by Jack Treby
‘But Lazenby told me nothing of the kind. I didn’t...I didn’t even know Finch was on board.’
‘No. And with you dead, nobody would know you’d been given duff instructions from our man in Madrid.’
‘You must have been horrified this morning,’ I thought, ‘when I turned up at breakfast and Walter Kendall didn’t.’
‘Yes, it was rather a shock. But I have an excellent poker face. I didn’t let it rile me, old boy, even though it was a major inconvenience.’
‘So did Kendall have anything to do with this at all?’ Had he just been an innocent victim? I flinched as a sudden spasm of pain shot up from my stomach.
The other man shrugged, heedless of my discomfort. ‘He was a possible buyer. I broached the matter with him in the broadest terms, before supper yesterday. I didn’t tell him the source of the documents, but I hinted at their contents. He was going to contact his editor this morning, to get a provisional go ahead.’ That had been the urgent telegram Kendall was going to send. It had been nothing to do with the “colour” piece. The American had probably intended to draft it just before he went to bed, but the sleeping draught had put a stop to that. ‘He wouldn’t have given them the specifics, of course, not in a public communication; just an indication of the story’s importance. And, naturally, he wanted to see the file himself, to check its worth, before the paper paid out any money. I was going to get the films developed in Rio.’ One fact at least that I had guessed correctly. ‘Then the money could have been ready and waiting by the time we got to New York.’
‘So the course change must have upset you as much as it did Mr Lindt.’
‘Not at all. If anything, it speeded things up. But, thanks to you, old boy, Kendall was out of the picture. I would have to start again from scratch. Thankfully, I’d already rerouted the envelope to New York. I nipped out of the control room during the storm to change the label. I already knew where the bag was and the crew were too busy to keep track of one errant passenger.’ His hand went to the small plaster on his forehead. ‘That was when I banged my head. But if anything, with Kendall dead, the change of course worked to my advantage. I’d be in New York a few days early with plenty of time to develop the pictures and sound out other buyers.’
‘But that’s not going to happen now,’ I said, trying hard to concentrate. ‘Your accomplice, Mick Durrant, is under lock and key. It’s only a matter of time before he spills the beans. You won’t get away with any of this.’
‘Durrant’s a good man. He’ll hold his tongue, at least long enough for me to disappear from view. But my reputation will be in tatters. And that’s your fault, old boy.’ There was a hint of anger in his eyes now. He had a wife back home he would never be able to see again, once the scandal broke.
‘So why kill Finch? Why now, if not before?’
‘I hate to admit it, but he was getting too close. The captain had refused to allow him to conduct a thorough search of the ship. The baggage hold was off limits as was the post room. But when Finch confirmed that Kendall had been murdered, Captain Albrecht changed his mind. He gave him permission to search the entire ship. Finch would have started with the passenger luggage and then moved on to the mail. He wasn’t a complete idiot. There’s an awful lot of post to search, if you don’t know what you’re looking for, but even he would be able to feel for a couple of rolls of film. And the envelope is quite a visible one, as was the bag it was in. That’s how I was able to keep track of it.’
‘And if Finch had found it, that would mean everything had been for nothing.’
‘Well quite.’
‘But how did you know the captain had granted him permission to search the hold? None...none of the passengers even knew Finch was a policeman until this afternoon.’
Sir George smiled. ‘I kept close to the seat of power. Adelina Koenig knows everything that happens on board the Richthofen. Her nephew gives her all the below stairs tittle-tattle – he even did a bit of franking in the post room, when we left Seville – and Captain Rüdiger filled in the rest. He is an old friend of hers. Fellow aviators, you understand. So I was ahead of the game at every stage.’
‘And were you...sleeping with her too?’
Sir George regarded me oddly. ‘No. Never laid a finger on her. Marvellous woman, but far too prickly for my taste. Not the type to share a sack with.’ So he had not been the man in her room on Monday night. ‘But I kept close to her all the same.’
‘And you stabbed Finch in the back? With a steak knife?’
