That evening, and for the remainder of the trip, Harry and I sat at the table of the second officer, M. Rollin. M. Guenard, the purser, was also there, along with Mlle. Moreau, his fiancée, and a young woman named Julie Dupagnier. Madame Dupagnier, she pointed out to M. Rollin, who appeared unconcerned with the distinction. She wore her long, brunette hair in an intricate knot that changed each day. She was clearly attractive, but obscured the upper half of her face with a veil.
Mlle. Moreau was at least as old as M. Guenard, forty-five I would guess, with dark hair, and peasant-like features and figure. She reminded me of my mother, who would have felt equally awkward in the first-class saloon of an ocean steamer. At one point, she mistakenly offered the glass meant for dessert wine to the waiter. A faux pas hardly worth noticing, one would think. But when she briefly left the table, Mme. Dupagnier took the opportunity to make a catty remark about it. M. Guenard turned very red and forgot his position for a moment, telling Mme. Dupagnier she was being rude. But then M. Rollin said she obviously hadn’t realized the relationship between the two of them. The purser apologized for taking such offense. I couldn’t remember for certain, but it seemed to me we were all at the table when the introductions had been made. I knew Mme. Dupagnier’s type very well from college, and my sympathies were firmly with Mlle. Moreau.
The next morning, I asked Harry if he had searched the officers’ quarters.
“No, do you think I should?” he asked.
“Surely they are the chief suspects.”
“Maybe, but does it seem likely the thief will have the gold neatly piled under his bed?”
“I wasn’t suggesting that. But there might be other clues about.”
“Ah, clues! Yes, I forgot all about clues. Thank you, Emmie, for reminding me.”
I wasn’t pleased about having to suffer Harry’s sarcasm. But I did achieve my end. Harry spent the day alternately angering and incommoding the officers, to the great detriment of the ship’s efficiency. In the meantime, I visited the ship’s library, where I was able to verify his account of shrew taxonomy. Later that afternoon, when the men were gathering for the drawing of the lottery in the smoking room, I stopped Mr. Smallby, the faux professor, and led him aside.
“Mr. Smallby, you are a charlatan,” I told him. But I made sure to smile, and wasn’t at all accusatory. “You know nothing about the Soricidae.”
“That’s true enough,” he conceded. “Who in the world are the Soricidae? Arabs?”
“The Soricidae are the shrews.”
“Oh, yes. Those little fellows. Are you a connoisseur of shrews?”
“No, not particularly. But a brief visit to an encyclopedia was enough to verify your fraud.”
“Well, no harm’s been done,” he said. “It was just a little joke.”
“I’m happy to accept your explanation. It can remain our secret.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Reese. And if there’s something I can do for you?”
Of course, there was something he could do for me and I wasted no time in telling him. I proposed that we form a syndicate for the purposes of the pool. He smiled, and agreed readily.
“But you haven’t heard my terms yet,” I told him. “At the auction this evening, we need to acquire the shortest run.”
“You think the weather will take a turn for the worse?”
“Yes, something of that nature. However, I must depend on you for the capital.”
“I’m not a wealthy man, Mrs. Reese. But I’ll make every effort to do as you wish.”
That evening at dinner, Mme. Dupagnier made a point of sitting beside M. Guenard, the purser. She was acting peculiarly attentive toward him. I say it was peculiar not merely because she was a married woman, or because his fiancée, Mlle. Moreau, was seated at his other side, but because, whatever positive qualities M. Guenard might have had, charm and good looks were not among them. And Mme. Dupagnier, in spite of once again covering her eyes with a veil, was quite obviously a very beautiful woman. I assumed, at first, she used this to mask some scar or birthmark. But I soon learned that was not the case. A waiter passing too closely behind her disarranged her hat, and I helped her to right it. There was no mark or scar. And had I eyes like hers, I would not be hiding them.
