spring and a swagger suggestive of a millionaire on his way through the most exclusive section of the first class. This morning Mr Saxon felt like a millionaire. He had arrested the strangler.
'I decided not to disturb your sleep,' he told Walter with his words resounding from the sheet-metal on either side. 'There was no need for it, no need at all. You've had an exhausting time, Inspector, taxing your brain and drawing on all your experience at the Yard to dissect the motives of this crime. You deserved your rest. Why trouble you when we had the fellow safely in the cells for the night? I informed the captain, naturally. I think he was rather pleased that his own men cracked the case after all. Anyway, he agreed with me that we would tell you in the morning.'
Walter said nothing. He had already listened to Barbara's account of the incident last night. There was no doubt that the girl believed she had met the strangler. Jack Gordon had certainly forced his way into her stateroom. She was fortunate that her scream had been heard by another passenger sufficiently responsible to telephone Mr Saxon's office. And it was not in dispute that when Saxon and his assistant forced the stateroom door, Ba
rbara was being held from behind by Gordon, who had one hand on her neck and the other over her mouth. Walter had inspected the bruising on her neck.
There was a man on duty outside the cell. Saxon instructed him to unlock the door and close it behind them. 'You and I are capable of protecting ourselves from a strangler of helpless women,' he remarked to Walter. 'They're craven cowards, men who do this sort of thing.'
Jack Gordon was still in his evening shirt and trousers. His bow tie and shoes had been removed. When he got up from the bare mattress on which they found him slumped, he had to support his trousers with his hand. His eyes were red-rimmed and his usually sleek hair drooped over his forehead.
Mr Saxon said, 'You've met Chief Inspector Dew.'
Gordon gave a nod.
Walter said, 'Sit down, please,' in the voice he used in the dental surgery. Mr Saxon placed a wooden chair in the centre of the floor for his prisoner, and retired behind it. Walter perched himself on the edge of a table.
He said to Gordon, 'I have just been talking to Miss Barbara Barlinski. I have seen the marks on her neck.'
'Marks?' repeated Jack abstractedly.
'The marks inflicted by your hand.'
Jack shook his head. 'Was I holding her that tightly?'
From behind him, Mr Saxon said, 'Don't put on that innocent voice, Gordon. I caught you in the act of strangling her.'
He twisted round abruptly and said, 'That's a lie! I was trying to stop her from screaming.'
'From breathing,' said Saxon.
'No!'
'Inspector Dew has seen the strangulation marks.'
'This is mad. I didn't strangle her.'
'You strangled the other one,' said Saxon.
'You don't know what you're talking about.'
Walter asked, 'Mr Gordon, are we to understand that you deny strangling Miss Masters?'
'I haven't strangled anyone, for God's sake.'
Mr Saxon stepped forward and said confidentially in Jack's right ear, 'We have two women, one dead, with the mark of the strangler's hands on her neck, the other fortunately, very fortunately, alive, with the mark of your hands on hers.'
The False Inspector Dew Page 18
