Murder on the Mauretania

by Conrad Allen

  “You never do.”

  “Well, it’s the truth, Mansell. You knocked Dai Watkins out stone-cold. That’s why you got the sack and I decided to quit with you.”

  “I didn’t get the sack,” corrected the other sharply. “I went in search of it. Nobody was keeping me down that pit after what happened to Dad. So when Dai Watkins tried to push me around, I let him have it between the eyes. It was my way of resigning. Got it?”

  “Yes, yes,” agreed the other. “Anything you say.”

  “Use your head for once, will you? If we get an interview for a job, one of the first things they’ll ask is why we left the pit. How much chance have I got if you blurt out that I slugged the foreman? They wouldn’t touch me.”

  “Never thought of it that way.”

  “Try, Glyn. Bloody well try!” He took his friend by the arm and led him off down a passageway.

  “Where are we going, Mansell?” Bowen asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  They followed a tortuous route through the bowels of the ship, pausing at corners to make sure they were not seen, then descending a companionway with lumbering stealth. Eventually they reached a large metal door that was heavily reinforced.

  “There it is,” said Price expansively. “The security room.”

  “How did you find it?”

  “By following the directions that Irish steward gave us.”

  Bowen stared at the door. “Is that where the gold bullion is kept?”

  “Only yards from where we’re standing. Exciting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Mansell.”

  “It’ll be even more exciting when we actually see it.”

  “But that’s impossible!”

  “Is it?” said the other. “Look at the door, mun.”

  “It’s far too solid, and it’s got all those locks.”

  “Locks can be broken, Glyn. Only a question of applying pressure at the right points. Call yourself a miner?” he sneered contemptuously. “We’ve dug our way through seams of coal a hundred times thicker than that door.”

  “Only because we had a pick and shovel.”

  “Exactly. Get the right tools and we can do anything.”

  “We can’t dig our way in there,” said Bowen fearfully. “Think of the noise it would make. They’d be down on us like a ton of bricks.”

  “Then we make sure we do it quietly,” resolved Price, running a meditative hand over his chin as he studied the door. “A ship of this size is bound to have what we need. Hammers and chisels and so on. What about those boxes of food we saw being loaded? They must have crowbars to open them. All we have to do is to borrow the tools, muffle them with tags, and get to work.

  Bowen was alarmed. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Even though we’re bound to be caught?”

  “There you go again. Always fearing the worst.”

  “It’s lunacy!” wailed Bowen. “It’s not the same as taking a swing at Dai Watkins. All you got for that was the sack. This is a serious crime, Mansell. We could go to jail. Besides,” he said, indicating the door, “there’s no way you could get through there.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “And even if you did, what would happen then?”

  “We’d make off with a couple of bars of gold bullion, Glyn.”

  “Until the ship was searched and we were caught red-handed.” Bowen waved dismissively. “I want no part of this, Mansell. What’s the point of going to all that trouble when we’d never get off the boat with one ounce of gold?”

  “We won’t even try,” explained Price slyly. “Why not hear me out before you decide? I got it all planned, see? With the right tools and a torch to help us, I reckon I can get through that door in an hour or so. You act as lookout. Even you can manage that, Glyn. Now,” he continued, licking his lips, “once we get inside, we open the first box and steal as many of the bars as we can carry.”

  “And where do we take them?” asked Bowen in disbelief. “Back to our cabin?”

  “No, you fool. Straight to the purser.”

  “The purser!” exclaimed the other.

  “Of course.”

  “But that’s stupid.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, Mansell.”

  “Listen, boyo. I thought this right through. We just have to put on an act.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We tell the purser that we caught these two blokes making off with the gold, so we tackled them. They got away, but we managed to stop them from taking any of the loot. We won’t be criminals, Glyn,” he stressed, “we’ll be heroes. They’re bound to give us a big reward. Might even move us up to first class for the rest of the voyage. Whatever happens, we’re far better off than we are now. And all for an hour with a jimmy or a crowbar. Well?” he said with a wild grin. “Interested?”

