Personally, I don’t take much notice of a passenger’s personal appearance. I judge ’em by their hair-brushes. There’s woodens, generally missionaries or fellows like reporters whose passage is paid by somebody else; there’s ivory backs (the captain’s was ivory) and silver backs and horn backs, with now and again a gold back. Gold backs are usually on their honeymoon. I can’t remember whether this Miss Colport was an ivory or a silver. Maybe she was silver, for she was Markson’s secretary and he’d got her in London, where she was stranded and anxious to get home. Not that she had any friends in New York. By all accounts she came from the west and went to London to take up a position as stenographer to an uncle, who first went broke in the rubber slump and then died.
I knew she was a good-looker long before I saw the trouble she was making with the British Embassy. This captain used to be up hours before breakfast waiting for her on deck. Whether they knew or did not know one another before they came on board, I can’t say. I should think not. On board ship you get an introduction from the after combing, as they say. The colonel and his son had breakfast in bed for the first day, for the Beramic is a cow of a ship, and she’d roll in a saucerful of milk.
Anyway, somebody must have given them the word that their young lady secretary was getting acquainted with the British Army, for the second morning out young Markson (Julius by name) told me to call him at seven. And about five minutes after he’d climbed to the upper deck Miss came down, looking very pink in the face and not a bit pleased.
Julius was mad about the girl. Used to follow her about like a tame cat or a wild tiger, whichever way you look at it. What first got me thinking was a bit of a conversation I heard between him and his father one afternoon when I was polishing the brasses in the alleyway.
“I’ve got a few words to say to you, Julius,” said the colonel. He had a growling, complaining voice at the best of times, but now it was like a file on granite. “If you get any pleasure out of making up to that girl, you’re entitled to get it, so long as you’re not too serious. I’ll do all the serious stuff in that quarter.”
“She’ll skip to Denver as soon as she lands,“ said Julius sulkily. And something in his voice told me that they were not father and son. I don’t know what it was, but I jumped to that conclusion and I was right.
I heard the colonel laugh, and it was the sort of laugh that has a bark to it.
“Have I paid her passage to New York to have her skip anywhere?” he asked. “She’s going to be very useful. Min’s getting past her work. Colport is the woman I’ve been looking for...”
That’s all I heard, but I knew that “Min” was Mrs Roger Markson, because I’d heard him call her that lots of times. I had a good look at her after that. She was a woman just over 30, who used to make up a lot. I began to understand why her eyes were always red and why she was so scared looking when the colonel spoke to her. I knew, of course, that she was too young to be the mother of Julius. At first I thought that she was the colonel’s second wife. Now I guessed that none of the three was related. It’s a wicked world.
The next day was Christmas Eve, and some queer things happened. It was in the morning that the deck steward met me and asked me to take Mrs Markson’s wrap to her.
I took it up and found them leaning against the rail opposite the smoke-room door. Julius was there, scowling at the captain and Miss Colport, who were sitting together, talking.
Just as I was putting on the lady’s wrap, Lew Isaacs came out of the smoke-room. I was standing behind the lady, looking over her shoulder, and I caught one glimpse of his face. His expression didn’t exactly change as he looked at her. I don’t know how I’d describe it... I think it must have been his eyes that lit, but he took no further notice and strolled down the deck with his hands in his pockets and his cap on the side of his head.
“Good God!” said the colonel. “I didn’t know he was on board.”
As I fixed the wrap I could feel Mrs Markson tremble.
“He works this line,” she said. “I told you in London...”
“That will do, steward,” said the colonel, and I had to go away at a moment when, as you might say, the story was getting interesting.
It was a heavy day for me, and heavier than I expected, owing to Santa Claus.
We always do our best to amuse passengers, and on this Christmas Eve a grand fancy-dress ball was arranged, which seemed to be passing off without anything unusual happening. Lew Isaacs spent the evening in the smoke-room playing bridge for a dollar a hundred, and the Pittsburg crowd had got hold of a man in the movie picture business, and was listening admiringly to all he was telling them about the way he won four thousand dollars from another fellow. This movie picture man was one of those kind of people you meet on board a ship, who are often sober.
