by Conrad Allen
“Some friend!”
“There are more details to come out yet,” said Dillman, “but I thought I’d let the two cool their heels for a while. The master-at-arms has them both under lock and key.”
“They’ll need more than a crowbar to get out of those cells.”
“Yes, Mr. Buxton. Price and Bowen won’t be getting into any more mischief.”
“It was rather more than mischief.”
“Agreed.”
“Still, we can now put them aside for a moment.”
“Yes,” said Dillman, “and turn our attention to the real criminals.”
“They won’t be quite so easy to unearth.”
“I’m very afraid not.”
“What steps are you taking?”
Dillman told him about his discussion with Genevieve Masefield and detailed the lines of inquiry he now intended to follow himself. Buxton was only partially satisfied.
“Can’t we work any faster, Mr. Dillman?”
“We’re slow but methodical. That way, we don’t attract attention to ourselves. The last thing you want is someone like Hester Littlejohn hammering on your door.”
“I wish the master-of-arms could lock her up for me!”
Dillman grinned. “She’s only doing her job. Just like we are.”
“Yes, but her job impedes ours.”
“All that Mrs. Littlejohn wants is a good story.”
“Let her go to the library. The shelves are full of them.”
“Coming back to the matter in hand,” said Dillman seriously, “I’ve had some time to reflect on it. The two Welshmen might have been bungling amateurs, but the men who staged the earlier theft were cool professionals. Just think of the planning involved. They not only worked out how to get into that security room with the minimum of fuss, they knew the exact weight of the gold in those boxes. That was why they used the lead lining in addition to those house bricks.”
“How did they get the bricks aboard?” asked the purser, exhaling smoke. “They’re not exactly the kind of things you pack in your bag.”
“We need to go farther back than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“This crime was planned before the gold bullion even left London. The thieves knew everything that was necessary beforehand.”
“All they had to do was to read the newspapers, surely?”
“No, Mr. Buxton,” said the other. “There were lots of articles about our cargo, I know. I read some of them. But they didn’t give precise details about the size and weight of those boxes. Only a privileged few would have that information.”
“A privileged few?”
“At the source.”
“The Bank of England?”
“Where else? The robbers must have had a contact there. There’s no other way they could be so well prepared. The average man would have no idea of how gold is refined into bars. Only a banker could know that.” A smile touched his lips. “Yes, that’s right. Why didn’t I think of that before? Excuse me, Mr. Buxton,” he said, opening the door. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“To see a friend about banking procedures.”
“But we haven’t finished our chat, Mr. Dillman.”
“I’ll be in touch,” said the detective.
And he was gone.
Eager not to get ensnared at a table with her friends, Genevieve had decided to miss luncheon and complete her tour of the unoccupied cabins. By the time she finished, most of the diners were leaving their seats. After rehearsing her excuse, Genevieve went into the lounge in search of her circle. Pausing at the door, she saw that Ruth Constantine was sitting in a corner with Susan Faulconbridge. Before she could join them, however, a pleasant voice sounded in her ear.
“Ah!” said Orvill Delaney. “The return of the prodigal!”
“Hello, Mr. Delaney,” she replied.
“I’ll tell them to kill the fatted calf immediately.”
“Why?”
“We thought we’d lost you. There was no trace of you at breakfast. According to Miss Constantine, nobody has seen you all morning. When you didn’t show up for luncheon, we began to think of sending out search parties.”
“I don’t think I’m that important a feature of the dining saloon.”
“You are to me,” he said with an affectionate smile.
“Thank you, Mr. Delaney.”
“Welcome back. I won’t hold you up from joining your friends.”
“Before you go,” she said, stopping him with a raised hand, “I wanted to ask you something. You seem to know the Wymarks quite well, and you played chess with Mr. Wymark the other night.”
“So?”
“Don’t they strike you as an unlikely couple?”
“No more unlikely than you and I, Miss Masefield.”
“But we’re not married.”
“Perhaps not,” he said with a grin, “though if we stand here together long enough, I’m sure we’ll provoke a lot of curiosity. Rumors will soon spread. ‘Isn’t he too old for her? Too ugly? Too American?’ Exactly the things they say about Walter Wymark.”
“I’m more interested in his wife, actually.”
“Then you must talk to someone else.”
“Why?”
“Because I never discuss one beautiful lady with another,” he said evasively. “It would be very ungentlemanly. A beautiful lady is like a concert pianist, Miss Masefield. Nobody needs two at the same time.”
He gave her another smile and went off. Genevieve made her way across to her friends, apologized for her absence at lunch and sat down. Both of them had watched her exchange with Orvill Delaney.
“It’s just as well that Donald didn’t see you,” observed Susan. “He doesn’t approve of fraternizing with American passengers.”
“More fool he!” said Ruth. “Mr. Delaney is a charmer.”
“It looked as if Genevieve was doing the charming.”
“We only exchanged a few words,” said Genevieve. “But I’ll be the first to admit that I like Mr. Delaney—and I don’t feel obliged to ask Donald’s permission to do so.”
