by Conrad Allen
“You got drunk and started a fight, sir. We can’t allow that.”
“Those Yanks tried to take my whiskey off me,” protested the old man.
“You’d had too much of it already.”
Heritage put his face to the grille in time to see the adjoining cell being unlocked by a member of the crew. Two other crew members were holding a wizened old man who was swearing volubly as he tried to get free. Heritage was about to acquire a neighbor.
“You can’t touch me,” cried Daniel Webb. “I’ll report you to the purser!”
“You’re the one on report, sir,” said the younger man. “In you go.”
The prisoner was thrown unceremoniously into the cell and the door was locked behind him. With his wild imprecations still ringing in their ears, the three men walked off. Heritage had not enjoyed solitude but it was preferable to being forced to listen to the curses of an inebriated old man. He waited until Webb’s protests began to fade.
“Hello,” he called through the grille. “Can you hear me?”
“Who are you?” growled Webb.
“I’m in the next cell, my friend. I’m a victim of false arrest.”
“So am I, so am I. They ought to be grateful to me. Wait till the purser hears about this—and that Mr. Dillman. He was the one who gave me the bottle.”
Heritage was alert. “George Dillman? The ship’s detective?”
“That’s the bloke.”
“Why did he give you a bottle of whisky?”
“I helped them, see?” Webb said belligerently. “I’m their only witness. And this is the way they treat me. Without me, they wouldn’t even know he was dead.”
“Who?” asked Heritage.
“The bloke what was thrown over the side of the ship. I was there. I saw it.”
“Are you saying that someone was killed?”
“Yes,” said Webb. “Last night. Right in front of my eyes. This man was clubbed to the deck then pushed over the rail. I watched it all. What do you think of that?”
Heritage sat down on his bunk, his mind racing madly.
ELEVEN
Genevieve Masefield had spent almost a half an hour alone with the prisoner, but progress was extremely slow. At no point did she feel she had won the other woman’s confidence. Carrie Peterson told her a great deal about the circumstances that had led her to flee from England with her lover but Genevieve sensed she was holding something back. Time was running out. It was now early evening and Genevieve needed to change for dinner. She brought the interview to an end.
“Thank you, Miss Peterson,” she said. “What you told me was very revealing.”
“It was such a relief to talk to a woman for a change.”
“That’s why Inspector Redfern sent me.”
“I’m grateful.” Carrie searched her face. “Have you reached a verdict yet?”
“Verdict?”
“Isn’t that what you were supposed to do?” she pressed. “Ask me questions then report back to the inspector? What will you tell him?”
“Exactly what you’ve said to me.”
“But you must have made a decision about us. Do you think we’re guilty?”
“It’s not for me to say.”
“You must have an opinion.”
“No, Miss Peterson.”
“Supposing you were a member of the jury.”
“I’d need to study all the evidence before I even thought about reaching a conclusion,” said Genevieve, moving to the door. “All that I’ve heard so far is your side of the story.”
“John will confirm all the details.”
“I’m sure that he will.”
Carrie crossed over to her. “We’re not killers, Miss Masefield,” she said with sudden passion. “We were just trying to start a new life. It was our last chance.” A note of envy sounded. “It’s so different for you. You’re beautiful and intelligent and all the things that I’m not. Wherever you go, men will be attracted to you. I had nobody until John came along. You may think it’s wrong that he’s so much older than me, but the truth is”—she went on, biting her lip—“he’s all I’ve got. Don’t you understand? John was the only man who ever took a real interest in me. Do you think I’d jeopardize my one chance of happiness by committing a dreadful crime?”
“Probably not.”
“Tell that to the inspector. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the point.”
“Good-bye, Miss Peterson,” said Genevieve, opening the door. “And I don’t think it’s wrong that there’s an age gap between you and Mr. Heritage. To be honest, I find it rather touching. There’s no reason at all why people of different ages shouldn’t fall in love.” She saw tears come into the other woman’s eyes. “However, that’s not the point at issue, is it? I must go now. Excuse me.”
Letting herself out, Genevieve locked the door behind her then walked along to the adjoining cabin. Uncertain whether Inspector Redfern was up yet, she gave a tentative knock. He opened the door almost immediately and invited her in.
“How are you, Inspector?” she asked.
“Fine, fine,” he replied. “I gather that you’ve spoken with Carrie Peterson.”
“I listened rather than spoke.”
“What did you make of her?”
“She’s an interesting woman. There’s more to her than appears on the surface.”
“I think she’s devious and calculating.”
“That’s not the impression I got.”
“Oh?”
“Miss Peterson is still bewildered by the turn of events,” said Genevieve. “Only true love could have made her change her life so radically. She staked everything on it. Suddenly, it blows up in their faces. She’s bound to be confused.”
Redfern was cynical. “I hope you’re not asking me to feel sorry for her.”
“Not at all, Inspector. I just want you to understand her position.”
“In my view, her position is alongside John Heritage as his accomplice. He is certainly guilty,” the inspector asserted. “No shadow of a doubt about that. Since they were so close, my guess is that she was an accessory to the murder of Winifred Heritage.”
