by Bruce, Leo
“You must see the Chief Steward about that. I rather think …”
“I shall be very upset if there’s any mistake. I said when booking that I should expect it.”
Cleverly, Carolus thought, Mr Ratchett turned to greet another couple who had approached him.
“Sir Charles! Lady Spittals! Glad to see you again. You were with us last year, weren’t you?”
Sir Charles was a disappointed-looking man, but his wife was an enthusiast.
“Well, well!” she cried. “What a nice surprise! You’re looking ever so well, too. Remember the Gala Night? I think Charles”—she dug her husband in the ribs—”was the only one who didn’t enjoy himself! But then he never does. Do you? He’s just the same old misery. I don’t know why he comes on a Cruise like this, I really don’t. He never participates in anything. All he does is sit there moping. Where have we been placed in the dining room? Are we really? Captain’s table! I’m ever so glad. Not that I should have blamed you if you’d put us somewhere else with him sitting there looking like a funeral. Well, cheerio for now. Be seeing you.”
“Strange couple,” commented Mr Ratchett to Carolus. “Lord Mayor of some town up North. Knighted for his work for charities. Stinking with money. Did you notice her diamonds? They’re real, I’m told. Who on earth is this?”
Mr Ratchett might well ask, for mounting the gangplank as though he was being televised, came a tall man wearing a brand-new yachting cap. Even before he saw the features, Carolus was certain that it was none other than the headmaster of the Queen’s School, Newminster. It was he who introduced the Purser.
“Mr Hugh Gorringer. Mr Ratchett,” he said. “Mr Gorringer is a well-known educationist.”
“You flatter me, my dear Deene. If a little of the distinction of the school I serve has rubbed off on its headmaster, it is all I ask.”
The Purser nodded politely. He looked as though he believed he had met this kind before, which Carolus thought scarcely possible.
“An enchanting prospect you lay before us,” Mr. Gorringer continued to the Purser. “A veritable magic carpet, eh Deene? Lisbon! Tunis! Cat …”
“Mr Ratchett knows the route,” put in Carolus sharply.
“Of course. I’m sure he does. The voyage, not the ‘route,’ Deene. We must remember we’re at sea now, or soon will be. As a writer, albeit of popular fiction, you cannot afford to make errors in maritime terminology.” He pulled Carolus aside. “By the way, my dear Deene. A small point but not a negligible one. I feel it due to the honour not of myself but of the school that I should be seated in the dining hall….”
“We’re together,” said Carolus incisively. “At the Chief Engineer’s table.”
“I was going to say when you interposed with that information that I felt it my due, in the position I occupy, to be invited …”
“Next to me, Chief’s table.” Carolus said rather brutally.
“… to occupy no less a place than that on the left-hand side of the Captain. Doubtless some distinguished lady will sit on his right.”
“Can’t be done, I’m afraid. Competition too keen.”
Mr Gorringer looked hurt.
“I accept your explanation,” he said. “But I should have thought … However.”
“See you at dinner,” promised Carolus cheerfully. “You’ll be all right.”
“I make no secret of my disappointment,” said Mr Gorringer, “but I suppose I am scarcely in a position to complain since the Company, er … Summertime Cruises, Isn’t it? … has been good enough to invite me as a tribute to Scholarship. Most appropriate. Very well then, we will meet at dinner, unless perhaps we might indulge in a cocktail as it is the first night on board?”
“Right. The bar then. Seven-thirty,” said Carolus, turning again to Mr Ratchett who had been approached by a tall thin girl with spectacles and loose but somewhat feeble strands of mouse-coloured hair.
“Miss Berry is going on one of our Cruises for the first time,” explained Mr Ratchett when he had introduced them.
“I’ve been with the Tropical people and with Round-the-World-Away Cruises,” said Miss Berry toothily. “So I thought I’d try this. They say they get a very lively crowd.”
“I feel sure they do,” said Carolus. “Mr Porteous tells me he aims for that.”
