by Conrad Allen
“I told you that she’d refuse the money,” said Constance. “But it was a good idea of yours to offer it to her, Tabby. It helped to rub salt into the wound.”
Warming to his role as an auxiliary detective, Paulo Morelli waited, concealed in a recess, until Madame Roussel finally came out of the door. He watched her blow a kiss to the occupant of the cabin, then set off down the corridor. Keeping well back, he followed her all the way to her own cabin. Morelli then went off in search of the detectives, hoping that his discovery would improve his chances of a return to first class. He found Dillman on his way to the purser’s office, and gave his report.
“The second officer?” said the American.
“I see his name on the cabin door,” explained Morelli. “That is why the lady go to and fro across the sea. Madame Roussel is in love.”
“She must be, Paulo.”
“Is wrong, mind you. The crew should not get involved with any of the passengers. Is the rule for me—and for the second officer.”
“That’s probably why he arranged to meet her in another cabin—the one that you saw her go into earlier. It would have been dangerous for Madame Roussel to go to him all the time.”
“Why did he not visit her? That’s what I would have done.”
“You’re a steward,” said Dillman. “You have license to enter a passenger’s cabin. The second officer does not and his uniform would make him very conspicuous.”
Morelli laughed. “But when he is with the lady, he will not wear the uniform.” He beamed at the detective. “Did I do well?”
“Extremely well, Paulo.”
“You will speak to the chief steward for me?”
“That’s a job for Mr. Cannadine, but I’ll put in a good word for you with the purser. So will Miss Masefield.”
“Grazie.”
“We thought we’d finished with you,” said Dillman, “but you stuck to your task, and solved another mystery for us.”
“Next time you sail on the Salsette, please use me again.”
“We will, Paulo.”
“Because I go into cabins, I see things that most people do not see. I know what people have in their wardrobes. I know how they behave when they are not in the public. On every voyage, I find strange things.”
“Such as?”
“Well,” said Morelli, tapping the side of his nose, “take the two ladies who get me put in second class.”
“Mrs. Simcoe and her daughter?”
“They are not what they seem, Mr. Dillman. That is why they get rid me, I think—because I see too much. I begin to wonder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he said. “Mrs. Simcoe, she is supposed to be unwell, so she has to be pushed around in the chair with wheels. On the first day I meet her, I find her lying on the floor of her cabin.”
“Go on.”
“She want to convince me that she is a weak old lady. Then I look in the wardrobe and what do I see in there? Mrs. Simcoe is traveling with ten pairs of shoes. Why does she need so many when she is not able to walk?”
Dillman was interested. “Are you certain of this, Paulo?”
“Why should I tell the lie?”
“How do you know that the shoes were not her daughter’s?”
“The signorina has almost as many pairs herself. And that is not all,” he added, putting a hand to the side of his mouth as if about to impart a secret. “She has the beautiful dress that she cannot wear.”
“Why not?”
“It is covered with blood, and will have to be cleaned first.”
“Blood?”
“I see it with my own eyes. Now,” Morelli said darkly, “how did it get there? That is what I ask myself. Why all those shoes, and why all that blood?”
They were questions with which Dillman was still grappling.
Having first checked that Constance and Tabitha Simcoe were still in the first-class lounge, Genevieve went swiftly to their cabin and let herself in with a master key borrowed from the purser. There was a faint smell of lavender in the air. She began first with the cupboard, opening each of its drawers in turn to inspect the contents. Evidently, the Simcoes had money to spend on themselves. Everything she found—costume jewelry, undergarments, even the souvenirs—was quite expensive.
Several packs of cards were stacked in the bottom drawer, along with a small account book that showed how much they had earned from their games of bridge. Genevieve was amazed to see the amount of winnings they had accumulated on their voyage to India. All the names of the losers were carefully listed. Some had lost up to a hundred pounds. The Ackroyds, she saw, had parted with over fifty pounds in that cabin. With their success at the card table, the Simcoes could have funded their trip many times over.