“They were close,” agreed Genevieve, “yet she claims she knew nothing about the money that was taken from the pharmacy account. He kept that from her.”
“Perhaps, Miss Masefield; though I’m not entirely convinced of that. What he couldn’t disguise was the fact that he’d bought the poison that helped to kill his wife. Carrie Peterson had access to the record book at the pharmacy. She must have seen his name there.”
“I didn’t raise that with her.”
“I did. Her answer was evasive. However,” he said, indicating a chair, “I’d like to know how you got on.”
Genevieve sat down.
“With luck, she may have confided things to you that she concealed from Sergeant Mulcaster and me.”
“Judge for yourself, Inspector.”
Genevieve gave him a succinct account of her meeting with Carrie Peterson, taking care to present the information without making any personal comment. The inspector was pleasantly surprised at the number of new details Genevieve had elicited from the woman. As he listened, he gained fresh insights into the relationship between the two suspects. Nothing he heard caused him to revise his opinion about their guilt but he was glad to have the additional facts at his disposal.
“Thank you, Miss Masefield,” he said. “You’ve done a valuable job. I had grave doubts about the wisdom of letting you interview her, but I can see now that it’s been a profitable exercise.”
“I’ll be happy to talk to her again.”
“How would Miss Peterson respond to that?”
“Warmly, I imagine. She was so pleased to have female company.”
“Let me think it over.”
“Her overriding concern is for Mr. Heritage,” said Genevieve, getting up from her chair. “She’s upset that you’ve moved him out of his cabin. Even though they can’t make contact, she felt reassured to know that
he was relatively close to her.”
He thought it over. “I’ll probably have him moved back,” he decided. “But not to appease his mistress,” he stressed. “It will be more for my own convenience. I don’t want to spend any more time in that cell with him. It stinks. I only put him in there as a temporary measure when I lost the services of Sergeant Mulcaster.”
“Miss Peterson kept asking where the sergeant was.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That he was busy elsewhere.”
“Good,” he said. “I don’t want either of them to know what happened. In fact, the fewer people who are aware of the situation, the better. It would only spread panic and that could hinder the investigation.”
“Have you any idea what the motive was?”
“I don’t, Miss Masefield, but your colleague believes that he does.”
“George?”
“An astute man,” conceded Redfern. “You don’t suppose he’d be interested in a job at Scotland Yard, do you?”
“Not unless it involved sailing across an ocean,” she said.
Redfern grimaced. “He’s got more appetite for that kind of thing than me,” he said grimly. “This voyage has turned into a nightmare. Quite frankly, Miss Masefield, I don’t care if I never see another ocean liner again.”
Nobody would have guessed that Paul Taggart was under any strain. When he strolled into the first-class lounge early that evening, he looked poised and assured. His smart uniform helped him to make a pleasing impact on all the passengers who were gathering there before dinner. It was not long before he was ambushed. Wearing a ruby-red gown that reached down to her ankles, Mrs. Anstruther confronted him. Her perfume billowed towards him in a wave.
“Why haven’t you locked him up?” she demanded.
“Who?”
“That weird man, Mr. Taggart. The one I reported to you.”
“Mrs. Anstruther—”
“He was looking at me, in the most upsetting way. Lord knows what disgusting thoughts were going through his warped mind!” she said with a shudder. “I shan’t feel safe in my bed until he’s under lock and key.”
“There’s no danger, I promise you.”
“I think that there is.”
“The gentleman has been spoken to,” said Taggart.
“He was no gentleman, believe me!”
“Try to forget him, Mrs. Anstruther.”
“How can I, when that dreadful creature is at liberty? You should have seen those mad eyes of his, Mr. Taggart. They were twins pools of evil.”
“That’s not true at all,” he said smoothly. “I’m reliably informed that Mr. Morris suffers from a medical condition that makes his eyes protrude like that. He couldn’t help the way he looked at you—or anyone else, for that matter. Instead of reporting the man for being a nuisance, you ought to take pity on him.”
“Oh,” she said, disappointed. “Are we talking about the same passenger?”
“Mr. Morris. Mostyn Morris.”
“That’s the man. One hears so many things about the Welsh, you know.”
“Well, I should pay no attention to them, Mrs. Anstruther. They only lead to silly misunderstandings. Since you found his company unsettling, Mr. Morris has given a firm undertaking to sit well away from you.”
“I see.”
“There’s no call for any more anxiety.”
“But I still dream about the way he stared at me.”
“I can’t do anything about that,” he said. “And now, if you’ll excuse me …”
“Wait,” she ordered, grabbing his arm. “I have another complaint.”
Taggart took a deep breath. “Not about Mr. Morris again, I trust?”
“No, it’s about the lady in the single cabin next to me.”
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“I hardly like to put it into words, Mr. Taggart.” She looked around to make sure they were not overheard. “Illicit behavior is taking place.”
“Could you be a little more specific?”
“She’s been entertaining a man in there.”
“There’s no rule against that, Mrs. Anstruther.”