  “It could just work,” agreed the other uncertainly.

  “Only if you let me do the talking.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you telling the purser that I knocked out Dai Watkins, do I?”

  Dillman’s meal was interrupted for the second time by a note from Maurice Buxton, but at least he had eaten the main course on this occasion. Excusing himself from the table, he strolled toward the door, gathering a smirk from Max Hirsch as he did so. He also got a nod of recognition from Agnes Cameron, mollified now that her beau was at her side and displaying her jewelry with a new confidence. Dillman had no time to speculate on why Hirsch had arrived so late for dinner. The purser had summoned him, and it would not be to pass on any good news.

  Maurice Buxton was smoking his pipe again when the detective was admitted to his cabin. Scratching at his beard, the purser indicated the ledger on his desk.

  “The phantom strikes again!” he moaned.

  “How many times?”

  “Twice. He got away with a fair amount of cash, a silver jewelry box, and two silver bracelets. Why people don’t let me lock away their valuables in our safe, I don’t know!” he sighed. “They will leave things lying around in their cabins.”

  “That’s asking for trouble.”

  “I know, Mr. Dillman. Yet strangely enough, most passengers get away with it. I’ve been on voyages when the only thing that got lost was someone’s virginity. Then you have something like this to deal with. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, is there?”

  “Give me the details,” said Dillman, taking out pencil and pad.

  The purser was succinct. Both thefts had occurred during the day from unoccupied second-class cabins. No sign of forced entry was found. The thief appeared to have come and gone at will, without leaving any clue behind as to his identity. Looking through his notes, Dillman was almost certain that the same man was responsible for all the crimes in second class, but he had to admit that his inquiries had so far failed to lead to an arrest. He made no mention of his confrontation with Max Hirsch.

  “He must be halted in his tracks, Mr. Dillman!” declared Buxton.

  “I know.”

  “We don’t want him running amok.”

  “I’ll interview these latest victims immediately.”

  “Let them finish their dinner first. It might help to calm them down.” He pulled on his pipe and relaxed slightly. “Anything else to report?”

  “Only that you’ve got a rabble-rouser aboard, Mr. Buxton.”

  “Who is he?”

  “It’s a woman called Hester Littlejohn,” said Dillman with a smile. “A lively lady, I must say. She’s a journalist with an American magazine, but she’s not content with trumpeting the virtues of the Mauretania. She wants to uncover the ship’s vices as well.”

  “I didn’t know we had any.”

  “Mrs. Littlejohn thinks that Cunard may be underpaying its employees.”

  “Oh, well, I’d go along with that. We could all do with more cash,” he said with a chuckle. “But seriously, is this lady anything more
than a nuisance?”

  “She might be if she gets wind of this outbreak of theft,” admitted Dillman. “That’s one more reason to clear everything up. We don’t want to read an article by Hester Littlejohn about the Cunard Crime Wave. I suggested that she concentrate on the women employed on the ship and take up their cause.”

  “That’ll keep her out of mischief.”

  “I’m not so sure. Mrs. Littlejohn is very tenacious.”

  “A troublemaker?”

  “A well-intentioned woman in search of a scoop.”

  “Saints preserve us!”

  They chatted amiably for a few more minutes, then Dillman turned to leave.

  “Hold on,” said Buxton. “I’ve saved the one bright spot until the end.”

  “Bright spot?”

  “Yes, you’d better pass this on to Miss Masefield because I haven’t had the opportunity to tell her. Cross one name off the list. The most important one in some ways. Mrs. Dalkeith has got her watch back. I daresay she’s wearing it in the first-class dining saloon right now.”

  “That’s a relief. Where did she find it?”

  “She didn’t, Mr. Dillman. It was pushed under my door in a brown envelope.”

  “When?”

  “Sometime this afternoon.”

  “Was there no note of explanation with the watch?”