There was also a cream-colored purse in the bottom drawer, and Genevieve recalled having seen it in Constance’s possession on the night when the latter wore a dress of the same hue. Opening the purse, she took out a comb, a small mirror, a few coins and—the object that really interested her—a photograph of Constance with an elderly man, who, from the way they had posed, looked as if he might have been her husband. What startled Genevieve was that the man was sitting in the Bath chair while Constance, standing beside it, seemed in good health.
Genevieve put everything carefully away. Covered with shame when she realized that she had wrongly accused a man of theft for the second time, she was now reaping the benefit of that mistake. Guljar Singh’s comment about Constance had been a revelation. The woman was a fraud. Why did she use the Bath chair when it appeared she could walk perfectly well? And why were she and her daughter so punctilious about listing their winnings from various passengers?
Turning her attention to the wardrobe, Genevieve first noted the number of pairs of shoes that each woman had. They were of the highest quality. Constance Simcoe’s mask had been torn away. Genevieve went through the clothing, moving the hangers one by one so that she could give each dress a cursory glance. Some of them she had seen before, worn by either of the two women, but there were several that were new to her.
Once again, expense was the watchword. Every frock there was extremely costly, so much so that Tabitha was not prepared to throw one away even though it was badly sullied. At first, Genevieve could not make out what the dark stains were, until she recalled that the dress in her hands was the one that Tabitha had been wearing on the day that she met and befriended Dudley Nevin. Genevieve shuddered when she realized that the marks over the front and arms were dried blood. Wanting to throw the dress aside immediately, she somehow could not let go of it.
She was still holding it when Tabitha let herself into the cabin.
“Genevieve!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
“More to the point,” said Genevieve, holding up the dress, “what is this doing in here? It’s covered in blood.”
“That’s sauce. I spilled it over myself by mistake days ago.”
“Why—was there a sauce bottle in Mr. Nevin’s cabin?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to bluff your way out of this, Tabby,” warned Genevieve. “I’ve seen far too much—all those packs of cards, all those shoes of your mother’s. The charade is over.”
“Who are you?” challenged the other.
“I work for P and O as a detective. You know my partner, Mr. Dillman, I believe. It’s was no accident that you met him as he was coming out of Mr. Nevin’s cabin, was it?” she went on. “Ever since the murder, you must have been keeping an eye on it.” She pointed to the bottom drawer. “When you weren’t cheating passengers at cards, that is.”
Genevieve was too clever. Realizing that she had been caught, Tabitha sought ways to limit the damage. Genevieve’s face was hard and her manner determined, but she was still a woman and Tabitha knew that she had a softer side to her. She tried an appeal for sympathy. Taking the bloodstained dress from Genevieve, she fingered it ruefully.
“It
was an accident,” she said. “A terrible accident.”
“So you admit that you killed Mr. Nevin?”
“I had no choice, Genevieve. As you know, I met him over breakfast that day, and he seemed amenable to a game of bridge. Mrs. Ackroyd agreed to be his partner, but he was hopelessly distracted and played without any conviction.”
“How did you come to be in his cabin?”
“He left his cigarette case behind,” said Tabitha, “so I went to return it to him. I suppose that it was naive of me to go into his cabin, but he said that he had a souvenir he wanted to show me. It was a kukri, a curved knife with a blade that widened towards the end.”
“The murder weapon.”
“It was self-defense, Genevieve. I swear it.”
“Then why didn’t you report it at once?”
“I was too confused. Heavens!” she said. “I only went there to return his cigarette case, and Mr. Nevin suddenly jumped on me. Don’t you understand—he tried to rape me. I just grabbed the knife and lashed out wildly. I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted to get away. When I saw what I’d done, I was absolutely horrified. I threw the knife away and ran straight back here.”
“Didn’t you do something else before you left?” asked Genevieve.
“No—I was in a complete panic.”