“There should be,” she argued. “Immorality is the first sign of a nation’s decay. Look at Rome. Look at Babylon.” She spoke in a whisper. “Look in the cabin next door to me. It’s scandalous.”
“What is?”
“The way she conducts herself. I was appalled. When I first met her, I thought she was a nice, quiet, respectable Christian lady. Last night, I saw her in her true colors.”
“As what?”
“A scarlet woman!”
“I think you may be exaggerating.”
“Am I?” rejoined Mrs. Anstruther. “You should have peeped out of my cabin at midnight, as I did. Do you know what I saw? A man was tapping on her door in what seemed to be a private code. The next moment, the door opened and in he went. I am talking about a spinster here, Mr. Taggart, an unmarried woman who was receiving a visitor at that hour.”
“There may be an innocent explanation.”
“Only one explanation comes to my mind.”
“People are entitled to the benefit of the doubt.”
“Oh, there was no doubt about this,” she assured him. “When I put my ear to the wall of my cabin, I heard suggestive noises. Need I say more?”
“No, Mrs. Anstruther.”
“She was actually giggling. At her age!”
“That’s hardly a crime.”
She pointed a finger. “What action do you intend to take?”
“None, at this stage.”
“None!”
“I’m a purser,” he said patiently, “not an archbishop. It’s not for me to issue any moral guidelines. What people do in private is entirely their own affair.”
“Even if they’re not married?”
“Even then.”
“But this happened only feet away from where I lay,” she told him. “I couldn’t sleep a wink all night.”
“I thought you said that you dreamt about Mr. Morris’s eyes.”
“Did I? Well, that was later, when I dozed off out of sheer fatigue.”
“If it bothers you that much, Mrs. Anstruther, I’ll see if we can move you to another cabin—yet again. Leave it with me and I’ll speak to the chief steward.”
“Can’t you move her to another cabin—and him?”
“Presumably he already has a cabin of his own. Who knows?” he asked, unable to resist the temptation to outrage her further. “Perhaps the lady will visit his cabin tonight. They make take it in turns to use each other’s beds.”
“What a grotesque idea!”
“They’re breaking no law.”
“They are, in my opinion.”
“Passengers are allowed to invite visitors into their cabins.”
“Not for that reason, Mr. Taggart.”
“For any reason they choose,” he said, keen to bring the conversation to an end. “The Cunard Line has no jurisdiction over people’s private lives.”
“It should have. Standards of decency must be set by someone.”
“Not by us. It would be an intrusion.”
“The captain will hear about this.”
“You’d be wasting your time,” he said. “I don’t wish to upset you, Mrs. Anstruther, but the lady next to you is probably not the only single person aboard who spends the night with someone else. The likelihood is that it happens all over the vessel. Shipboard romances will always occur. We make it our business not to interfere with them. Good-bye. Enjoy your dinner.”
He left her goggling with indignation, and strode briskly away.
When he was asked for his help, Dillman was happy to oblige. It showed that Inspector Redfern trusted him. Since he had an appointment with the captain, Redfern was unable to do the task himself so he asked the American to transfer the prisoner back to his cabin from the cell he had occupied all day. Dillman was pleased to be the bearer of good news. In the course
of moving John Heritage back to the second-class area of the ship, Dillman would have the opportunity to talk to him again. After reporting to the master-at-arms, he was given the key to the cell. Dillman also received a shock.
“Mr. Heritage will be grateful to move,” said the master-at-arms. “That drunken old fool was getting on his nerves.”
“ ‘Drunken old fool’?”
“A passenger in steerage. He swallowed half a bottle of whisky and thought he was the world heavyweight boxing champion. It took three men to restrain him.”
Dillman was alarmed. “What’s his name?”
“Daniel Webb.”
“Oh dear!”
“You know him, Mr. Dillman?”
“I’m afraid so,” the detective said guiltily. “I gave him the whisky.”
“He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near strong drink. It’s like giving a box of matches to a fire-raiser.”
“Is he still locked up?”
“Yes,” said the other man. “Asleep at last, snoring up to high heaven.”
Dillman went off to the cells and peeped in on Daniel Webb. Curled up on his bunk, the old man was wheezing noisily. The torn coat and the bruises on his face indicated he had been in a fight. Even from a distance, Dillman could smell the whisky on him. He regretted his benevolence. In giving the old man a present, he had turned him into a menace to other passengers.
Dillman moved to the next cell and unlocked the door. Heritage jumped to his feet at once.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Inspector Redfern asked me to move you back to your cabin.”
“Thank God for that!”
“I understand you had a noisy neighbor.”
“Yes, Mr. Dillman,” said Heritage as he stepped outside the cell. “I never understood what a roaring drunk was until I met Mr. Webb.”
“He’s peaceful enough now.”
“You should have heard him earlier. In fact, I’m surprised that you didn’t. His voice was loud enough to reach every part of the vessel. Still, at least, he explained one little mystery.”
“Mystery?”
“The disappearance of Sergeant Mulcaster.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Dillman, face impassive.
“It was the sergeant who was thrown overboard last night, wasn’t it?”