Well, the fancy-dress ball came off, and about eleven o’clock, when people were getting noisy, at what I call the streamer and confetti stage, a Santa Claus with a big sack on his back and a bundle of presents in his hand, went along all the alleyways, into every cabin he found open, and left a little cellular doll—celluloid, is it? You can buy them for a penny. A little doll without any clothes on except a bit of ribbon, with “A merry Christmas” printed on it. I saw him; lots of other stewards saw him; the purser saw him and wanted him to have a drink, but no, he said he had a lot to do, and he was right.
Of course there was trouble in the morning. Nobody who has lost a pearl stick pin or a pair of ear-rings or a gold watch and chain or a cigarette case, is going to be satisfied with a two-cent doll in exchange. That old Santa Claus had cleared out every cabin of its valuables, and there were few people on board who enjoyed their Christmas dinner. The fortunate thing, from the stewards’ point of view, was that everybody had seen this jolly old gentleman with white whiskers, and one or two had slapped him on the back. They were all anxious now to slap him almost any place, so long as they could lay hands on him. Every steward on board, all the ship’s officers, and some of the engineering officers, spent Christmas Day making a thorough and systematic search of all the cabins. Naturally, the first people to be suspected were the stoke-hold staff. I say “naturally” because it is a popular idea among ships’ officers that, if anything is pinched, it is a stoker that did it. Then the third-class saloons were searched, bags and boxes were opened; then finally—and it was the first place they should have looked—they had a tour of inspection of the first-class accommodation.
One of the first persons they sent for was Mr Lew Isaacs.
“Now, Isaacs,” said the first purser, “you know what happened on the ship last night. I want you to help me. You needn’t tell me that you and friends were playing cards in the smoke-room, and that all your crowd was there, because I know that. Who else is on board?”
“If I never move from this carpet, Mr Cole,” said Lew very earnestly, “I have no more idea who did this job than an unborn child. I am not saying,” he went on, “that if there was a gentleman on board engaged in that kind of business, I should give you his name, because my motto is ‘live and let live’. But it so happens that there isn’t anybody that I know. When I heard about this you could have knocked me down with a feather,” he said. “Naturally, it’s not to my interest to make people suspicious and tighten up their wads, and I consider that, from my own point of view, the voyage has been spoilt, and every particle of enjoyment has been taken out of it.”
“That’s all very well,” said the purser, looking at him hard (I heard all this from Lacey, who does for the purser), “but there’s been a complaint made, and your name has been mentioned by Colonel Markson. He says he knows that you are a card man and a dangerous character.”
Lew shook his head.
“I don’t know the colonel,” he said, “except by sight. He’s probably mistaken. It’s easy to make mistakes. The first time I saw him I mistook him for a fellow named Hoyle that’s wanted in London for the London and City Bank affair—they got away with twelve thousand pounds. Tell him that, w
ill you, and apologize to him for my mind harbouring such libellous thoughts.”
On Christmas evening I saw the colonel talking to young Captain Fairburn at the door of Captain Fairburn’s state-room. They were very friendly and they were both laughing.
“I’m afraid I shall have to give you a cheque if I lose any more,” said the captain.
That was all. When he’d gone down to dinner I went into his cabin. He had been playing cards. How they got to be friendly I don’t know. You can never keep tracks of things like that. You see a man and a girl pass without noticing one another the first day out. By the time the Irish coast is out of sight they are meeting on deck at daybreak and getting in the way of the watch that has to scrub down. Before they get to Sandy Hook they are receiving congratulations by wireless from their friends and relatives.
Young Captain Fairburn came in after dinner to get some cigarettes.
“Excuse me, Captain,” I said, “but I shouldn’t play cards in your state-room if I were you.”
