To Davy Jones Below

by Carola Dunn

  13

  Daisy stopped dead with her hand on the companion-way rail. “Gotobed?” she said, horrified. “Impossible!”

  Alec groaned, recognizing the symptoms. Whenever Daisy got herself mixed up in one of his cases, or mixed him up in one of her entanglements, she sooner or later took one of his suspects under her wing. Thereafter, she refused to credit the possibility of that person’s guilt.

  Sometimes she was right, and sometimes she was painfully wrong. The trouble was, she could no longer view the case objectively. Her theories and opinions, which Alec ruefully admitted were occasionally useful, tended to exculpate her favourite. She would fail to report odd snippets of information. Alec was convinced—well, fairly certain—she did not do so on purpose; it was more like an unconscious refusal to see their significance.

  “He was standing right beside Pertwee,” Alec reminded her, “actually reaching into his pocket.”

  “For matches, not a pistol. We would have seen if he had pulled out a gun.”

  “Would you? I don’t think I would, not at that moment.”

  “Well, perhaps not. At that particular moment I was more concerned with catching the rail and not going overboard myself. But Gotobed couldn’t have known we wouldn’t be watching. He knew we were right there.”

  “True. It would have to have been the decision of a split second when he saw our attention elsewhere. He could hardly miss at that range.”

  “And he was carrying a pistol around on the off-chance?” Daisy said sceptically.

  “Why not, if he knew about his wife and Pertwee?”

  “Which is pure speculation in the first place,” she scoffed. “Besides, if he’d shot Pertwee, he’d hardly have reported to the Captain that he’d been shot. No one would have known.”

  “He couldn’t be sure the body wouldn’t be recovered,” Alec pointed out. “If Pertwee had been hauled out with a bullet in him, and Gotobed was known to be standing beside him and had said nothing, it would have looked extremely fishy.”

  “Maybe, but—Oh, sorry!”

  They were blocking the way, still standing at the bottom of the companion-way where Daisy had come to a halt. She moved aside to let another couple pass and then started upwards. Alec followed.

  “But?” he asked.

  “Gotobed’s no fool. If he wanted to bump off Pertwee, which I don’t believe, he wouldn’t have done it in such a public place when he was the only one near him.”

  “Not if he had planned the murder, I agree. But we’ve only Gotobed’s word for it that Pertwee asked for a light. Pertwee must have known who he was. What if he actually revealed his affair with Wanda at that moment, and Gotobed reacted without thinking?”

  “In that case, Gotobed didn’t know before, so why was he carrying a gun?” Daisy asked reasonably. “And why would Pertwee reveal the affaire, thus killing the goose that laid the golden eggs?”

  Alec was sure there must be answers to both questions, but he couldn’t think of any. His head was distinctly muzzy after twenty-four hours without nourishment; not the best state in which to confront witnesses, let alone suspects. He still couldn’t face food. Yet now that he was on his feet, he could not leave the investigation to Daisy, especially since she was determined to defend Gotobed.

  She could help elsewhere though, and it would distract her. As they reached the entrance to the Grand Salon, he said, “You’re right about Lady Brenda, love. Will you see what you can find out from her, without being too obvious? Do not, for instance, ask if she was with Riddman when Pertwee was shot.”

  “Right-oh, darling.” She scanned the room and Alec followed suit.

  Tonight, two-thirds of the space was occupied by small tables—half of each dining table having been removed—and groups of easy chairs, all bolted down. Passengers were chatting, reading, playing cards, chess, or backgammon. On the small dance floor, several couples gyrated.

  Alec noticed uneasily that the dancers’ movements were frequently interrupted by unorthodox steps dictated by the ship’s motion, affording them a good deal of amusement. The Talavera was skipping about like a drunken lamb. However, his stomach seemed to have settled, more or less, and he had begun to adjust automatically for the irregular movements as he walked. Nonetheless, he quickly averted his gaze from the dance floor.

  “Brenda’s dancing with Riddman,” Daisy said in surprise. “Doesn’t that suggest that he’s lost his poker partners, one dead and one sea-sick?”