After dinner, Mme. Veblynde and I went to the music room, where several passengers had offered to give a performance. It was really quite excruciating. I wanted desperately to leave, but knew my companion was obliged by her position to endure the spectacle. Meanwhile, Mr. Smallby had gone off to the smoking room to do his duty by the syndicate. When the concert had at last concluded, Mme. Veblynde excused herself and M. Rollin, who’d been seated at my other side, suggested a stroll on the promenade deck. He’d apparently been rebuffed by Mme. Dupagnier and I had moved up on his list. Hoping to gain some intelligence, I agreed. Only later did I realize he’d misinterpreted my enthusiasm. He led me out and as we walked pointed out several constellations of the zodiac. When we rounded a corner, I saw Harry on the deck below. He disappeared down a hatch with a bottle of wine in his hand. The sight gave me an odd, and completely unfamiliar, feeling. I don’t think it was jealousy, exactly. But certainly something more than curiosity.
In the meantime, M. Rollin was attempting to ingratiate himself by exaggerating my charms and beauty. It was easy to imagine him chalking up conquests with each voyage. I asked him if he’d made the acquaintance of Mme. Yvard during the last voyage. Unfortunately, my object was all too transparent. But instead of taking offense, he found it very humorous. He told me he had swept her off her feet, but her obsequious devotion quickly became too taxing. He gave her the gold in lieu of his affection, and sent her back to her husband. I laughed, and then told him I needed to go in. He moved quite close and I began to feel not a little discomfited. He told me he had a secret to confide. From the look in his eye, I thought I had a very good idea as to the nature of his secret and told him it held no interest for me. I repeated that I needed to go, as my husband was waiting for me. It was just then that Harry passed not five feet from us, yet took no notice at all. That made it rather difficult to convince M. Rollin he was pining anxiously for my return.
The next morning, Harry was planning to search the crew’s quarters and asked me how to politely wake a man and ask to search his belongings. I thought a bit, and then sang out in the lilting voice a mother would use with a child, “Réveillez-vous, morse paresseux! Laissez-moi voir ce que vous cachez.”
“Morse paresseux?” he asked.
“It’s an idiom. It means something like ‘my dear comrade.’ But the intonation is key.”
It took some doing, but eventually Harry was able to speak the lines well enough to convey his intentions. Or, I should say, my intentions. I had misled him, of course, but it was his own fault for being so credulous.
I couldn’t be certain what effect he would have, going about calling the crew lazy walruses and accusing them of hiding things, but I assumed it wouldn’t be a positive one. At noon, a young officer went to the smoking room and posted the previous day’s run. A crowd had gathered, but I feigned indifference. Then, to my relief, I heard Mr. Smallby being congratulated. Many expressed puzzlement that so little progress had been achieved, as the weather had been clear and there was little wind to speak of. As we had arranged, Mr. Smallby kept our winnings until after he had again secured the shortest distance at that evening’s auction.
Just after lunch, M. Rollin came off watch and found me speaking with Mme. Veblynde on the promenade deck. She absented herself almost immediately, saying she needed to do some mending. M. Rollin again mentioned his secret, this time adding that it might be an important clue as to the identity of the thieves. I said in that case, I was indeed interested. He insisted he needed to tell me someplace private and proposed using our cabin. I laughed at the suggestion, but he told me he only wanted to aid me in winning my wager with the captain.
“You know something that would expose the thieves?” I asked.
“Pe
rhaps. It’s certainly curious.”
“Why then didn’t you reveal it previously?”
He said it would have seemed as if he were pointing the finger at one man, and he didn’t feel sure enough to do that. It had the sound of plausibility, so finally I acquiesced and left for the cabin. He joined me there not long afterward. I had some trouble returning his attention to the clue he’d mentioned, for the man was as persistent as he was charming. But eventually, he told me that on the day the theft was discovered, he noticed that the kegs were sealed with red wax.
“Isn’t that normal?” I asked.
“Yes, but when we saw them sealed in New York, I’m sure it was a deeper color. Much darker.”
“Well, that would merely confirm they’d been tampered with. Which is obvious.”
“Yes, but I believe I had the same feeling when we brought the kegs on board in New York. The color didn’t look right. That is what I found curious.”
