Murder on the Oceanic

by Conrad Allen

  “I don’t have to explain to you where they came from.”

  “Is that because you’re afraid to do so?”

  “No, Genevieve.”

  “Your conscience is clear?”

  “I make no pretense at having one,” he said. “Conscience is a device to stop people enjoying pleasure and nothing will do that to me.” He offered his hand. “Now, will you come willingly or do I have to give you some assistance?”

  “Touch me,” she said, “and you’ll be charged with assault.”

  “It will be your word against mine — the word of a common thief against that of the future Sir Jonathan Killick. Whom do you think they will believe?”

  Genevieve was becoming desperate. “Why do you keep those photographs?” she asked, changing tack. “I saw them in the valise. Don’t you think it’s rather sad if a man carries around pictures of young ladies who have rejected him?”

  “They didn’t all reject me,” he bragged, fingers in the pockets of his waistcoat. “A few of them succumbed with very little protest.”

  “Blanche Charlbury was not one of them.”

  “There’s still time for Blanche.”

  “Not now that she’s engaged to Mark Bossingham.”

  “Thanks to me, that relationship is already starting to leak water. By the end of the voyage, Blanche will be turning to me for comfort.”

  “Don’t bank on that.”

  “Let’s forget Blanche,” he said, suddenly lifting her to her feet. “I’m only interested in Miss Genevieve Masefield at this juncture — the latest addition to my private collection of beautiful ladies.”

  “Take your hands off me, Mr. Killick.”

  “Johnny. How many times do I have to tell you — it’s Johnny.”

  “Only to your friends.”

  “And to my intimates — like you.”

  “No,” said Genevieve, holding her ground as he tried to ease her across the cabin. “This has gone far enough. I know that you stole those items of jewelry and took that money from Oskar Halberg’s billfold.” He laughed in disbelief. “Where have you hidden the art treasures you took from Mr. Morgan’s cabin?”

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “They’re not in here so you must have stowed them elsewhere.”

  “You’re just trying to delay the inevitable, aren’t you?” he said, moving her by force toward the bed. “Feminine wiles won’t work on me, Genevieve. You’ll just have to resign yourself to your well-deserved fate.”

  “Let go of me!”

  “Enjoy it, why don’t you? I know that I will.”

  Genevieve struggled but his grip was too strong. When she tried to call out, he clapped his palm over her mouth. Tugging at her clothing with his other hand, he broke off a button from her dress. His breath was hot, his body was rubbing against hers. When his fingers touched her breast, he gave a long sigh of pleasure. She was just about to surrender to panic when there was a loud knock on the cabin door. Killick was motionless. He was obviously not going to respond to it. Genevieve had to take action or she was doomed. She did the only thing that she could think of. Removing a brooch from her dress, she used the pin to jab into the hand that covered her mouth. He withdrew the hand in pain.

  “Help me!” cried Genevieve. “I’m being held against my will.”

  Stepping into an alcove, Dillman waited patiently for the steward to come back into sight. Ellway was only allowed a short break before going back on duty so he was bound to return to the first-class decks soon. The detective would be ready for him. When he finally appeared, Ellway ran along the corridor so that he could get back to his post in time. Dillman stepped out from the alcove to accost him.

  “What are you doing here, Manny?” he asked.

  Ellway gaped. “I might ask the same of you, sir.”

  “I’m employed as a detective on this ship and I’m investigating some serious crimes that have taken place. I’ve reason to believe that you may be involved in those crimes.”

  “We’re not really criminals, Mr. Dillman,” said Ellway, horrified that he had been unmasked. “It was the only way that we could meet.”

  “We?”

  “Edith, sir. Edith Hurst. She’s one of the stewardesses.”

  “And you came down here to meet her?”

  “Yes. There’s nowhere else during the day, you see. I found this empty storeroom in second class so we’ve used that. Edith herself will be along in a couple of minutes. We never leave together.”

  “What’s in the storeroom, Manny?”

  “Nothing much, sir,” he replied. “It’s not the most romantic place to meet but it’s better than nothing. At night, of course, it’s a different matter. There’s that vacant cabin in first class.”