  “Or he’s come to realize he owes his fiancée some attention. Leave her be this evening. You may not need to talk to her at all if I get the information from Riddman’s steward. He probably has a manservant aboard, but I’d rather keep him in the dark if possible. Ah, there’s Gotobed.”

  “Darling, he …”

  “You know I have to have a first-hand description of what he saw when Pertwee went over.” He headed for the table where his quarry sat with Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant.

  In spite of the cottonwool in his head, Alec easily manoeuvred matters the way he wanted them. The gentlemen rose when Daisy arrived, of course. As they all exchanged greetings, Alec seated her in the fourth chair. Then he laid his hand on Gotobed’s sleeve and indicated a nearby empty table with his head. The two of them moved over to it. Alec felt Daisy’s reproachful gaze following him.

  “Sorry to drag you away, sir.”

  “That’s quite all right.” Gotobed appeared neither surprised nor alarmed. “You’ll be wanting to hear about it for yourself, Chief Inspector.”

  “Please, Fletcher will do. Yes, I do need the story from the horse’s mouth. You are the only eye-witness, as Daisy and I weren’t looking at that moment.”

  The Yorkshireman’s lips twitched. “So I gather. I see you have found your sea-legs. I only wish Wanda would try Miss Oliphant’s simples.”

  “They do seem to have helped,” Alec said cautiously, “especially the ginger. Will you describe, please, exactly what happened?”

  Gotobed ruminated for a moment. “To begin at the beginning,” he said, “I went up to the boat-deck to smoke a pipe. I don’t care for the Smoking Room, and a bit of bad weather doesn’t bother me. In fact, I rather like a good, boisterous blow. You’re a townsman, I believe?”

  “Born and bred. I can see the attraction of a blustery wind though. I know Daisy finds it invigorating.”

  “Aye, there’s a lass after me own heart,” Gotobed observed, lapsing momentarily into Yorkshire. He resumed in standard English: “I found a sheltered nook to light my pipe then went over to the rail. It was just a few minutes later that I turned and recognized you and Mrs. Fletcher under a pair of sou’westers.”

  “Daisy’s almost swallowed her,” said Alec, with a reminiscent grin, reflected on Gotobed’s face. Alec was finding it damnably difficult to remember the man was a suspect. He was just too likeable. “They were lent us by the first officer. I was talking to him about Denton.”

  “The fellow who went overboard last night? How is he?”

  “In a bad way, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. This doesn’t seem to be a lucky voyage, does it?” Gotobed sighed. “And it started with such high hopes.”

  “Sea-sickness plays havoc with one’s plans,” Alec commiserated tactfully. “But to continue, Daisy and I started towards you.”

  “And before you reached me, that fellow …”

  “Excuse me,” Alec interrupted, “you don’t know his name?”

  “You haven’t discovered yet who he was? I’m afraid I can’t help you. I’d never spoken to him before, though I’d seen him about once or twice.”

  Gotobed appeared to be perfectly sincere. Alec reminded himself that no man makes a million before he’s forty without possessing a certain talent for dissimulation.

  “Oh, we know who he was. A Mr. Pertwee, Curtis Pertwee.” Though he watched narrowly, Alec did not see so much as a flicker of an eyelid at the name. “I simply wondered why he approached someone with whom he was unacq
uainted.”

  “I wondered the same thing myself. I suppose he saw I was smoking. He waved a cigarette at me and asked for a light. Naturally I reached for my matches, though I didn’t think there was much sense trying to strike one in that wind and rain. In fact, now I recall thinking I’d have to lend him the box to take to a sheltered corner.” If Gotobed was making up the story, he certainly had the details pat.

  “Safety matches?” Alec asked, on the off-chance of confusing him.

  “I wouldn’t carry any others in my pockets. I had my hand in my pocket when the ship cut a caper. I lost my balance and stepped back, mebbe twisted round a bit, but I kept my eyes on the fellow—Pertwee. He did a sort of hop towards me, and I wasn’t sure but that he was going to crash into me. I imagine it was to avoid doing so that he twisted aside, with his back to the rail.”

  “Ah, he was facing away from the rail when it happened?”