‘Of course. I liberated the knife on Monday evening. I had a feeling it might come in useful. I heard Finch leave his cabin half an hour or so before dinner.’ The two men were in adjacent rooms, just across from the stewards’ cabin. ‘I followed him out, there was no one about, so I took my chance. And now I can blame it all on you.’ He grinned maliciously. ‘I’ll tell the captain you were behind it all. He’ll have no reason to doubt my word and he won’t find out the truth until after we’ve disembarked. I can say...’
A clomp sounded from the deck above. We both looked up but the noise could have come from anywhere.
‘Ah. That sounds like company,’ Sir George said. He sighed. ‘It looks like we’ve run out of time, old chap.’
‘No, wait a minute...’ I croaked.
The explorer shook his head firmly. ‘It’s been nice knowing you, old boy,’ he said. ‘Give my regards to the fishes.’
And, with that, he pulled the lever and the stairs fell out from under me.
Chapter Nineteen
I had been lying across the steps, propped up on my elbows, with my legs aimed towards Sir George. My head was at the far end, at what was intended to be the lowest point of the stairwell. When the ramp fell away on a pivot it was my upper torso that dropped first. My elbows disappeared from under me, my head smashed against one of the lower steps and a sudden cross wind caused my legs to flip over my head as I tumbled out of the vehicle. My arms lashed out desperately and my left shoulder banged hard against the metal banister, which was bolted to the side of the stairs. My right arm hooked onto the base of it and my hand grasped the cold metal, clinging on for dear life. I was now hanging beneath the stairs, with just one arm looped around the hand rail and my legs dangling freely beneath me. The steps descended on metal wires and there was only the one banister, on the right hand side. I managed to raise my other hand to grab hold of it, alongside the existing arm, but the top of my head was barely level with the lowest rung of the steps and such was the power of the wind that my body was flailing about underneath, like a feather in a hurricane. I could feel my hands beginning to freeze in the chill air and I knew I would not be able to hold on for long.
Sir George Westlake was staring down at me from the top of the steps. I could see the irritation on his face. He had expected me to be dead already. ‘Let go!’ he mouthed. ‘For God’s sake jump.’
My heart was thumping in my chest and my fingers were barely hanging on to the metal rail. I was dead anyway, I thought. What was the point? The poison was raging in my gut, I could scarcely concentrate as it was. And there was no way I could pull myself back onto the airship. Sir George was right. Better to end it quickly. Damn the fellow. He would get away scot-free. I took a heavy lungful of air and looked down into the inky blackness. I’d had a good innings. I would probably be dead before I hit the water. To hell with that, I thought suddenly. I want to live.
With an effort of will I did not know I possessed, I hooked my left arm up around the banister, alongside the right one, and yanked myself several inches higher. I got my head above the bottom step – barely – and tried to drag my chest up as well. If I could get a bit of purchase on the stairs with my stomach, I might be able to slip a knee onto the lowest rung and then I was in with a chance.
Sir George observed my progress with mounting exasperation. He was glancing anxiously off to the right. The open stairwell was creating a drag effect. It was not the kind of thing a passenger would notice, but some of
the crew were bound to feel the anomaly. It was like the pea under the princess’s mattress. No matter how slight the effect, the airmen would notice and someone would be sent to investigate. Sir George grimaced, looking down at me. I had now managed to get a knee up onto the lower step. From his point of view, it appeared as if I might be able to inch my way back up or at least hang on where I was for several minutes. That was nonsense, of course, but I met his gaze briefly and saw the decision on his face. He could not afford to take the chance. He turned his back to me and began descending the stairs. He would finish me off in person.