“So you didn’t take any money from his billfold?”
“Of course not.”
“His watch was also missing,” remembered Genevieve. “If you’re innocent of any theft, I’m sure you won’t mind us searching for the watch.” Tabitha spread an arm to show that she could look anywhere in the cabin. “That means it’s not here or you wouldn’t be so confident. In that case,” Genevieve decided, working it out as she talked, “there’s only one place it can be, isn’t there?”
“And where’s that?”
“Concealed in your mother’s Bath chair. Yes, I daresay that we may find Mr. Ackroyd’s ear trumpet and all your other trophies in there, as well. No wonder it felt so heavy when I pushed it.”
Tabitha’s manner changed. She grabbed Genevieve’s arm.
“Nobody needs to know about this,” she insisted.
“Yes, they do.”
“Mr. Nevin was a silly man. Who cares if he’s dead?”
“I do, Tabby.”
“How much do they pay you to do your job?”
“Don’t try to offer me a bribe.”
“It’s a friendly gift,” said the other with a persuasive smile. “After all, we like each other. We get on so well. Think of it, Genevieve,” she purred. “I’ll give you more than you can earn in a year if you forget that you’ve seen this dress.”
“No, Tabby.”
“Two years—three, if you like. We can afford it.”
“I’m not for sale,” said Genevieve with disgust.
Tabitha gave in. She shrugged her shoulders and walked toward the wardrobe, as if about to hang up the dress again. Instead, however, she suddenly wheeled round and flung it in the other woman’s face. By the time that Genevieve had disentangled herself, she felt a sharp blow at the base of her skull and sank to her knees. Holding her mother’s walking stick, Tabitha stood over her. Dazed and in pain, Genevieve put both hands to her head, furious with herself for being caught off guard.
There was a tap on the door. Tabitha grabbed her by the hair.
“Say one word,” she whispered, “and I’ll knock your brains out.”
It was no idle threat. Tabitha had nothing to lose. Having committed one murder, she would have no compunction about killing someone else if it helped to save her.
The second tap on the door was accompanied by a voice.
“I know that you’re in there, Miss Simcoe,” said Dillman. “I’ve just spoken to your mother. She sent you to fetch some cards so that you could play bridge in the lounge.” The door was banged. “Miss Simcoe!”
Genevieve felt that she had to do something. Her head was still pounding but at least she had gathered her wits. As Tabitha stood over her with the walking stick, Genevieve launched herself upward as hard as she could and struck the other woman in the stomach. Tabitha let out a cry of anger. Hauling herself to her feet, Genevieve managed to dodge a blow from the stick and grab Tabitha’s wrist. It was only a temporary solution. Genevieve was in a weakened state. Enraged by the resistance, Tabitha was by far the stronger of the two.
Flinging Genevieve to the floor again, she was about to move in for the kill when the door burst open and Dillman came charging in. He took in the situation instantly. Tabitha tried to strike at him, but he caught the stick in midair and twisted it out of her hand by sheer force. She backed away from him.
Genevieve was not finished. Wanting to make her contribution to the arrest, she thrust out a foot and tripped Tabitha up. Dillman overpowered the woman at once. He had brought reinforcements with him. On his instructions, two members of the crew hauled Tabitha unceremoniously out of the cabin.
Dillman bent over Genevieve, cradling her in his arms.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” he asked.
“I thought that I could do it on my own, George.”
“And now?”
“I should have remembered what Mr. Rollins told us.”
“And what was that?”
“That women can be every bit as ruthless as men.”
Max Cannadine could not stop thanking them. At a time when he was beginning to wonder if the crimes would ever be solved, George Dillman and Genevieve Masefield had found the thief and apprehended the killer. They had even exposed Constance Simcoe as the confidence trickster and cardsharp that she was. With the mother and daughter now behind bars, the Salsette felt a much cleaner and safer vessel.
“The captain sends his compliments,” said the purser.
“What about the second officer?” asked Dillman with amusement.