“Good-O!” said Miss Berry. “I’m all for some fun, aren’t you? But I hope it’s not too rough.”
“The fun or the sea?” asked Carolus.
Miss Berry laughed.
“I can see you know your way about,” she said. “The fun, of course. There were some skinheads on the Adelphi last year. That’s a Tropical Cruises ship, but they don’t go further south than Casablanca. These skinheads, quite educated they were, tried to get hold of me one night. One of them said something about a gang bang, whatever that may be.”
“I hope you managed to escape?”
“Yes I did. But only because a girl who worked in the sick bay came by and they went after her. She was blonde and wore a lot of makeup. She didn’t seem to mind and of course I was delighted.”
“Of course,” said Carolus.
“Where are you sitting in the dining saloon? I expect I’m at the Captain’s table—being alone on board.”
“I expect you are,” said Carolus, comfortingly but insincerely. “I shall see you there.”
“Ta ta for now,” said Miss Berry.
“I know her sort,” said the Purser sourly when she had gone. “There’s a rude name for her. A something teaser. Hullo, I wonder who these are?”
Another couple, three single men, two girls and yet another couple came by and departed to search for their cabins. Then Mr Ratchett said, “This is the Dunleary family that Porteous has got such a wind up about. He’s had all their luggage searched for bombs. Windy bastard. They’re just a noisy middle-class Irish family. No harm in them at all. But what about these? Pretty sinister, if you ask me.”
“These” were the Sticks, dressed for foreign travel. Mrs Stick, for some reason unknown as yet to Carolus, had exchanged her steel-rimmed glasses for ones with dark lenses, and Stick looked about him suspiciously. They gave no sign of recognition to Carolus, but as they passed him Mrs Stick whispered—or would it be more correct to say “hissed”?—”See you later, sir. Mustn’t stop now.”
“I should think,” said the Purser jovially to Carolus, “I should think you’d get some pretty good copy out of this lot, one way or another. I wonder where they dig them up from?”
“Your cruises are advertised quite widely,” said Carolus, then added, “I thought you didn’t take coloured people?”
A very dark African-looking man was approaching.
“Oh, you mustn’t take any notice of Porteous. The girls in the office have put a stop to that sort of thing this summer. They threatened to report him to the Race Relations Board and he had to give in.”
“I congratulate the girls in the office.”
“Old hat, that sort of thing. All the kitchen staff are Goanese and first-rate they are, so what the hell? This one who’s just coming aboard is a West Indian. Alexander Carlisle, his name is. I’ve put him at the Captain’s table next to Porteous. That’ll teach old P a lesson.”
“Mr Porteous explained to me how loyal everyone was to the Company, by which I took it he meant himself.”
“Are they, hell? But we all have our illusions. I don’t know who this man is coming up now.” Mr Ratchett consulted a list. “I think his name is Stopford. I can’t know everyone by name. Good evening. Mr Stopford,” he called cheerily.
The man who had approached gave him a very hostile look from two steel-grey eyes.
“Runwell,” he corrected.
“Of course, Mr Runwell.”
“Doctor,” the man reproved him again.
“Yes. I remember now. I hope you’ll have a pleasant trip, Dr Runwell.”
“I’m taking it purely for my health,” said the other severely, as he passed on.
“Wha
t can you say?” the Purser asked Carolus with a chuckle. “Now this one just approaching is crackers. Barking. Up the wall. We had him a year ago. Wait till you hear him.”
The cruiser, a powerful-looking fellow in his forties, informed the Purser that the ship ought to be taken out of commission.
“The breaker’s yard is all it’s fit for.”
“You’ll pardon the question, Mr Medlow, but why do you book a passage on her in that case?”
Mr Medlow stared.
“Why do I book a passage? Why? You know very well. I have to make my report. You’re perfectly aware of that. And 1 shan’t be deterred from it, either. The truth, the whole truth … By the way, is Mrs Grahame-Willows coming on this cruise?”
“I don’t know,” the Purser said. “I’ll look her up.” He again consulted his papers. “Yes. I think so. Her name’s down, anyway.”