He seemed to be implying that the kegs had been tampered with between the time the gold had left the Assay Office and when it came on board L’Aquitaine. But I reminded him that he himself had accompanied it.
“Yes, that is true. But I was not watching it every moment. And the gold was loaded into a wagon, while M. Palmer and I followed behind in a carriage.”
“Who is M. Palmer?”
“The representative of the bank, in New York. The wagon was in our sight the whole time, and I saw the kegs unloaded at the pier. But…”
“But if someone had been very clever, and well prepared, they might have switched kegs at some point.”
“Precisely. I make no accusation, please understand.”
“No, no. Surely not.”
M. Rollin’s mind now moved on to other subjects. It was becoming increasingly challenging to keep him at bay in the tiny cabin. I had just removed a hat pin and was preparing to plunge it into his thigh, when the steward knocked. At my invitation he entered, acting as if it was quite normal to find a ship’s officer in a lady’s cabin. Happily, the intrusion was sufficient to send M. Rollin on his way.
At dinner there was an empty seat beside M. Guenard. His fiancée was not feeling well, he told us. We all voiced sympathy, including Mme. Dupagnier. But she took immediate advantage of the situation. And it was clear M. Guenard was coming to enjoy her attentions. Meanwhile, M. Rollin made me the target of his.
That evening, another performance was scheduled in the music room. And this one involved a child prodigy. Mme. Veblynde winced when she told me. I suggested we instead retire to the ladies’ drawing room and I would teach her to play bridge. Mr. Smallby came by about eleven. He managed to slip me an envelope containing two hundred francs, the equivalent of forty dollars. I had hoped for more, but assumed he had needed to bid higher at the evening’s auction in order to secure our preferred position. It was quite late when I went down to our cabin that night. Harry had preceded me some time before and I saw no one else about—until just as I reached our door. I heard a noise not far away. I turned and distinctly saw M. Houyvet, the first officer, emerging from one of the passenger cabins. The next morning, I discreetly asked the steward who that cabin belonged to. It was Mme. Dupagnier’s.
After lunch, I spent some time trying to reach some conclusion about the case. At first, I was inclined to dismiss M. Rollin’s evidence, as it didn’t explain the three bars in Mme. Yvard’s trunk. If the gold had been stolen in New York, there seemed no logical reason for any being in her luggage. But then, I wondered, could that be why it was there? By having the gold fall from the trunk, they made it seem certain that the gold had been on the ship. Perhaps Mme. Yvard was the lover of one of the conspirators. She’d been somehow given the gold in New York, and her trunk deliberately weakened.
That night, I had a long and informative conversation with Mme. Veblynde. I was in her cabin keeping her company while the captain was on watch. She told me a most amazing story about the Countess von Schnurrenberger, whom we had seen in Trouville. But since it bears nothing on the present story, I will save it for a later installment.
I slept quite late the next day, missing breakfast entirely. There was a note from Harry telling me he was off making a search of the engine room. Just as I was reading it I heard a great clanking and I had the impression the ship had slowed. When I later asked Harry if the noise had anything to do with his search, he denied it, but then became suspiciously evasive. Harry is a horrible liar. By that I mean he is horrible at hiding his lies—a quality any wife would find endearing.
After I’d confirmed that the syndicate had again been victorious, I went off to look for Mr. Finn. I was anxious to confront him on the matter of the wax seals mentioned by M. Rollin. Just after lunch, I found him in a deck chair reading. He agreed to meet me in my cabin. There, I told him what I had heard about the wax seals. He became very defensive and revealed that Mr. Palmer, the bank officer who had escorted the gold with M. Rollin, was his father-in-law. He seemed to think that would in some way alleviate my suspicion. It was a naïve notion, of course, for it merely made me suspect him as well. Nonetheless, I apologized for upsetting him and agreed there was probably nothing to the rumor. When I showed him out, I saw someone, a man, peering down the passageway in our direction. He moved away quickly, but I felt certain it was Mr. Smallby. I hoped he was coming to give me another share of our winnings, but when I spoke with him later he said I must have been mistaken. Due to our success, the bids at the auction for the shortest run had gone up, and he didn’t want to be caught short. I agreed he should continue to hold the money and even returned the two hundred francs he’d given me earlier.