“I’ll need to have a quiet word with him. We’d all like to have the arrangement with Madame Roussel that he has, but it’s not permitted. I’ll remind him of that and point out that he still has a wife back in England.” He pulled a face. “I do so hate to be a figure of moral authority, but someone has to draw the line.”
“What about Madame Roussel?” said Genevieve.
“I don’t think she’ll lack company for long somehow.”
“At least you won’t have her traveling to and fro with you.”
“Love on the Arabian Sea—a tempting prospect, isn’t it?”
“Not when you have work to do, Mr. Cannadine.”
“No, Miss Masefield,” he said. “I have to agree. By the way, how’s that head of yours now?”
“Just about staying on my shoulders.”
“You must have taken a fearful crack.”
“Oh, I did,” agreed Genevieve, feeling the bump at the base of her skull. “Fortunately, it didn’t break the skin. I’ll just have to endure having this egg on the back of my head.”
“Tabitha Simcoe was a powerful woman,” said Dillman.
“Yes, George. If I pushed that Bath chair around as much as she did, I’d have muscles like that, as well. It’s really heavy.”
“Only because it was packed with all those things they’d won, stolen, or tricked out of people. Dudley Nevin’s watch was one of three in the collection. When I opened up the box underneath that chair, it was like looking into Aladdin’s cave.”
“Everything but a magic lamp,” said the purser.
“It was a profitable ruse,” Dillman pointed it. “Mrs. Simcoe’s husband was the real invalid, and she used to be jealous at the amount of sympathy and attention he used to get. So she decided to trade on a fake disability herself. It worked well. Who would suspect an invalid of being ready to fleece you at cards?”
“Yet the Ackroyds beat them on one occasion,” observed Genevieve.
“That’s why they had to be reeled in for another game. On that occasion, of course,” he said, “Mr. Ackroyd was handicapped because they’d stolen his ear trumpet. That was under the
Bath chair, as well.”
“Why did she do it?” wondered the purser.
“Mrs. Simcoe?”
“No, Mr. Dillman—the daughter. I mean, why did she go to Nevin’s cabin in the first place?”
“Well, it wasn’t to return a cigarette case,” said Dillman, “I can tell you that. Apart from the fact that we never found it in their treasure trove, I know for a fact that Dudley Nevin didn’t smoke. That’s why the major and I had a brandy with him in the lounge on the first night, not in the smoking room.”
“Tabby was after his money,” explained Genevieve. “She admitted as much when the master-at-arms locked her up. Mr. Nevin was carrying a substantial amount, as she saw when he opened his billfold during the game of bridge.”
Cannadine was puzzled. “She went to his cabin to steal it?”
“There are other ways a woman can charm money out of a man.”
“Other than by marriage, you mean?” said the purser, smiling.
“After realizing that Sylvester Greenwood was onboard, Mr. Nevin was frightened and depressed. Tabby could see how vulnerable he was. She went there to offer a show of sympathy, and perhaps something more.” Genevieve sighed. “She’s certainly not the plaster saint that she pretended to be. George discovered that.”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “She gave me the sort of knowing look that I wouldn’t get in a convent. Tabitha Simcoe is a woman of the world in every sense. I fancy that Dudley Nevin wouldn’t have been the first man to pay for the pleasure of her company.”
“But things got out of hand,” continued Genevieve. “That much of her story, I do believe. I think that she led him on too far. Nevin started to molest her and she resisted. The kukri was on the table with various other presents he was taking to his cousin in Aden.”
“In other words,” added Dillman, “it wasn’t premeditated. That, at least, will count in her favor. She’ll face a charge of manslaughter. Of course, she’ll still have to explain why she stole his money and his watch, and failed to report the incident.”
“It’s so unsettling, isn’t it?” mused Cannadine.
“What is?”
“All these crimes have been committed by females. You’re supposed to be the fairer sex, Miss Masefield. What’s happening to you?”
