Murder on the Oceanic

by Conrad Allen

  “Oh yes. I do.” Boyd took over the story. “They were a delightful couple from Chicago — Tom and Elaine Haxton. We got to know them very well. Money and valuables were stolen from their cabin but, by the end of the voyage, they had it all back again.”

  Mrs. Farrant was not persuaded. “Was the ship’s detective female?”

  “No, it was a man.”

  “I thought so.”

  “You’re being very unkind to Miss Masefield.”

  “She’s had well over twenty-four hours to work on the case and she’s made absolutely no progress. Frankly, I doubt if she ever will. That’s why I’ve demanded full compensation for the stolen items. I won’t settle for a penny less.”

  “Were the diamond earrings insured?”

  “No, Mr. Boyd. I didn’t think it necessary.”

  “We insured our valuables before coming on board,” he told her. “It’s a facility that’s offered by the shipping line. If you didn’t follow their advice, you may find that they refuse to pay any compensation.”

  “Then I’ll sue the company.”

  “Oh, you’re so brave, Mrs. Farrant,” said Rosalie admiringly. “I’d never have the courage to do anything like that.”

  “Rosalie hates confrontation,” explained her husband.

  Mrs. Farrant snorted. “I thrive on it.”

  “Those earrings must be very special to you.”

  “They’re a dear memento of my late husband.”

  “What would he have done in these circumstances?”

  “Herbert?”

  “Would he have written a searing letter of complaint?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Farrant. “Herbert was a man of action. He would’ve gone straight to the captain and demanded that my earrings were promptly found even if it involved a search of every cabin on the ship.”

  “Supposing that they were still not tracked down?”

  “Then he’d have challenged the captain to a duel.”

  “What about the purser?” asked Rosalie.

  “Oh, he’d have made that dreadful man walk the plank.”

  Dillman knew that one of the prime assets of any detective was thinking time. There was no point in taking precipitate action until all the aspects of a case had first been considered. A few hours’ reflection could save him days of undirected legwork. Accordingly, he went straight back to his cabin after the interview with J. P. Morgan and wrote down all the attributes that he felt the killer and his accomplice must possess, uncertain, at this stage, whether he was looking for two men or a man and a woman. His first search was through the names of those who had attended the drinks party given by Morgan the previous evening. Having finished that, he began a trawl through the vastly larger list of passengers in first class. Dillman was so deep in thought that he did not at first hear the tap on his door. After a pause, there was a loud banging that brought him out of his meditation.

  He opened the door to let the purser him. Hembrow was worried.

  “I’ve just spoken to the captain,” he said.

  “And?”

  “He wants to know what’s going on, George.”

  “We’re engaged in a murder investigation,” said Dillman. “That’s what’s going on. Doesn’t he realize that?”

  “He’s getting edgy. This is a crisis. He needs to be told that we’re making definite headway.”

  “Then tell him that we are.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I hope so.”

  “So there’s no concrete evidence to show him?”

  “No, Lester, but I’ve worked out lots of things in my mind.”

  “The captain wants more than your latest theory.”

  “In that case,” said Dillman, glancing down at the notes he had made, “tell him that I’ve narrowed down the list of suspects to seventy-three people. It’s simply a question of eliminating them one by one.”

  Hembrow was astonished. “How did you arrive at that figure?”

  “By deciding that the man who killed Howard Riedel would most probably have boarded the ship at Cherbourg.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The element of calculation involved. He knew exactly when and where to strike. To do that, he had to be certain that Riedel and Mr. Morgan were actually traveling on the Oceanic.”

  “Couldn’t he have found that out in advance?” asked the purser. “If he sailed with us to Europe when Mr. Morgan was aboard, it wouldn’t have been difficult to establish when the great man was due to return.”

  “Maybe not,” said Dillman, “but there was always the element of chance. Mr. Morgan might have changed his mind and sailed on a different vessel. He might have headed home sooner or later than planned. That was too big a risk to take. He was followed.”

  “All the way from Paris?”

  “And in the city itself, probably.”

  “Assuming that you’re right — and I’ve still to be convinced — what made you settle on the number seventy-three? We took over two hundred and fifty passengers on board at Cherbourg.”

  “The majority were in steerage. I’m discounting them.”

  “If you’re simply looking at first class, then the number is even lower. It’s only forty-six.”

  “Forty-one, Lester.”

  “How do you make that out?”

  “You’re including Riedel and Mr. Morgan in that and the two people we can clear of a murder charge are Howard Riedel’s employer and the victim.”

  “True enough.”

  “I’ve also taken Abednego Thomas, his wife, and his model out of the reckoning. I know them well enough to be certain that they’d not be party to a murder. That gets me to seventy-three.”

  “It was only forty-one a moment ago.”