  “Not a syllable,” said Buxton, picking up a brown envelope from the table. “As you can see, there’s nothing on this either. Our benefactor wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “If he really is a benefactor.”

  “Who else would return an expensive gold watch?”

  “Someone who prefers silver.”

  NINE

  What are we going to do when we get to New York, darling?” asked Theodora Belfrage.

  “What we always do,” said her husband smugly. “Be ourselves.”

  “Do you think America is ready for Donald Belfrage?” teased Harvey Denning.

  “Now, now,” warned Ruth Constantine. “Remember what we agreed to, Harvey.”

  “I sit corrected,” he said, putting both hands over his mouth.

  “What’s going on?” asked Theodora.

  “Nothing,” said Susan Faulconbridge.

  “Are you making fun of Donald again?”

  “On the contrary, Theodora.”

  “Because I won’t have it, do you hear? My husband is a wonderful man.”

  “And so say all of us!” agreed Denning, lifting his glass. “To Donald!”

  Genevieve Masefield, Ruth, and Susan joined him in the toast. Donald basked in their admiration, but his wife suspected a plot. She fixed her eyes on Genevieve.

  “That wasn’t a joke, was it?” she asked.

  “Of course not, Theodora,” replied Genevieve softly. “Donald is a very special person. Particularly when he’s dressed like that. Haven’t you noticed how much attention he’s been getting from the other ladies in here? You’re not only married to one of the most handsome men on board, he’s also among the most desirable.”

  “Listen to that, everybody!” said a delighted Belfrage.

  “It’s true, darling,” purred Theodora. “You are desirable.”

  “And handsome. Genevieve said so.”

  “If compliments are flying around freely,” said Denning, “are there any for me?”

  “Yes,” replied Ruth. “You’re to be congratulated on getting through an entire meal without a sneer, a snipe, or a cruel innuendo. We may house-train you yet, Harvey.”

  “Oh, I hope not. It would ruin my reputation.”

  “You don’t have one,” said Susan with a grin.

  He shot her a look of mock reproach, then the two of them shared a laugh.

  The meal was drawing to a close, and Genevieve was wondering how she could escape the little group before she was lulled into a sense of belonging and surrendered to the pleasure of their company. Repartee had flown with its usual speed, but the verbal persecution of Donald Belfrage had been notably absent. It had given him an opportunity to reveal sides of his character that had hitherto been obscured from her. Belfrage not only turned out to have a gift for political anecdote, he also showed that he was capable of self-mockery. Another aspect of him was more unexpected. Although his wife was at his side throughout, he kept staring at Genevieve as if seeing her properly for the first time, and at one point, she felt a foot touch her own quite deliberately under the table. Suspecting at first that it belonged to Harvey Denning, she began to wonder if the man’s shoe that stroked her own was, in fact, worn by Donald Belfrage.

  In any event, Genevieve did not have to manufacture any excuses. When they finished their coffee, the group broke up of its own accord. Theodora pleaded tiredness and took her reluctant husband off to their suite, while Denning and Susan went off to partner each other in a game of bridge against some acquaintances they had made. Genevieve was quietly delighted. Left alone with Ruth Constantine, she felt that she had the best of both worlds: an interesting companion with whom to talk, and greater freedom to keep up her reconnaissance of the other passengers. They adjourned to the first-class lounge and found a corner where they could settle into polished-beech chairs in the shade of a potted palm. Ruth was characteristically direct.

  “Well,” she said. “What do you make of us?”

  “Do I have to deliver a report?” asked Genevieve with a smile.

  “Early impressions.”

  “I think you’re all very nice people.”

  “Honest impressions,” stipulated Ruth. “Don’t pull any punches. The men first.”

  “Isn’t that ungallant?”

  “Stop sounding like Donald.”

  “As you wish,” said Genevieve. “Let’s start with him. I have to confess that when I met you all on the boat train, I thought that Donald was something of an oaf. A very friendly oaf, mark you, but one of those people who blunders well-meaningly through a conversation without noticing that he’s bumping into people. Also, he can be a prig. In fact, he’s the only man I’ve met who can be both an oaf and a prig at the same time.”