“Hear, hear!” said Ruth.
Susan was serious for once. “Donald is not as stupid as he looks.”
“Nobody could be that stupid.”
“Ruth!”
“Donald is a lovable fool. Quite harmless, really. As long as you feed him four times a day and cosset him all night, he can even pass for a civilized Englishman.”
“You don’t know him as well as I do.”
“That causes me profound gratitude, Susan.”
“Why bicker about it?” intervened Genevieve, noting the color rise to Susan’s cheeks. “Donald is a kind, generous man and we all like to have him around. I don’t see why you two should fall out over him.”
“Excuse me,” announced Susan, leaping to her feet.
She hastened across the lounge to the door and went out without a backward glance. Genevieve was puzzled and concerned. She looked for elucidation.
“You came at a sensitive moment,” explained Ruth.
“What do you mean?”
“Susan is in rather a bad mood. She and Harvey had a successful night at the card table and reeled off happily together. But he wouldn’t go beyond her cabin door.”
“I see.”
“Over luncheon,” continued Ruth, “it was Donald’s turn to upset her, albeit unwittingly. But then, almost everything about Donald Belfrage is unwitting.”
“What did he do?”
“Talked obsessively about you, Genevieve.”
“Oh dear!”
“He touched another raw nerve in Susan. He also irritated Theodora so much that she dragged him off to their cabin after luncheon to have a row with him. That’s why they’re not here with us.” She gave a slight chuckle. “He may have to give her another of those pills just to shut her up.”
“Pills?”
“Sleeping pills.”
“Is that what T
heodora takes?”
“Occasionally. She took one last night and didn’t wake up until ten o’clock this morning.”
The information rang an alarm bell in Genevieve’s head. She might not be as safe from Donald Belfrage as she thought. If his wife resorted to a sleeping pill, she might have no idea of whether or not her husband was still in the cabin with her. Belfrage would be at liberty to pay a visit to the boat deck and knock on Genevieve’s door.
“That’s why Donald joined us for breakfast,” said Ruth. “Theodora was lost to the world and he got bored with waiting for her to wake up. He was hypnotized by Mrs. Wymark during the entire meal. Donald pretends to despise the woman, yet he couldn’t stop looking at her.”
“Was her husband with her?” asked Genevieve.
“Oh, yes. He was in attendance. But it was the other three men at the table who interested me. I don’t know what she was saying to them, but they were completely enraptured by her. Mrs. Wymark was playing with them, Genevieve.”
“How did her husband react to that?”
“He was helping her as much as he could. That’s what intrigued me. I watched the pair of them carefully throughout the meal, and I had this bizarre feeling.”
“About the Wymarks?”
“That might be his name, but I’m not at all sure that it’s hers.”
“What do you mean, Ruth?”
“I don’t think they’re married at all.”
Pressure of work obliged Dillman to forgo his luncheon as well. He was glad that he had taken the precaution of eating a large breakfast, and even more glad that it had been shared with Genevieve. Hoping to find the Jarvis family, he made his way to the second-class lounge, but someone emerged as he reached the door. Agnes Cameron’s face lit up.
“There you are, Mr. Dillman. Is there any news of Max?”
“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Cameron.”
“Wherever can he be?”
“If he’s still on the ship, we’ll find him sooner or later.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“Be patient,” he advised. “And don’t fear the worst.”
“But that’s already happened,” she sighed. “One way or another, I’ve lost him forever, haven’t I?” She made an effort to compose herself. “I must thank you for arranging to send me that meal yesterday. It was so kind of you.”
“I hope you enjoyed it.”
“I did, Mr. Dillman. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.”
“Good,” he said. “And I’m pleased to see you out and about again.”
“I can’t stay locked away in my cabin for the rest of the voyage. That would be silly. I mean, it’s not as if I committed those thefts myself, is it? I told myself that I had to get over my disappointment. Max may have gone,” she said bravely, “but I’ve made other friends on the voyage. I had luncheon with the Rosenwalds.”
“Mix with the other passengers as much as you can. It may help.”
“That was my feeling. But I’m so glad that I bumped into you.”
“Are you?”
“Yes, Mr. Dillman. The thing is that I remembered something Max said to me and I thought it just might be useful to you.”
“Go on.”
“When he brought that briefcase into my cabin on Sunday, he said it only contained his overnight things. Obviously, that wasn’t the whole truth.”
“Mr. Hirsch was very skilled at concealing the truth, Mrs. Cameron. He told you only what he wanted you to hear. That’s the way such people operate.”
“I believed him when he told me about his friends.”
“What friends?”
“Well, you see,” she explained, “Max was so fond of talking about the number of times he’d crossed the Atlantic in both directions. Since he was such a gregarious man, I said that he must have made lots of friends among the regular travelers. I asked him if any of them were on the Mauretania.”
“What did he say?”
“That he did know one couple, but they were in first class.”
“Did he give their names?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Wymark.”
“Can you recall what he said about them?”
“Only that he knew them well and had done business with Mr. Wymark.”
