by Conrad Allen
“Five pounds.”
Genevieve was startled. If Jonathan Killick had been prepared to pay that much for access to her cabin, he would have wanted to do far more than merely leave an envelope there. That disturbed her. She looked at the stewardess, who was standing there with her feet together and hands clasped. Five pounds would have been a big temptation to someone on such a low wage.
“Thank you, Edith,” she said. “Your behavior was exemplary. I shall make a point of mentioning this to the chief steward.” The girl’s face lit up. “Now off you go and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Yes, Miss Masefield — good night.”
Edith Hurst looked as if a weight had been taken from her shoulders.
Visibility was an important part of the purser’s job and Lester Hembrow tried to be seen in or near the public rooms as often as possible. The sight of a uniform was always reassuring to passengers and, even though it exposed him to a lot of pointless questions, he did not mind. Smile intact, he suffered fools very gladly. Occasionally, however, some of his encounters were a little more abrasive.
“Ah, there you are, Hembrow.”
“Hello, Mr. Morgan.”
“Don’t you ever go to sleep, man?”
“Against company policy,” said the purser cheerfully. “I’m on call throughout the night. That, alas, is when problems often occur.”
Morgan was rueful. “Yes, I found that out!”
They were standing outside the lounge after most of the passengers had left. Since nobody else was within earshot, J. P. Morgan felt able to raise a private matter. His eyes flashed.
“I expected some results by now,” he complained.
“They’ll not be long coming, sir.”
“Be warned, Hembrow. I won’t be fobbed off.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“Then give me answers instead of excuses.”
“Mr. Dillman has been pursuing the investigation with vigor.”
“Why does he have nothing to show for his efforts?”
“But he does,” said Hembrow, earnestly. “He’s worked through a list of possible suspects and narrowed it down to a dozen or so.”
“And how has he done that?”
“Well, he believes that the killer has been on your tail for some time. Mr. Dillman feels certain that the man followed you to Paris and, therefore, must have boarded the ship at Cherbourg.”
“What evidence does he have to prove that?”
“No evidence in the acknowledged sense of the word.”
“So how has he reached this conclusion?”
“It’s an educated guess, Mr. Morgan.”
“I want more than educated guesses,” snarled the financier. “Good lord, man! We’re discussing a murder and a major art theft here. These are dreadful crimes and they won’t be solved by guesswork of any kind.”
“Mr. Dillman is an experienced detective. So is Miss Masefield.”
“Yes, I dined with the lady this evening. She told me that the net was closing in but I don’t see any proof of that.”
“I’ve told you, sir,” said Hembrow, wishing that he were not being subjected to such a withering stare. “The list of suspects is extremely short now. George Dillman has worked through the names of all the relevant passengers who embarked at Cherbourg.”
“What if the killer was already aboard?”
“We think that’s only a vague possibility.”
“Almost as vague a possibility as an arrest, by the sound of it.”
“Now, that’s unfair, sir.”
“Is it?”
“Mr. Morgan —”
“Listen to me,” said Morgan, rudely interrupting him. “My patience is wearing thin, Hembrow. I’m not used to being kept waiting by anybody, least of all by minor employees of the White Star Line. I demand a speedy resolution or heads will begin to roll.”
“These things can’t be rushed.”
“Yes, they can — if there’s sufficient urgency.”
“Nobody could work with more urgency than George Dillman. I trust his judgment, Mr. Morgan. If he’s produced a list of suspects, the chances are that the killer is definitely on it.”
“Then do the obvious thing.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Search the cabins of every person on that list.”
“We couldn’t possibly do that.”
“Why not?”
“That would be an unwarrantable invasion of privacy.”
“Howard Riedel was murdered in my stateroom,” Morgan reminded him. “That’s what I call an unwarrantable invasion of privacy, and it’s a crime that justifies any response. Search the cabins and you’re bound to find the items that were stolen.”
“Not necessarily. A professional thief might not keep such a haul in his cabin. He’d have stowed it safely away elsewhere.”
“Then search the whole ship.”
“That’s just not feasible, Mr. Morgan.”
“Why not?”
“Because the thief would always be one step ahead of us,” said the purser. “To conduct a search on that scale would involve a large number of people, and that means the passengers would be aware of it. All the thief has to do is to keep moving his loot whenever we get close to it. We’re not dealing with an amateur here, sir.”
“I’m beginning to feel that I am.”
“That’s unjust, Mr. Morgan.”
“Find me the culprit and find him fast.”
“According to Mr. Dillman —”
“Leave him to me,” said Morgan, cutting him off again. “I’ll speak to Dillman myself. He obviously doesn’t realize who I am and what I expect of people. I’ll see George Dillman tomorrow and light a fire under him. I want my property back.”
Genevieve Masefield gave her husband a succinct account of what had happened.
“What am I to do, George?” she asked.