“Strange,” said Mr Medlow. “I thought she never gave her own name in any circumstances.”
“Here it is—Mrs Agatha Grahame-Willows. That’s her. Couldn’t very well be any confusion over a name like that. could there
“You never know,” Mr Medlow told him. “I shall recognize her in any case. If there’s anything like impersonation I shall inform you. Is this man a private detective?” He looked at Carolus.
“Mr Deene is a passenger.”
“You’re not taking any precautions, then?”
“We always do that, Mr Medlow.”
As he passed on, Carolus realized that the stream of cruisers had dried up. The gangplank was empty and no one was crossing from the Customs sheds.
“That’s about the lot of them, I suppose,” said the Purser. “May be a few last-minute arrivals, but you’ve seen the best of them now. All I can say is I wish you luck with that bunch. Novelist, are you? You need to be a science fiction writer, I should think.”
As Carolus turned away, two of the last-minute arrivals hurried up—a man and a woman who showed no sign of being together except by the coincidence of coming at the same time. The man was young, rather good-looking in a Latin sort of way, the woman looked slightly older but still in her twenties and plump. They parted at the top of the gangplank.
“No need of his type,” said the Purser, who had returned to Carolus’s side. “Plenty of them among the officers. As for her, there’s always one of them.”
“One of them?”
“The life and soul of the party. You’ll see. Not bad, was she?”
“I thought that role was reserved for Miss Berry?”
“She’d like it to be,” said the Purser before he disappeared into his cabin at the top of the companionway leading down to the dining saloon.
At five o’clock in the afternoon the ship sailed, and at some time in the small hours of the morning Carolus awakened with a start, though he had no idea what had disturbed him. He switched on the light and examining his watch found it was ten to four.
“Must be well out at sea,” he thought, though he had little or no technical knowledge of seamanship.
But something had roused him. He knew himself well enough to be aware that he did not wake at this sort of time unless a sound or movement broke through his consciousness. When he heard a cry, seeming far away and rather desperate, he knew at once that it was a repetition of the sound that had aroused him, He sat up and strained to hear it yet again, and did so.
“Man Overboard!” someone was shouting and once more, it seemed with pathos and despair, “Man Overboard!”
There were sounds of running footsteps on the deck above him and a few shouted orders. He thought he heard Mr Porteous’s voice, but that might have been his imagination. Then he began to dress.
Three
WHEN CAROLUS CAME OUT on deck, he noticed that the lights had been switched on, though it was still dark in the saloon. He was able to see three men in a group at the for’ard end of the deck but, hesitating behind a stack of deckchairs lashed together, he was not seen by them.
One was Mr Porteous in a dressing gown of Chinese design. The second, in uniform, was recognizable by his gold braid as the Captain, whose name Carolus knew was Scorer. The third was a sailor, what he believed would be termed a deckhand. They were holding a serious but seemingly unhurried conference. Carolus was unable to catch their words but it seemed that the Captain was giving some impressive instructions to the deckhand. No one was scanning the sea, as Carolus had expected. No one seemed concerned with anything connected with the cries that had awoken Carolus.
He waited a few moments more, hoping that the three would move within earshot. Then he walked forward boldly towards the group.
Mr Porteous turned to him.
“Hullo, Mr Deene. You’re up early,” he said.
“Early? You don’t think I get out of my bed at this hour for amusement, do you?”
“It did strike me as strange. Let me introduce Captain Scorer, by the way. This is Mr Carolus Deene.”
Carolus scarcely acknowledged the introduction.
“I was awoken by someone shouting ‘Man Overboard!’” he said, with a note of accusation in his voice. He seemed to anticipate denials.
“Man Overboard?” repeated Porteous incredulously.
“You must have been dreaming,” said the Captain.
“I know the difference between dreaming and reality. I distinctly heard someone shout the words. One doesn’t dream that sort of thing—or I don’t. If I dream I don’t dream in clichés. ‘Man Overboard’ is a feature of every old-fashioned novel, shouted in exactly that tone of voice. What happened?”