The first few steps down from the corridor were partially protected from the wind by the walls of the airship and Sir George could descend this section with no real danger to himself. It was only the lower steps that were exposed to the elements. I had just got my left leg into a position of safety when I felt the boot kicking me in the face. My knee lost its purchase and only the arms clasped around the banister kept me from losing my grip altogether. Sir George kicked at me again. He was in an awkward position, above me but facing forward into the steps, with a severely restricted view. The second kick missed me entirely but the third I was prepared for. With my right arm clamped firmly around the hand rail, I thrust out my left hand and grabbed hold of his ankle. I gave it a sharp tug and this time it was Sir George who lost his purchase. His face smashed hard against the light metal rungs beneath him and his whole body began to judder down the steps. He groped desperately for something to hold onto but his body had twisted away from the banister and his momentum carried him on. He thumped into my shoulder, knocking me sideways and again I was hanging in thin air, which just one arm clamped to the hand rail. But it was worse for Sir George. He had flown straight past me and had only just managed to grab hold of the metal struts at the bottom of the steps. Gravity was now taking its toll. Sir George was laughing maniacally. He was trying to pull himself up, as I had done, but his hands were in an awkward position, just over the lip of the bottom rung.
Oh no you don’t, I thought to myself. I was not about to let him scramble back on board. I had made up my mind. If I was going to die then he was going to die with me, the murdering bastard. I swung my legs through the air.
Sir George let out a hoof as my feet struck him hard in the stomach. One of his hands lost its purchase and for a moment he was suspended in mid air. His other hand remained in place, grasping the lower strut, but his grip was fragile. His eyes met mine and I was surprised to see his features abruptly relax. There was no anger there, just a sudden calm acceptance. He had played his hand and he had lost. At the last, I have to concede, he accepted his fate with good grace. His fingers uncurled and all at once the darkness swallowed him.
Good riddance, I thought, not daring to look down.
I took another breath and closed my eyes. Now I would follow him and let the sea swallow me up. There was no point drawing things out any longer. I was dead already. Davy Jones could have me. I relaxed my grip on the banister.
‘Monsieur!’ A voice called out from the top of the stairs. Maurice was crouching where Sir George had been standing a few moments before. He took in the scene at once, with barely a flicker of his eyebrows. Another head appeared to his left. It was the steward, Heinrich.
‘Mein Gott!’ the young lad exclaimed, momentarily forgetting himself.
I have never been so glad to see two people in my entire life.
‘Do not let go!’ Maurice instructed me, his cry barely audible through the roar of the wind.
‘I wasn’t likely to,’ I yelled back dishonestly, clutching the hand rail with renewed vigour.
‘Is there a rope?’ my man asked the steward. The young crewman thought for a moment and nodded.
‘I don’t think I can hold on forever,’ I called up at them, as Heinrich disappeared to fetch it. I was not entirely sure if there was any point trying.
A flicker of concern rippled across Maurice’s battered face. He looked off to the left, to see how long it would take the young lad to find what he was looking for. Evidently too long, as the valet took hold of the banister and began slowly to descend the steps.
‘Don’t be a fool, Morris!’ I yelled. ‘You’ll get yourself killed!’
The valet descended carefully, his front facing inwards to the stairs, in the same manner as Sir George. ‘Hold my foot, Monsieur!’ he instructed, pressing himself against the steps and grabbing on to the far end of the banister. His body spanned more or less the whole of the stairway.
I took a deep breath and released one hand, swinging across as best I could. Maurice’s shoe was just edging over the lip of the lowest step. I grabbed hold of it but the damn thing came off in my hand and fell away into the dark. At the second attempt, I managed to grab hold of his ankle. I pulled hard and the valet tensed, holding firmly to the top of the hand rail. Slowly, I manoeuvred a knee up onto the lower rung and then pulled myself on top of him, keeping one hand all the while on the banister to my right. For a moment, I rested there, one arm clutched awkwardly around my man’s waist, the other still on the hand rail above me. ‘Now what?’ I muttered. We were neither of us in a dignified position.
Maurice attempted to turn his head back. ‘You could try standing up, Monsieur.’
He was right. Now that my feet were back on the lower steps I could raise myself up, using the banister to steady myself. Then perhaps I could scramble over the top of him. I lifted my head as best I could and found myself out of the slipstream, inside the protective walls of the upper steps.