“Why not, steward?” he asked, surprised. “Is it against the rules of the ship?”
“No, sir,” says I, “but it’s dangerous.”
“Stuff!” said he. “I was only playing with Colonel Markson—you’re not suggesting that he is a thief, are you?”
“No, sir,” I says. When people start asking me if I suggest that somebody is a thief, I resign.
That is why stewards can’t help passengers. Passengers know it all. They’re men of the world, by gum!
As soon as I had finished my eight state-rooms, I had to join one of the search parties that were hunting through the ship for the lost property. Our purser was still certain that matter must occupy space, and we searched space from the crow’s-nest to the bunkers. I didn’t see or hear anything of what happened in the smoke-room, and I never knew till the next morning that the colonel and Julius had played cut-throat poker with young Fairburn in full view of the smoke-room, and that the Captain had lost a lot more than he could afford. In fact, the cheque he gave was for four figures. The deck steward told me that when they came out on the promenade, he heard the colonel say to Julius: “That settles our young friend’s matrimonial plans—if he had any.”
At this moment I was on the boat deck having my second pipe. I was naturally lying doggo—in other words, invisible—not wishing to be seen by any of the ship’s officers or the master at arms, and the night being cold, I was wedged between the second officer’s cabin and the wireless house. From where I sat I had a limited view, and if the couple hadn’t stopped right opposite to where I was, I’d have missed everything. But I always have been lucky that way. All that I could hear at first was a woman crying, and somehow I guessed it was “Mrs Markson”. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman I had seen crying since the voyage started.
But when I heard the man’s voice, why, I nearly jumped. It was Lew Isaacs.
“Oh, Lew, I’ve treated you badly. I don’t deserve anything...”
I saw him put his arm round her shoulder, and I knew by the way her sobs were stifled that she was crying on to his chest.
“I bear no ill will, Minnie,” he said. “I’ve always said that if you liked Hoyle better than me, you were entitled to marry him, old girl.”
There was a long silence, and then she said:
“I’m not married, Lew.”
He said nothing for a minute, and when he did speak, he seemed to have turned the subject.
“He told the purser that I was in that Father Christmas job. That’s the kind of swine Hoyle is. Where’s the stuff, Min... ? You needn’t tell me. It is in the calcium canister of one of these life-buoys. Had it ready planted and painted and substituted it one dark night, eh? It’s an old trick of Hoyle’s.”
My hair almost stood up. Round all the promenade decks are lifebuoys hooked to the rail. Attached are cans containing a chemical to light up the moment it touches water. The lid of the canister is jerked off automatically as the life-buoy is thrown. It was the simplest idea in the world. Hoyle had a duplicate life-buoy in his cabin baggage. One dark night—probably the first night out—he’d carry it up to the boat deck and put it in the place of another that he’d throw overboard after cutting the cord that opened the calcium tin. He wouldn’t have a chance of doing it on the promenade, but the boat deck was dark and was easily reached.
They were talking in low tones and I could only catch an occasional word. Then, just as they were turning to go, I heard her whisper:
“There he is!”
It was the colonel. I caught a whiff of his cigar before I saw him.
“Hullo! That’s Lew Isaacs, isn’t it? Meeting old friends, eh, Min?”
“Hoyle, I’ve got a word or two to say to you. The first is business. You’ve been breaking into our game to-night with that young officer. Tad is pretty mad about it.”
“Got a franchise to work the Western Ocean, Lew? What do I have to do—get a written permission before I work a ship?”
“That’s one thing,” said Lew. “Here’s another, and that is business too. You told the purser that I was in your Santa Claus game.”
“He knew all about you,” said the colonel, and I saw the red end of his cigar gleaming and fading. “It did you no harm, and testified to my respectability—that’s right, eh, Lew? Anything more?”
Lew struck a match to light his cigarette, and I saw his face. Saw the woman’s too—just for a fraction of a second.