III
That evening at dinner, the purser, M. Guenard, arrived with Mlle. Moreau on his arm. Mme. Dupagnier’s seat was taken by a young Canadian gentleman and we were told she was dining elsewhere. I was once again seated for M. Rollin’s convenience. How quickly the charming gentleman becomes the bothersome windbag. He suggested we take a stroll after dinner and I consented, chiefly to challenge him on the matter of the changing colors of sealing wax.
“That was a lie you told me, M. Rollin.” This was merely a conjecture on my part, but I thought one worth trying.
“Not a lie, but perhaps my memory is not so good,” he replied playfully. “But you make it so difficult to see you in private.”
“It’s for your own safety. I should have warned you how jealous Harry can become.”
He smiled at the thought—until I told him how Harry once shot a man who had threatened his position with me, and then hid the body by sinking it in a putrid industrial canal. I had no trouble telling a very convincing story. Not that Harry had ever done such a thing, but I had often imagined he would. I told him I was sure Harry was spying on us at that very moment. But it was only when I alluded to a revolver that M. Rollin finally made some excuse and absented himself. I was quite relieved to be rid of him. But all I had accomplished was to confirm that M. Rollin’s testimony about the wax was doubtful, not that Mr. Finn was innocent. It seemed quite a coincidence that the loading of the gold was supervised by his father-in-law.
That night, when we returned to our cabin, Harry found a lady’s handkerchief lying just inside the door. He seemed not to realize whose it was, and I didn’t see any reason to share with him that I recognized it as Mme. Dupagnier’s. She wore a most distinctive perfume. Harry assumed the steward had dropped it there, but why would a steward have Mme. Dupagnier’s handkerchief?
I lay awake for some hours trying to reason out who had stolen the gold. Then it struck me. What if Mme. Dupagnier was really Charlotte Yvard, the minister’s wife? Suppose she had conspired with some member of the crew to steal the gold and secrete three bars in her trunk. They had been found, but she had come back to make another try. The woman I knew as Julie Dupagnier had hazel eyes, and they were just as stunning as the reports of Mme. Yvard’s. The veil was used to obscure them. She must also have dyed her blonde hair brunette. I wouldn’t have thought this would be enoug
h to fool the attentive eyes of M. Rollin, but perhaps he hadn’t really spent any time with Mme. Yvard at all. And it would explain why M. Houyvet had visited her cabin: he was her confederate. She must have snuck into our cabin to find out what we knew.
At breakfast the next morning, I convinced Harry he should begin searching the passengers’ cabins. He spoke with the captain and one of the stewards was assigned to accompany us. I made certain that Mme. Dupagnier’s was included. If she was spying on us, I thought it only fair that we should return the favor. I must admit to being rather envious of the woman’s wardrobe. I’m no slave to fashion, unlike some of my friends who’ll impoverish themselves for a new pair of shoes. But I do know the goods when I see them. I was able to confirm that it was indeed her handkerchief we’d found in our cabin. I also found a leather brace. It looked like some sort of orthopedic device. But I couldn’t fathom how exactly it was to be worn. And the stitching had been done by a clumsy hand. Then I went to her dressing table and found her brush and combs. I looked carefully at several strands, but, alas, the hair was not dyed.
I had some difficulty in disengaging Harry from Mme. Dupagnier’s lingerie, but eventually we made our way to Mr. Finn’s cabin. There was nothing at all incriminating among his possessions. Though the nauseating endearments he and his wife used for each other should really never have been recorded, even in private correspondence. She had preceded him to New York, apparently. In one letter, she made reference to the fact that her father was retiring and would be joining them in Buenos Aires.
Hidden Booty (Emmie Reese Mysteries, Story #2) Page 2