“You don’t usually have a problem getting rid of unwanted suitors.”
“Jonathan Killick is very tenacious.”
“So it seems.”
“He keeps popping up like a jack-in-the-box when I least expect him. Blanche warned me that he never gives up.”
“She also told you that he was a thief,” said Dillman, examining the gold bracelet that had been left as a gift. “Am I holding stolen goods in my hands?”
“It’s not impossible.”
“Well, I doubt if this belonged to anyone on the Oceanic. Killick is an intelligent man. He wouldn’t risk giving you anything that might be recognized by a previous owner.”
“That’s assuming I’d wear it.”
“Would you?”
“Only if it was a present from my loving husband.”
He kissed her. “You always did drop the subtlest of hints.”
They were in Dillman’s cabin. Genevieve had explained her delay and he had listened intently. Dillman handed the bracelet back to her.
“Something positive has come out of this,” he observed.
“Yes, I discovered that I have an honest and reliable stewardess.”
“I wish that I could say the same.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who looks after me is not so trustworthy.”
He told her about how he had found Manny Ellway peering into the empty cabin, and what happened on the two subsequent occasions when he himself had looked through the keyhole. Genevieve agreed that the steward’s conduct had been suspicious.
“I can think of only one reason why he was looking at that cabin,” she said.
“Where better to hide stolen property?”
“Exactly, George. Have you been inside yet?”
“I’ll get the key from Lester Hembrow first thing tomorrow.”
“Do you really think that this Manny Ellway could be involved in the crime?” she said. “What other signs have there been?”
“None beyond the fact that he lied to me.”
“Does he look like a potential killer?”
“No,” admitted Dillman, “but then potential killers don’t look like potential killers. That’s what makes our job so fiendishly difficult. If you think about the people we’ve arrested for murder in the past, not one of them has been an obvious suspect.”
“That’s true.”
“From what I know of him, I doubt very much if Ellway would cut a man’s throat but he could still be an accomplice. Someone helped the killer to get inside that stateroom.”
“Is he Mr. Morgan’s steward as well?”
“No, Genevieve. That ambiguous pleasure has fallen to a more experienced man called Sidney Browne. According to Ellway his colleague would never dream of lending his master key to anyone.”
“So how could Ellway have got hold of it?”
“He shares a cabin with Browne. I checked with the chief steward. There are four of them in there, it seems, cheek by jowl. If they’re in and out of their cabin all the time, there might well be an opportunity for Ellway to borrow his friend’s master key. It would only have been needed for a very short time.”
“What would be his motive?” she said.
“Money, for a start. Stewards are not well paid, even in first class.”
“There would have had to be a very large cash inducement. Ellway was taking a huge risk in becoming an accessory to murder.”
“He may not have realized that murder was involved.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“If it was presented to him as a case of theft,” reasoned Dillman, “he might have been tempted. Never discount envy as a motive. If one of the richest men in the world is traveling in luxury and you’re a menial at his beck and call, how would you feel?”
“That there was some kind of social injustice.”
“Perhaps he sought to redress it.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed. “Are you going to challenge him?”
“No, I’ll just keep a close eye on Manny Ellway. I suggest that you do the same with the Honorable Jonathan Killick.”
“How do I stop him keeping a close eye on me?”
“Only you know that, Genevieve.”
“The first thing I’ll do is return this gold bracelet,” she decided. “Blanche made the mistake of holding on to some of the gifts he sent her and it allowed him to make assumptions.”
“I’m afraid that I was guilty of that this evening.”
“Holding on to a gift?”
“No,” confessed Dillman. “Allowing someone to make assumptions about my feelings toward them. All that you had to contend with was something inside an envelope. I had the lady herself in this very cabin.”
“Really?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “Tell me more, George.”
———
It was early when Mark Bossingham arrived for breakfast but Blanche was already there, sitting alone at a table and studying the menu. He took it as a hopeful sign. Hurrying across to her, he forced a smile.
“Good morning, Blanche,” he said.
“Good morning.”
“May I join you?”
“As long as you haven’t come to quarrel with me.”
“No,” he said, taking the seat opposite her, “I’d rather put all that behind us. Neither of us comes out of that business with any credit.”
“Are you blaming me?” asked Blanche.
“Not at all.”
“You were the person who tried to deceive me.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“You were, Mark.” There was a long pause. She searched his face for signs of penitence. “I was hoping that you might write.”
“Write?”
“A letter of some kind, a note of apology.”
“I see.”
“Something to slip under my door so that I could find it this morning. But I waited in vain. You’re not a man for expressing your emotions on paper, are you?”
“I’m a diplomat, Blanche. I’m very careful with my choice of words.”
“Well, you didn’t choose the right ones last night.”
He was about to reply when the waiter came to take their order. They made hasty decisions about their respective breakfasts. As soon as the man went away again, Bossingham leaned forward.
“What did you say to her?”