  “Ah,” said Dillman, beginning to understand. “Were you in there last night around ten, by any chance?”

  “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

  “The door was locked from inside.”

  “I know it’s against the rules, sir, but the chance seemed heaven-sent. I wasn’t supposed to be on the Oceanic at all, you see. When I was transferred to this ship, it meant that I could be with Edith.”

  “That’s highly irregular, Manny.”

  “Please don’t report us or our secret will come out at last.”

  “Your secret?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dillman,” said the other, quaking visibly. “Edith and I got married last Tuesday. This voyage is our honeymoon.”

  It was Lester Hembrow who had knocked on the door of the cabin and, when he disclosed his identity to Killick, the man was forced to release Genevieve and let the purser in. She breathed a sigh of relief. Jonathan Killick tried to make light of the situation.

  “Miss Masefield and I were just having a little game,” he said.

  Hembrow was concerned. “Really?”

  “She dropped in for a talk, didn’t you, Miss Masefield?”

  “No, Mr. Killick. You disturbed me when I was searching this room for evidence. There it is,” she said, pointing to the jewelry and the wad of money. “We know who the thief is now.”

  “Wait a minute,” protested Killick. “You were stealing from me.”

  “Calm down, sir,” soothed Hembrow.

  “How can you dare to accuse me of theft?”

  “Before we go any further, sir, I think you should know that Miss Masefield is employed by the White Star Line as a ship’s detective. She gained entry to your cabin with the master key that I provided.”

  Killick was flabbergasted. “A detective?”

  “Yes,” she said, enjoying his discomfort. “Now you can see why I was more than happy to be handed over to the purser. I’m no thief. What I wanted was what I found in your valise.”

  “Clear evidence of theft, by the look of it,” resumed Hembrow, picking through the items on the table. “This gold bracelet matches the description of one that was stolen yesterday from an old lady named Mrs. Penn. The diamond earrings were taken from Hilda Farrant.”

  “Not by me.”

  “Then perhaps you’ll explain how these items came to be here, sir.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Hembrow. I won them.”

  “What?”

  “Everything you see on that table was won fairly and squarely at the card table. Baccarat, mostly. I had a lucky streak, you see.” He shot Genevieve a rueful glance. “Unfortunately, it didn’t continue with Miss Masefield. The gentleman who gave me that jewelry had run out of ready cash, you see, and wanted to raise the stakes. He wagered what was left of his wife’s jewelry — the poor woman died last year in Monte Carlo. It’s just a coincidence that the bracelet resembles one that was stolen.” He saw their looks of astonishment. “If you won’t accept my word, ask the gentleman himself. His name is Jameson — Leander Jameson of Oak Park, Illinois.”

  Genevieve and Hembrow looked at each other. If Jonathan Killick was telling the truth — and he sounded very plausible — then they had made an embarrassing mistake. Gen
evieve picked up the business card.

  “What about this?” she asked, thrusting it at him. “A pickpocket relieved Mr. Halberg of his billfold the other night. It contained a lot of money in British and American currency. This card of his could only have come from that billfold.”

  “Turn it over, Miss Masefield.”

  “Why?”

  “Turn it over,” he urged. “The amount of money written on the back is what Mr. Halberg owes me. Forgive the squiggles. He was rather drunk when he tried to write down the numbers. You’re quite right,” he went on. “His billfold was stolen so he was unable to pay up. Fortunately, he keeps his business cards in his inside pocket so they were not taken.” He gave Genevieve a patronizing smile. “What you’re holding in your fair hand is an IOU.”

  “We’ll need to check that with Mr. Halberg,” said the purser.

  “I insist that you do. I want my name cleared.”

  “I think that it already has been,” conceded Genevieve, returning the card to him. “With regard to the thefts, anyway. I’m sorry that there’s been a misunderstanding but we had definite grounds for suspicion.”

  “What was all that about a theft from J. P. Morgan?” asked Killick. “I sat next to him last night and he didn’t breathe a word about it.”