“You’ve got a young girl in your outfit—secretary or something. What’s the great idea?”
The colonel laughed softly.
“Min’s been talking, eh? Jealous. Well, Lew, it’s like this: Men grow old and it doesn’t matter. Looks are not my asset. They are in the case of Min. There’s no sense in seeing these things sentimentally. When a card man loses his fingers he’s finished, isn’t he? When Min loses her looks... Well, be sensible. I can’t work with a plain woman. She’s got to hook first time, Lew. Isn’t that common sense? It’s tough on Min, but I’m going to play fair. She’s got a big roll coming to her—”
“What about the girl? She’s a decent woman and a countrywoman of mine,” said Lew.
Hoyle laughed again.
“I didn’t know that a Jew had a country, but we won’t argue. She’s a mighty nice girl, and when she’s a little wiser than she is at present... Anyway, we’re not going to quarrel.”
I saw the dark figure of Lew. He was leaning back with both his elbows on the rail.
“I never quarrel with a man who keeps his gun in his hand all the time,” he said, and I think that one struck home, for the colonel moved kind of startled.
“Besides,” said Lew, “I’m not actually in this. Off you go, Min, I want a chat about this Father Christmas notion.”
He took the arm of the colonel, and they went for’ard, and I followed Mrs Markson down the deck. The first person I went to see was the chief purser. I don’t want to say anything against the chief pursers of the “Starcuna” Line, but all I can say is that if there’s one with the brain of a Napoleon, I’ve never sailed with him. Our chief purser at the time was a man who thought in about fifty phrases, one of which I’ve told you. “Do nothing precipitate” was another. “Dereliction of duty” was also a great favourite. I don’t know what it means and I’ll bet he didn’t either.
“It’s an extraordinary story,” he said, “and I’ll report the matter to the captain first thing in the morning. We must do nothing precipitate. But what were you doing on the boat deck, Jenks, smoking? That was a dereliction of duty, surely! However, we’ll wait until the morning. I was certain the missing property would be found. Matter must occupy space.”
I was so agitated and put out that I went out to the promenade deck and helped the steward on duty stack up the chairs and collect the rugs and the library books. It was getting late, and I spotted Miss Colport and the captain very close together and looking over the rail. I suppose the sea was vaster than ever that night, for if they weren’t hol
ding hands then I’m inexperienced. I can tell hand-holders a mile off.
Farther along the deck was Mrs Markson and Julius. They were talking together, too, but not so friendly.
It was late, and some of the bulkhead lights were out. I saw the second officer coming along the deck in his heavy overcoat and sea boots, and at that minute something flashed past the rail.
I heard the shriek, and then the second officer yelled:
“Man overboard!”
He sprang to the rail, lifted up a buoy, and flung it as the Beramic heeled over to port and the engines rang astern.
“The calcium light’s not burning,” shouted the second, and, racing along the deck, he flung over a second buoy. It hardly touched the water before it burst into a green flame.
“That works all right—what in hell was wrong with the other?” asked the second officer.
The Beramic was moving in a slow circle, and the watch had the fore lifeboat into the water in double quick rime. The deck was crowded now. The passengers had flocked out of the saloon and the smoke-room, and were crowding up the companionway in their dressing-gowns. I think it was the “man boat” signal on the siren that roused ’em. The boat pulled round and reached the second buoy, but the first they never found, nor the man either.
“What is it, steward?”
I looked round and saw Mr Lew Isaacs. He was in his pyjamas and dressing-gown.
“A man overboard, sir,” I said; “and they threw him a buoy that had no calcium tank. I think it was Colonel Markson.”
“How extraordinary!” said Mr Lew Isaacs.
The captain had an inquiry next morning, and I told all that I’d heard. Mr Isaacs said he had never been on the boat deck, and so did Mrs Markson. All the life-buoys were examined, but none were found that had jewellery in the canister.
Richard Dalby (ed) Page 14