“Who?”
“Miss Masefield. She went to your cabin last night.”
“How do you know?”
“I accidentally bumped into her,” he said, “and I can’t say that I was altogether pleased. You know my feelings about her.”
“Genevieve came to me as a friend.”
“And I can imagine what she said.”
“Can you?”
“Of course. She tried to turn you against me, Blanche. That kind of woman always revels in other people’s setbacks. She must have been delighted when she saw you charging out of here last night.”
“You’re quite wrong. She was very sympathetic.”
“To you, perhaps — not toward me.”
“Wrong again, Mark.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was Genevieve who advised me against an irrevocable step,” she said. “When I went into that cabin last night, I was convinced that it was all over, that you left me no alternative but to break off the engagement.”
“You can’t do that!” he exclaimed.
“That’s what she told me.”
“It would be a calamity.”
“Genevieve said that you deserved the chance to explain yourself.”
He was stunned. “Did she?”
“Yes, Mark. She tried to see it from both points of view.”
“That does surprise me.”
“What’s more,” said Blanche, “she’s been in the same situation herself. I don’t mean that she had the kind of argument that we did. It was much more serious than that. Genevieve was engaged to be married when her fiancé did something that she described as unforgivable.”
“And what was that?”
“I don’t know and, even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Everything was said in confidence between us. What it amounted to was this: Genevieve advised me not to let a small disagreement look like an enormous one.”
“That was good advice. I endorse it.”
“Then perhaps you’ll be courteous enough to give me what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
“An apology for misleading me.”
“But I don’t believe that I did that.”
“Stop quibbling, Mark.”
“I want my actions to be viewed in the proper light.”
“That’s the other thing I feel entitled to ask of you.”
“Other thing?”
“Yes,” she said, taking the initiative and dictating terms. “I want a full explanation. I demand to know who Alicia Tremaine was and what part she played in your time at Oxford. I’d also like to know why you pretended that you’d never even heard her name.” She raised a palm to silence his protest. “I’m over twenty-one, Mark. I’m not going to have an attack of the vapors if you tell me that you fell head over heels in love with this girl. I’d just like to know the truth. Is that too much to ask?”
“No,” he said, loosening his collar. “I suppose that it isn’t.”
———
George Dillman got down on knees and tapped the wooden panels hard.
“What on earth are you doing?” asked Lester Hembrow.
“Searching.”
“For what?”
“A hiding place.”
“Are you serious, George?”
“Very serious,” said Dillman, rising to his feet. “When we worked for the Cunard Line, we sailed on the Caronia and were tipped off that someone was smuggling narcotics. We identified the man but we could find no trace of anything in his cabin even though we were certain that he had a consignment aboard.”
“What happened?”
“When the ship was about to sail again, a young woman came aboard to leave some flowe
rs in the cabin that our suspect had vacated. She said they were for a friend.”
“But they weren’t.”
“No, Lester. It was a ruse to get her into the cabin. She opened a secret compartment behind the wood paneling and took out a large amount of cocaine, all neatly bagged up. When I arrested her,” he said, “I thanked her for showing us where the drugs were hidden.”
“But you haven’t found any hollow panels here?”
“No. The cupboard is bare.”
They were in the empty cabin that Dillman had taken note of the previous day. Nothing suspicious had come to light. The bed was made, the bathroom clean, and the whole place ready for the next occupant. There was no sign that anyone had been in there recently.
“You must have been mistaken, George,” said the purser.
“There was a key in the lock. No mistake about that.”
“One of the stewards might have been cleaning it.”
“Then why lock it from the inside?” asked Dillman. “In any case, the person responsible for this cabin is Sidney Browne and he hasn’t been in here. I got the chief steward to ask him on my behalf.”
“The mystery thickens.”
“We can’t exclude the possibility that this cabin is in some way linked to the crimes that took place in J. P. Morgan’s stateroom.”
“Well, you’d better find that link very soon.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Morgan is on the warpath. He cornered me last night. I felt as if I were being roasted on the spit. He wants to speak to you today.”
“I’ll try to calm him down.”
“Better you than me. Right,” said Hembrow, “we can lock the place up again. You go and face the firing squad known as J. P. Morgan and I’ll hunt down your partner.”
“Why? Has there been another theft?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“During the night?”
“No, it was some time yesterday. Mrs. Penn — she’s the victim — only became aware of the theft when she was dressing for dinner and opened her jewelry box. It’s so maddening, George.”
“What is?”
“At a time when you need Genevieve most, she’s preoccupied with all these thefts. Yet she insisted that there was no connection.”
“Between what?”
“This spate of thefts and the two more serious crimes.”
Dillman pondered. “I think that Genevieve may be wrong.”
“Her argument was that nobody with a haul like the one they had from Mr. Morgan’s stateroom would bother with smaller targets. If you catch a whale, do you go off in search of sardines?”