  Gotobed nodded. “Suddenly a look of horror came over his face. He raised his hand towards his shoulder, and I saw blood welling there. At the same time, he spun round. He pitched over the rail before I could react. I blame myself greatly for not catching him. An old man’s reflexes are not what they were,” he added heavily.

  “I doubt many men would have reacted fast enough or been able to hang on once he started to topple. The look of horror came first, did it?”

  “No, not really. It all happened so fast.” Gotobed shrugged helplessly. “I saw his expression, the blood, the movement of his hand, and his turning virtually simultaneously.”

  “And you knew he’d been shot.”

  “No, no. I was too shocked to think at all. Throwing the life-belt was automatic, not a reasoned action. Then that possibility dawned on me. I believe I blurted it out to Mrs. Fletcher immediately, but it was after she ran off to inform the bridge—What a cool head in an emergency! You must be very proud of her.”

  “She has a good deal of common sense,” said Alec, with vicarious modesty. He hadn’t realized Daisy had been responsible for stopping the Talavera, but he might have guessed. She had been the one to take charge when Lady Brenda turned hysterical after Denton fell overboard. Dammit, he was proud of her, and he ought to tell her so.

  “It was not until she had gone,” Gotobed went on, “that I really thought about it, and I could come up with no other explanation which fitted what I had seen.”

  “You are familiar with fire-arms?”

  “Not with their use, though I do know something of the metals involved in their manufacture. I was too old to fight in the War, of course, but I trust the details I was able to provide about Germany’s pre-War imports of special steels may have been of some small assistance. And though a countryman, I am not, as you know, a country gentleman. The nearest I’ve come to shooting as a sport was earning a few shillings as a beater in my youth. Any poaching I may have been guilty of—and I admit to nothing, mind you!—was a matter of snares, not shotguns.”

  He was convincing. Alec’s suspicions veered towards Chester Riddman, but he asked, “You did not hear a shot?”

  “No. The wind noise up there was tremendous, as you may recall.”

  “Nor see anyone leaving in a hurry or throwing something overboard which could have been a weapon?”

  “My entire attention was on the unfortunate victim. Pertwee, you said? Has he relatives aboard?”

  “Apparently not. Thank you, sir, I appreciate your cooperation. Perhaps I might beg a favour? Since I haven’t my usual facilities for investigation, would you be so kind as to write down your recollections, while they are fresh in your mind, in the form of a formal statement?”

  “Certainly. I shall let you have it tomorrow,” Gotobed promised. “I’m afraid I haven’t been very helpful.”

  “You have been very clear, which few witnesses manage. And without your report, no one would have known a crime had been committed.”

  Gotobed showed no sign of wishing he had kept it to himself. “I hope you catch t’bugger as did it,” he said, standing up, his gaze fixed on something behind Alec.

  Alec glanced back. Phillip and Gloria Petrie had joined Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant. Petrie was standing with his hand on the back of his wife’s chair, and beside him stood Chester Riddman. Both were tall, sleek, and dressed in the finest evening get-up Savile Row could produce. Petrie looked as usual amiable and rather fatuous. In comparison, the younger American had a reckless, dissipated air.

  “Riddman?” Alec asked Gotobed.

  “Nay, lad, I’ve no call to be naming names.”

  “I’ll be asking Mr. Riddman a few questions. But probably not tonight,” he added, spotting Daisy and Lady Brenda heading for the door to the ladies’ lounge. With any luck, Daisy would provide him with some ammunition with which to face Riddman in the morning.

  What luck! Daisy thought. Chatting with Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant, she had been wishing she could overhear Alec and Gotobed. Then the music stopped. Phillip and Gloria were next to Riddman and Brenda on the dance floor, and the two girls spoke to each other. Still talking, Gloria started towards her father’s table, and Brenda drifted along with her. Phillip naturally followed, after exchanging a word with Riddman. Riddman in turn, after an indecisive moment, had reluctantly drifted along with Phillip.

  Introductions took several minutes, after which Brenda announced that she was going to powder her nose.

  “I’ll come too, Birdie,” said Daisy, so here she was with her quarry, making for the ladies’ lounge, that haven for confidences.

  When Brenda emerged from the inner room, Daisy was seated at one of the long mirrors, studying her face critically.