Heinrich appeared above me. He was already securing a length of rope to the other banister, the one leading up to A Deck. He threw the end down to me and I grabbed onto the rope with the last of my strength. Maurice was in the way rather, but he twisted to one side to allow me some purchase as I hauled myself up. Then he too began to raise himself to his feet.
‘Be careful, Morris!’ I called behind me.
‘Of course, Monsieur.’
At last I found myself back in the narrow corridor of B Deck. Heinrich gave me a hand onto solid ground and I collapsed onto the floor opposite the main stairs, my back to the wall. The steward returned to help Maurice, who had been hobbled slightly with the loss of his shoe, before finally retrieving the rope. My valet rose up to his full height, took a slight breath, and then sat himself on the floor next to me. The steward, meantime, pulled the lever on the stairs and I watched as they retracted into the ship. Heinrich quickly secured the bolts to keep the steps in place.
The young German stared for a moment at the two of us. ‘Are you all right, sir? What happened?’
I shuddered. ‘Oh, I just thought I’d get a bit of fresh air,’ I mumbled, distractedly. ‘Sir George is dead. He tried to kill me.’
‘You had better inform the captain,’ Maurice instructed the crewman. He, at least, had his wits about him.
Heinrich nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll fetch him at once.’ The young lad hurried off down the corridor.
I looked across at Maurice. My hands were trembling and my eyes were having difficulty focusing. I had been rescued from the ocean, but I was still a dead man.
‘Do not worry, Monsieur,’ the valet attempted to reassure me. ‘You are safe now. Nothing can harm you.’
‘You don’t understand. I’m dying. Sir George...’ I coughed. ‘He put rat poison in my drink. I’ve only...I’ve only got a few minutes left...’
Maurice swivelled his body round and placed a firm hand on my forehead. ‘Rat poison?’ He took my wrist in his hand and listened to my pulse.
‘You might as well have let me drown.’
‘Sir George put rat poison in your drink?’
‘Yes.’ I shuddered, blinking the tears from my eyes.
The valet peered at my face and frowned slightly. ‘Are you sure, Monsieur?’
‘Of course I’m sure!’ I exclaimed. ‘My insides are burning up!’
Maurice frowned again. ‘But you seem perfectly well to me. I can see no evidence of any pois
on.’
‘What are you talking about? I feel awful.’
He dropped my wrist. ‘Given what you have just been through, Monsieur, that is hardly surprising.’ He loosened my neck tie and peered closely at my mouth. ‘But I do not think you can have been poisoned. You would not have been able to hold on to that rail if your body had been weakened in such a way.’
‘I’m telling you, Sir George put rat poison in my drink. I saw the powder. He brought it with him to the games room in a little glass bottle. And he put it in my whisky. I can still taste it in my mouth. It’s absolutely vile.’
‘What can you taste, Monsieur?’ Maurice asked calmly. ‘What does it taste like?’
I threw up my hands. ‘I don’t know. It’s horrible. What does it matter? It tastes like...I don’t know...salt water. Really nasty salt water.’
‘And Sir George administered it?’
‘I said that, didn’t I? He was behind the whole thing. He murdered Finch and now he’s murdered me too.’
‘No, Monsieur.’ The valet was firm on that point. ‘Whatever he put in your drink, it was not rat poison. It could not have been. The tin Monsieur Kaufmann brought on board the Richthofen is in the possession of Captain Albrecht, as is the sleeping draught we left in Monsieur Kendall’s cabin. You could not have been poisoned with that.’ I stared at my valet, barely daring to hope. ‘From what you describe, the powder you saw was probably nothing more than table salt. I suspect, if we enquire further, we will find a salt cellar went missing at supper time.’
‘A salt cellar?’ My mouth fell open. ‘You mean, it was a bluff?’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
I slumped back against the wall and considered that for a moment. Could it really be true? Had Sir George simply siphoned off a bit of salt at supper, slipped it into an old pill bottle and then added it to my drink? ‘But I felt it,’ I protested. ‘I felt the burning in my stomach, the nausea. I felt like I was going to pass out.’