  “That was at our request,” said Hembrow.

  “Art treasures stolen. Jewelry pinched. Billfolds taken from the pockets of their owners.” Killick looked from one to the other. “Would one of you have the grace to tell me exactly what’s going on?”

  Manny Ellway sat beside Edith Hurst with a happy smile on his face. They were in Dillman’s cabin and it was the first time that they were appearing as a married couple before anyone on board the ship. The detective had promised to divulge their secret to nobody and agreed to turn a blind eye to any marital arrangements that they contrived to make. Edith was tearfully grateful.

  “I thought that Manny somehow borrowed a master key from his colleague,” Dillman told them. “I couldn’t see how else he could get into that empty cabin.”

  “I had my own key,” explained Edith. “I look after some of the cabins in that corridor, you see. I was able to let us in when nobody was about.”

  Ellway squeezed her hand proudly. “When you saw me peering through the keyhole, sir,” he explained, “I was checking to see if Edith was inside. She’d have left the key in place. That was her signal.”

  “Then Manny would knock three times. That was his signal.”

  “In the day, it was the storeroom and all that we could do there was to talk. At night, we could be man and wife in a first-class cabin.”

  “True love will always find a way,” said Dillman.

  He admired their courage and was sympathetic to their situation. He and Genevieve were also forced to conceal their marriage and to resort to snatched moments of pleasure in a busy day. Unlike Dillman and his wife, Manny Ellway and his bride were unable to visit each other in their respective cabins. They had found the ideal solution.

  “I’m not just being sentimental, mind you,” continued Dillman. “If I keep silent about all this, I expect a quid pro quo.”

  Ellway was alarmed. “We can’t afford to give you a quid, sir,” he said. “A pound would make a real hole in our wages. I never thought you was the sort of man to blackmail us.”

  “Rest easy,” said Dillman, amused. “‘Quid pro quo’ is a Latin phrase. It means something in return for something else. Because I’m helping you, I need you to help me.”

  “What can we do, sir?” asked Edith.

  “Quite a lot. The first thing is to say nothing whatsoever to anyone about the theft that occurred in Mr. Morgan’s cabin. That must remain a secret. I only told you about it so that I can enroll you as deputies.”

  “I won’t tell a soul, Mr. Dillman,” she said.

  “Nor me,” said Ellway. “What surprises me is that Sid Browne hasn’t caught wind of it. You did well to keep it from him.”

  “That was essential. Now,” said Dillman, “we must recover that property. It’s hidden away on this vessel, almost certainly in first class.”

  “And there was Mrs. Farrant complaining like mad,” said Edith, nudging her husband. “Mr. Morgan loses things worth a fortune and says nothing. Mrs. Farrant loses a pair of earrings and you’d think someone had taken the crown jewels from her cabin.”

  “Worst of all,” said Ellway, “she blamed you, love.”

  “I think we can leave Mrs. Farrant aside as a potential suspect,” said Dillman dryly. “Look at the other passengers. Between the two of you, you must go into a lot of cabins in the course of a day. Have you noticed anything at all unusual, however slight it may be?”

  “No, sir,” said Edith. “What about you, Manny?”

  “Well, there is that artist and his two ladies,” recalled Ellway. “They’re not only unusual, they’re plain eccentric and I can’t pretend that I approve of what they do. Marriage vows is marriage vows to me.”

  “I’m familiar with their liberal attitudes,” said Dillman, thinking of the nocturnal visit from Veronica Thomas. “Have you spotted anything else in their cabin that struck you as odd?”

  “Everything in there is odd, Mr. Dillman. But there was something,” he said, thinking hard, “now you mention it. Maybe artists do this all the time so I’m probably showing my ignorance. It was funny, though.”

  “What was?”

  “Well, Abednego Thomas has got these paintings in there. To be honest, I was too ashamed to look at them, but I did peep at the ones by Mrs. Thomas. They’re very good. Very good indeed.”

  “Yes,” said Dillman, “I’ve seen them.”

  “Before or afterward, sir?”