  “Freckles,” she observed as Brenda sat down on the stool next to her and took her powder-puff from her evening bag. “Five minutes of sunshine, even at this time of year, and a whole new crop appears. It’s a good job Alec doesn’t mind them. I was pleased to see Mr. Riddman dancing with you this evening.”

  Brenda glowed. “Yes, isn’t it marvellous? Chester’s a frightfully good dancer and such fun when he’s in a good mood.”

  So much for Second Officer Harvey, whom Daisy had spotted sadly watching Brenda and Riddman dancing. “Has he turned over a new leaf?” she asked.

  “I hope so. But I don’t know. The men he plays poker with didn’t turn up after dinner.”

  “What, none of them?”

  “Neither; there are just two regulars. Daisy, you said they sounded like card-sharps. Do you really think they’ve been cheating him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not both. Have you met them? Or has he described them to you? Tell me about them.”

  “I’ve met them.” Brenda didn’t look as if it had been an enjoyable experience. The name she next uttered was no surprise to Daisy. “Pertwee’s the one who found Chester’s wallet on the quay and returned it. Chester always carries loads of cash, and it was all there so Pertwee must be honest, don’t you think? He’s rather common, though quite good-looking in a flashy sort of way. Actually, he’s just how you might imagine a card-sharp to be.”

  “I’d have thought card-sharps do their level best not to look like what they are. Did he win a lot from Chester or was it mostly the other one?”

  “I think it was mostly Pertwee. In fact, yes, I remember Chester saying the other chap was a sore loser.”

  “Hmm.” Daisy couldn’t work out exactly what had been going on, but it sounded fishy. The Purser might be able to shed some light on the working methods of sharps. “What was the other man like?” she asked.

  Brenda looked blank. “Just ordinary. Not quite top drawer but not an absolute outsider. Rather quiet, I think. He didn’t make much impression actually. I can’t even remember his name.”

  Blast! thought Daisy. That was the one scrap of information she had wanted most, apart from Riddman’s whereabouts at the time of the shot, which she must not ask after Alec’s categorical prohibition. “Big or small? Young or old?” she persevered.

  “Oh, just medium. I can’t see what t
hat has to do with whether he cheated at cards though, as long as he wasn’t a midget who couldn’t fit an ace up his sleeve. He seemed too dull to be a crook, but you just said a card-sharp would try not to look like one.”

  “And you said he was losing anyway. Were he and Pertwee friends?”

  “I haven’t the foggiest. Daisy, do you think one or both of them has been cheating Chester? Should I warn him?”

  “Would he take any notice if you did?” Daisy countered. She sighed as Brenda’s face fell. “Sorry, Birdie! I honestly don’t know, but I’ll see if I can find out any more and tell you, all right? So if you remember the second man’s name, let me know. It’d help.”

  “Right-oh, and thanks. It’s jolly decent of you.”

  “I can’t promise a definite answer.” She hadn’t many answers for Alec either. She could have promised Brenda that Pertwee, at least, would never play poker again, but that would lead to questions about how she knew what was not yet general knowledge. “Shall we go back?”

  They returned to the Grand Salon and made their way towards the table where they had left the others. Only Alec, Gotobed, and Phillip were there.

  “Where’s Chester?” Brenda wondered in an apprehensive tone, scanning the room. “Oh, he’s dancing with Mrs. Petrie! Gosh, maybe he’s going to start being fun again.”

  Because he imagined he had wiped out his gambling debts by bumping off the man who held his cheques? Daisy was sure it would not be so simple. Somewhere Pertwee must have heirs, who would receive all his effects, including the cheques.

  As Riddman swung Gloria into an impressive turn, Daisy saw that his smile was strained. He did not look as if he was having fun—unlike the couple nearest them. Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant were obviously having the time of their lives. Daisy recalled Wanda’s snide suggestion that the witch was on the catch for a wealthy husband. Could it be true?

  “If so, good luck to her,” Daisy murmured to herself as she and Brenda reached the table.

  Phillip sprang up. “Lady Brenda, would you like to dance? I know you won’t mind, old thing,” he said to Daisy. “It’s not your sort of dance.”