  “You’re forgetting the thirty-two second-class passengers who joined us at Cherbourg. Add those and you get my total. Yes,” he went on as Hembrow was about to protest, “I know it would have been easier for a first-class passenger to commit this crime and our search must naturally begin there. But the killer might anticipate that and see second class as a safer place to be. It’s sensible for us to throw the net wider.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “I’ll be able to cross many of the names off this list very soon. Some of the passengers will be too old or infirm to be suspects. And there’ll be other reasons why we can delete people at a glance.”

  “So what do I tell the captain?”

  “Say that I’ve got it down to forty. That’s a good, round number.”

  “Only if your theory is correct.”

  “Yes,” confessed Dillman, “and I’m not infallible. I don’t rule out the possibility that the killer shadowed Morgan and Riedel to Cherbourg then met up with an accomplice already aboard. But I have this strong feeling that we must look to France for the real link.”

  “Then you’ll have to do it on your own, George.”

  “Why?”

  “Genevieve has her hands full. Two more cases of theft.”

  “Who were the victims?”

  “A man who had his pocket picked and a woman whose jewelry box was taken from her cabin. Genevieve said that you knew her. One of two sisters — Miss Florence Stiller.”

  “We met over dinner, though she had little time for me.”

  “I hear that Abednego Thomas hogged their attention.”

  “They’re real devotees,” said Dillman. “They want to write an article about him for their magazine. Needless to say, he basked in female adoration all evening.”

  “He isn’t called Abed-We-Go for nothing.”

  “I’m sorry that this had to happen to one of the sisters. It’s the sort of thing that sours a voyage.”

  “Unless we can retrieve that jewelry box for her.”

  “Genevieve will do her damnedest to get it back, along with the billfold and the diamond earrings that were stolen. It will be tricky, I’m afraid. Small items are easy to conceal. That’s not the case with the haul from Mr. Morgan’s cab
in, however.”

  “No, you’d need a proper hiding place for that.”

  “Yes,” said Dillman. “Wherever can it be?”

  ———

  Manny Ellway’s duties gave him little free time and most of it was spent with the other stewards. While they moaned about their low wages, or made suggestive remarks about certain female passengers, Ellway tended to stay aloof. He had no complaints to make. Indeed, when he was alone, there was always a smile of satisfaction on his lips. Lunch was served early for the stewards that day but he decided to miss it. Instead, making sure that he was unobserved, he flitted along the corridor and went down a companionway until he reached the second-class area of the ship. He made his way swiftly to a storeroom and, having checked once more to see that he was alone, he took out a key and let himself in. His smile soon blossomed into a full grin.

  Genevieve Masefield had some trouble tracking Oskar Halberg down. Since he was not in his cabin, she checked all of the public rooms in search of him. Not finding him in any of them, she went out on deck, only to learn that the couturier had just gone back to his cabin before luncheon. Genevieve went there once again. She introduced herself to Halberg but got a cold reception.

  “You want to talk to me now?” he asked as if she had just made an impossible demand. “This is very inconvenient, Miss Masefield.”

  “We can talk early this afternoon, if you prefer.”

  “I do.”

  “I just thought that you’d want to give me an account of what happened sooner rather than later. Then I can start to make inquiries.”

  “The purser had a full report from me.”

  “I’d rather hear it firsthand,” said Genevieve.

  “Well, it can’t be this minute.”

  Having admired his dress designs for so many years, she was disappointed to find that the middle-aged man who created them was short, lean, stooped, and decidedly ugly. He wore a wig of dark wavy hair that would have suited someone twenty years younger but which only looked absurd on him. His suit was flamboyant, though Genevieve could not see it properly as he had only opened the cabin door a few inches. Oskar Halberg was a tetchy little man and she took against him. He, in turn, was not enamored of her.

  “Why did they send me a woman?” he said.

  “Because I’m employed as a ship’s detective.”

  “Could they find no man to do the job?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why use you? When I look at a woman, I see a body that needs to be clothed properly so that it can enhance the personality of its owner. You, for instance,” he went on, eyeing her emerald green suit, “should always wear blue. Green subdues your essence. The right shade of blue would liberate you.”

  “I didn’t come to discuss my wardrobe, Mr. Halberg,” she said. “I want to hear about the theft of your billfold.”

  “Later.”

  “Do you want to give me a time?”

  “Three o’clock.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. I’m a busy man so please be punctual.”

  “You can rely on that, sir.”

  “And for evening wear,” he advised, “you would look best in red.”

  “I like to choose my own attire, Mr. Halberg.”

  “That’s all too apparent.”

  Genevieve bridled at the note of disapproval in his voice and she was tempted to make a barbed comment about the ridiculous wig that he was wearing, but she said nothing. However impolite they might be, she knew that passengers had to be treated with the utmost politeness.

  “I came at a bad time,” she said. “Do accept my apology?”

  “Three o’clock,” he declared.

  Then he closed the door. Annoyed by his rudeness, Genevieve walked away, wondering why she had upset him so much. Oskar Halberg, meanwhile, adjusted his wig and beamed at the young woman who was seated in the corner of his cabin.

  “What was that all about?” she said.