  “I don’t follow you, Manny.”

  “When I first saw them paintings, they had lovely frames that Mrs. Thomas had specially made.”

  “Yes, I noticed them.”

  “One of them has been turned upside down.”

  “Upside down?”

  “Yes,” said Ellway. “The beading along the top is slightly different from the strip at the bottom. That caught my eye straightaway.”

  “Manny has always been very observant,” said Edith.

  “A couple of days ago, Mr. Dillman, it changed. The beading was the other way round on one frame. It was almost as if she’d taken out the painting and turned it upside down before putting it back in its frame. Is that usual, sir?”

  “No,” said Dillman thoughtfully. “It’s highly unusual.”

  Genevieve Masefield was still jangled by her confrontation with Jonathan Killick. She blamed herself for being too eager to search his cabin. Her rash action had almost resulted in a personal nightmare. What made her humiliation worse was that Killick was completely innocent of the crimes that had occurred. He was guilty of assault and — had the purser not arrived when he did — of something far more serious, but Genevieve was not ready to reveal the details to Lester Hembrow. As they sat in his office, she was doing her best to rid her mind of the perilous situation into which she had unwisely put herself. Only her husband would hear the full truth.

  “I did warn you,” said the purser harshly.

  “I know.”

  “We’ve been left with egg on our faces, Genevieve.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you have the sense to wait for me? I had a bad feeling about this exercise from the start.”

  “It was all my fault, Lester. I accept that. But you must admit that there was compelling evidence. When I saw what was hidden away in his valise,” she went on, “I was convinced that we had our man.”

  “Instead of which, we now have an angry passenger, berating us for searching his cabin behind his back. Everything he told us was quite correct. Mr. Leander confirmed it and so did Mr. Halberg. The bag you found contained nothing but his winnings at the card table.”

  “That’s how he funds his trips to New York — by gambling.”

  “I’m not interested in Jonathan Kil
lick anymore,” said the purser. “He’s not a genuine suspect. The only consolation is that he’s not going to kick up a stink with the captain.”

  Genevieve knew why. While he had legitimate cause for complaint, Killick also had a reason to keep quiet about what had occurred in his cabin. When she was at his mercy, his treatment of Genevieve had been disgraceful and verged on a heinous crime. It was in his interests to suppress details of what had happened. The word of a minor aristocrat might outweigh that of a common thief but not that of a ship’s detective with a reputation for honesty and integrity. Killick had also promised not to reveal Genevieve’s true identity. He had been shocked to learn what her role on board really was, and his overweening confidence had been dented. He would not admit to anyone that a woman had so easily deceived him. It was too galling.

  “So where do we go from here?” asked the purser.

  “We continue with our inquiries.”

  “No more searches of passengers’ cabins.”

  “It’s a weapon we must use, Lester,” she argued.

  “Not when it can so easily be turned against us.”

  “A search is the only way to get conclusive evidence.”

  “I’ll need a lot more persuading before I allow another one. This could all have been avoided if you hadn’t been so hasty, Genevieve. I knew that we should have consulted George beforehand.”

  “He would have advised the search.”

  “But he’d also have insisted on a lookout.”

  “Yes,” she conceded. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

  “Those passengers are partly to blame,” he said. “If they hadn’t diverted me at the critical moment, I could have helped you.”

  “I felt so excited when I discovered that jewelry,” said Genevieve. “Those diamond earrings were exactly like the ones that Mrs. Farrant described. In assuming that Jonathan Killick had taken them, I forgot that the thief had to have been a woman.”

  “Who on earth can she be?”

  “I don’t know, Lester, but one thing is certain. She won’t rest on her laurels. My guess is that she’s waiting to steal from someone else.”

  The woman only put her bag down for a minute. Bright sunshine had enticed her out on deck with hundreds of other first-class passengers. Wearing coat, hat, scarf, and gloves, she stood at the rail and gazed at the horizon. When she got something in her eye, she put her bag down so that she could use a handkerchief to extract a speck of dust. The woman reached for her bag a minute later but it was no longer there.