  “Donald is both of those things, but he’s a lot more besides.”

  “So I’m discovering. I’m told that he’s very generous.”

  “He’s positively philanthropic, Genevieve. Did you know that he booked the passages for all five of us? Yes,” she said, seeing the other’s astonishment. “We each wanted to pay our own way, but Donald wouldn’t hear of it. He likes to share his good fortune. In that way, he’s very unselfish.”

  “Why do you all gang up on him?”

  “Because he thrives on it.”

  “Theodora doesn’t seem to think so.”

  “She has a lot to learn. Not least, how to make a husband want to take you back to your cabin instead of having to inveigle him there with that nonsense about a headache. You must have seen how unwilling he was to go.”

  “Yes,” said Genevieve, remembering the foot that touched hers under the table. “Do you think that he’ll be faithful to Theodora?”

  “In the short term.”

  “And then?”

  “He’s a man,” said Ruth bluntly. “Part of the reason he wants to go into politics is so that he can buy a townhouse in London and spend nights away from his wife. I don’t expect for a moment that he’ll be entirely celibate during his time at Westminster.” She raised a cautionary eyebrow. “Brace yourself for an invitation to visit a certain Tory member of Parliament.”

  “I hardly know him, Ruth.”

  “That makes no difference. Let’s move on to Harvey.”

  “He’s already given me his speech about being a parasite.”

  “Then he’s being unfair to himself,” said Ruth. “He has many good qualities, one of them being loyalty to his friends. But he also has his weaknesses, as you’ve probably discovered already. I heard my first tap on the door within hours of meeting him.”

  “He does it with such charm.”

  “Oh, yes. Lots of women f
all for that charm. Susan, among them, I’m afraid. But he was wasting his time outside my bedroom. As appealing as he can be, I want more from a man than the feeling that I’m being fitted in between two games of bridge. That’s his real passion. What of Susan?”

  “She’s in love with Harvey, isn’t she?”

  “Is she?”

  “They seem to have this secret code between them.”

  “That comes from sharing a bed with a man, but it doesn’t mean you’re madly in love with him. Susan’s is a rather tragic case,” said Ruth. “She got involved with Harvey in order to stay close to Donald. Ridiculous as it may seem to us, that amiable oaf with a degree from Oxford is the love of her life. Susan Faulconbridge would give anything to be where Theodora is, but she isn’t beautiful enough or silly enough for Donald. So she just stays in his orbit. Like the rest of us.”

  “What’s your interest in him?”

  “You tell me, Genevieve.”

  “Let me have more time to work on it,” said the other warily. “You’re more inscrutable than the rest. As for Susan and Theodora, however, you’ve summed them up perfectly. I can’t add anything to your description of Theodora as beautiful but silly. And though I didn’t know there was some history between Donald and Susan, it doesn’t surprise me.”

  “That brings us around to Genevieve Masefield.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes,” said Ruth, watching her carefully. “Where do you fit in?”

  “I’m just a willing traveling companion who’s grateful for the way you’ve all taken me into your circle. It’s been an absolute joy to me.”

  “That answer might satisfy the others, but it doesn’t persuade me. I’ve seen you looking around when you’ve been with us. It’s almost as if we’re a kind of stockade in which you can take refuge.” She leaned in closer. “Who are you hiding from, Genevieve?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Then what’s his name?”

  “Whose name?”

  “The man who’s making you behave the way you do,” argued Ruth shrewdly. “Any other single woman with your assets would make the most of them. Look at you, Genevieve. You could have almost any man aboard this ship eating out of your hand. In your position, I certainly would,” she said harshly. “I’d make them suffer. Yet you don’t seem to be interested in using any of the power you have. Why not?” she pressed. “Why do you use our little party as a form of protection? It can only be because you’re already committed to someone else. What’s the fellow’s name?”