Dillman was so grateful that he wanted to embrace her. A tenuous link had been established between Max Hirsch and two passengers in first class who had aroused Genevieve’s suspicion. The information might prove critical.
“Is that helpful?” asked Mrs. Cameron.
“Extremely helpful. Thank you.”
“I was too flustered to remember it when you and Miss Masefield questioned me.”
Dillman chatted with her for a few minutes, then eased her on her way. As soon as he went into the lounge, he saw the Jarvis family ensconced in their chairs. Oliver Jarvis was talking to his wife, Alexandra was nestled against her grandmother, and Noel was gazing through the window at the rise and fall of the waves. Dillman’s appearance was welcomed. The parents smiled, the girl giggled with pleasure, and the old woman released one of her celebrated cackles. Even the boy managed to show interest. Dillman apologized for not having seen as much of them as he would have liked and explained that he had been tied up in his cabin with work.
“But I heard one piece of good news, Ally,” he announced.
“Did you?”
“Bobo has been found.”
“Wonderful!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Where had he been?”
“He hasn’t told us yet.”
She giggled again. “Thank you, Mr. Dillman. Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m sure he’d love to see you,” said Dillman, trying to compound the girl’s joy. “I know that your parents don’t want you running off on your own, but I daresay they wouldn’t mind if someone else went with you. Mrs. Pomeroy perhaps?” he suggested, looking hopefully at the old woman. “The two of you might want to go and see Bobo being fed in a little while.”
“Yes, please!” said Alexandra. “Can we go, Granny?”
“It’s not up to me, Ally,” said the other.
“You’d have no objection, Mr. Jarvis, would you?” asked Dillman persuasively, making a request that he knew would be denied if put forward by the girl herself. “That cat is very fond of Ally. It seems unfair to keep the two of them apart. Perhaps Noel would like to go along as well?”
“I don’t like cats,” said the boy.
“Then your sister can go with Mrs. Pomeroy.” He turned back to the father. “With your permission, that is, Mr. Jarvis.”
Vanessa Jarvis endorsed the request by squeezing her husband’s arm. Unable to refuse, Jarvis gave a nod of approval and collected an impromptu hug from his daughter. Alexandra was far too impatient to wait and insisted that they go off in search of the cat immediately. Dillman offered his hand to help Lily Pomeroy up from her chair. When the two of them left, he settled down opposite Oliver Jarvis.
“I hope you didn’t mind my breaking that piece of news,” he said.
“Not at all,” replied Jarvis. “Alexandra has been moping ever since the animal disappeared. You’ve cheered her up again, Mr. Dillman.”
“I have a feeling that she’ll cheer up Bobo as well.”
“Mother will enjoy a little break from us,” said Vanessa.
Jarvis almost smiled. “We all need a little break from each other at times.”
“It’s so nice to see you again, Mr. Dillman.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jarvis,” he replied. “I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to see more of each other. At least there’s been an improvement in the weather,” he went on. “It’s still too cold and miserable to tempt anyone out on deck, but we don’t have Monday’s gale that battered the Mauretania.”
“I’m so glad about that. We were frightened.”
“I thought we were going to sink,” said Noel mournfully.
“No chance of that,” Jarvis reassured him.
“But you were scared as well.”
> “Of course I wasn’t,” said his father, flicking him a stern glance. “My only concern was to comfort you and your mother. There was no real danger of foundering, was there, Mr. Dillman?”
“None at all,” said Dillman, moving the conversation in the direction he wanted. “If there had been, they’d never have entrusted the best part of three million pounds in gold bullion to the vessel. It must impose a huge responsibility on the captain. Carrying such a cargo, I mean. But I expect that you’re used to that kind of thing, Mr. Jarvis,” he reasoned. “As a bank manager, you must have the responsibility for large amounts of money on a daily basis.”
“We don’t keep anything of that value in our vaults.”
“But the bank must have a sizable amount of cash.”
“It does, Mr. Dillman.”
“What sort of security arrangements do you have?”
“Very stringent ones.”
“The same goes for that gold bullion, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” said Jarvis knowledgeably. “It would have been guarded every step of the way. I’ve been inside the Bank of England, so I know the kind of security it has in place. Even with an army, you couldn’t break in there.”
“Where is the gold refined?”
“There’s a special department for that, Mr. Dillman.”
“But who actually does the refining, and what sort of process is it?”
“I’m not really the best person to tell you that, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’ve had no direct experience with it,” said Jarvis. “We have no gold bullion at my branch in Camden. We deal almost exclusively in paper transactions. If you really want to know about refining, you ought to talk to someone from the Bank of England.”
“How can I do that?”
“You can’t, unfortunately. Unless you could somehow get into first class.”
“First class?”
“Yes,” explained Jarvis. “There’s a passenger I recognized when he was boarding the boat train. An old colleague of mine, actually. He moved to the Bank of England some years ago and has done very well there, by all accounts. Well,” he added with a rare laugh, “the fellow is traveling in first class, while we lesser mortals are down here.”
“What’s the man’s name?” asked Dillman.