  He flicked a dismissive hand. “Nothing, nothing.”

  “Who was that lady?”

  “Nobody,” said Halberg. “That’s why I sent her on her way. I only wish to talk to you, my dear.”

  Dominique Cadine was pleased to hear it.

  The conversation took place on the promenade deck. With luncheon being served soon, most people had left and it was possible for Blanche Charlbury and Mark Bossingham to talk in private at last, their earlier attempts to do so being frustrated by the presence of others.

  “Why must we talk out here?” said Blanche, mystified.

  “Because there’s nowhere else to do it.”

  “Yes, there is, Mark. I can think of two highly suitable places.”

  “Blanche!”

  “Well, we could certainly have privacy in one of our cabins.”

  “It would be quite improper for me to come to your cabin.”

  “Then I’ll come to yours.”

  “That’s out of the question,” reproved Bossingham, “and you know it. I’m in a position of trust here. I gave your parents an undertaking that I’d behave like a gentleman toward you.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I can always count on you to do that.”

  “We are only engaged, Blanche — not married.”

  “Betrothal entitles us to some degree of closeness, doesn’t it?”

  “We’ve spent every day together.”

  “But always in public.”

  “What else are you suggesting?”

  Blanche lacked the courage to reply. He looked so stern and righteous that she could not stand up against him, still less even hint at a flagrant breach of decorum. Something had clearly upset him and it was her place to let him air his grievance. She would have to postpone what she hoped would be his transformation into a flesh-and-blood human being until after their wedding.

  “What do you wish to discuss?” she said.

  “Your relationship with Killick.”

  “I’ve told you everything about that already.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I spoke to him this morning,” said Bossingham.

  “You usually avoid Johnny like the plague.”

  “It was not out of choice, Blanche. But he caught me out here and I couldn’t shake the fellow off. He was as disagreeable as ever, especially when he was talking about you.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He made insinuations.”

  “That’s nothing new,” she said with a dismissive laugh. “Johnny is always making insinuations about something or other. Pay no heed to him, Mark. He was only trying to goad you.”

  “I’m well aware of that.”

  “Then let’s put it all aside and go and eat.”

  “Not until we’ve sorted this out,” he said, stopping her with a hand. “I know that Killick is a compulsive liar and that I probably shouldn’t have listened to him, but he touched a raw spot.”

  “He can be very cruel at times.”

  “Then why did you get involved with him?”

  “I wasn’t involved,” she replied. “I’ve explained that to you. I only ever saw Johnny as a friend — almost like an elder brother.”

  “He claims that you had a proper romance.”

  “Never!”

  “Is it true that he sent you cards and flowers?”

  “Yes, but he did that to lots of girls. He’s very generous.”

  “What did he expect in return for his generosity?”

  “I refuse to answer that,” she said, visibly hurt. “You’re the one making insinuations now and I find them quite offensive.”

  “I’m sorry, Blanche. I just want to know the truth.”

  “It’s quite simple. Johnny Killick belongs to my past. You — and only you — belong to my future. That’s what makes him so jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Of course. He envies us. We have something that he could never have. We’re in love, Mark. We’ve made a lasting commitment. John
ny’s never done that in his whole life. He has these shallow relationships with a string of women and casts them aside after a few weeks.”

  “Is that what he did with you?”

  “No,” she retorted. “I cast him aside.”

  “So there was a proper relationship?”

  “Not really.”

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “Yes!”

  “Blanche,” he said, eyes glowing with intensity, “you can’t bring an attachment to an end unless it existed in the first place. You don’t cast aside a person whom you describe as a mere friend, a kind of elder brother. Something must have happened between the two of you.”

  “What is this?” she cried, lips trembling. “I thought that we came on this voyage to be together, not to rake over the past. I don’t ask you about any of the girls you knew at Oxford. Yet you keep on badgering me about Johnny as if I was a kept woman or something.”

  “Perish the thought!”

  “How was I to know he’d even be on this ship?”

  “You couldn’t possibly have done so.”

  “I wish that we’d sailed on the Adriatic or the Majestic now.”

  “So do I,” said Bossingham, relenting at the sight of her discomfort.

  “I can’t seem to do anything right,” she wailed. “When I make a new friend, you tell me that Genevieve is not a suitable companion for me. When we bump accidentally into Johnny, you get it into your head that I was just another of his fleeting conquests. It’s so unjust, Mark.”

  “I know and I take it all back.”

  “Is this how it’s going to be after we’re married?”

  “No, Blanche.”

  “Won’t I be allowed to have any friends of my own?”

  “Of course, you will.”

  “But only if they meet with your approval.”

  “Look — please. Don’t get so distressed.”

  “You were the one who caused the distress.”

  “And I offer my profoundest apologies.”

  “It’s too late now.”

  “Let me make it up to you,” he offered, taking her by the shoulders. “Come on, darling. Tell me how I can make amends?”

  She hesitated. “Are you serious?” she said at length.

  “Ask me anything.”