Both Porteous and the Captain smiled.
“Nothing whatever, Mr Deene.”
“Then why the conference?”
“I don’t think you need concern yourself with that. Captain Scorer was giving some instructions to this deckhand, who was just going off watch. You wouldn’t know that, would you? The Middle Watch changes at four o’clock and the Morning Watch comes on.”
“That has nothing to do with what I heard. Have you, or have you not, been given the alarm that someone is overboard?”
“We have not,” said the Captain.
“So whoever shouted did so in a nightmare?”
“I don’t know about that. I can only tell you that I’ve been on the bridge since midnight and heard nothing of the sort.”
“Yet I, in a cabin with the porthole closed, could hear it distinctly.”
“Did you hear anything else?” asked Porteous. Carolus thought that there was anxiety in his voice.
“Among other things, your voice shouting.”
“My voice! But I wasn’t here at the time!”
Carolus turned on him sharply.
“At what time?” he snapped.
“The time you’re talking about. When you imagined you heard shouts.”
Carolus looked coldly at Mr Porteous.
“I should like to speak to you alone,” he said.
At once the Captain, as though relieved, left them and the deckhand followed.
“I think it was agreed,” said Carolus, “that you should treat me with complete frankness if I came on this cruise.”
“Of course …”
“Then why are you concealing something as important as these events?”
“I assure you …”
“But you don’t. There was an alarm of ‘Man Overboard’ tonight, and you know it …”
Mr Porteous seemed cornered. He proposed a drink in his cabin—where, be said, they could discuss the whole matter. Carolus acquiesced, but remained inflexible.
“Let us hear the truth,” he said.
“We have no proof,” Mr Porteous told him.
“Of what?”
“That … anything untoward took place. The deckhand, an excellent fellow called Leacock, only assumed that it had happened.”
“Go on.”
“He was making his rounds before going on watch. In the saloon he found this cruiser in darkness, fast asleep.
“I wish you
would call him a passenger.”
“Passenger, then. Fast asleep.”
“Who was it?”
“That’s what we don’t know. Leacock described him as being tall and thin, but as Leacock is on the short side, he might think anyone was tall. It means nothing.”
“You didn’t see the man?”
“No. It had happened before I came on deck.”
“What had happened, for God’s sake?”
“Leacock shook the man’s shoulder and told him it was just on four in the morning. The … passenger seemed surprised and stood up as though to go to his cabin. He said ‘Thank you’ to Leacock and seemed to be all right, so Leacock left him and continued his rounds. He was on the port side of the ship (he had opened the saloon door on the starboard side) when he distinctly beard a stifled cry and a splash. It is, as you will have noticed, an uncommonly quiet, still night. I should have been delighted, if it hadn’t been for all this. A calm sea on the first night out of a cruise is a blessing. But tonight I can’t feel that at all. Leacock hurried to the spot where he had been talking to the passenger and found him gone.”
“Naturally. To his cabin.”
“No. He had been wearing a raincoat and it was hanging over the rail with a jacket under it and a pair of shoes was there too. At that point Leacock gave the shout you heard. He thought the passenger had thrown himself overboard. He followed instructions and immediately threw one of the life belts into the sea so the passenger might be able to reach it. In cases like this a strong swimmer has been known to do that, though the chances are very much against it. At this point I came on deck and found Captain Scorer already there.”
“He stopped the engines of course?”
“Well, no. We know from experience …”
“What experience?”
“Sea-going experience, Mr Deene.”
“I didn’t know you had any.”
“The Captain certainly has. He told me that the chances were one in a hundred thousand of being able to pick anyone up, even if someone had gone overboard. Remember we had no proof of that. He consulted me and I decided that, with the responsibility of the happiness of all the cruisers on my shoulders (they need their holidays, remember), I would avoid the panic and distress that an incident like this might cause them. The man, whoever he was, evidently wanted to die; who was I to interfere with his determination?”
