Passion’s Dupe was an American production, in which sentimentality made a travesty of any rational morality, and the commercial insertion of sexual suggestiveness turned natural human love into an obscenity. Vereker, however, was not interested in its illogical perversities and was sitting with ears alert and his attention fixed on the couple in front of him. For a considerable time they sat as if they were complete strangers to one another, simulating an absorption in the screen play, and then Renée Gautier, turning to Dias, whispered:
“The Colvins are going to leave the ship tomorrow.”
“At Lisbon? Why?” asked Dias, with evident surprise in his tone.
“I don’t know. There’s not going to be a burial at sea after all.”
“Haven’t you any idea?”
“Not the vaguest. Sudden change of plan. Something unusual about the whole business.”
“Are they going to take the body back to England?”
“I don’t know definitely.”
“Very strange. I can’t understand their change of plan.”
“Neither can I.”
“I shouldn’t worry. Did you get the stuff?”
“I have it here.”
“You’d better give it to me now. Safer.”
Some moments of silence ensued, during which Miss Gautier handed a small packet to her companion, who swiftly thrust it into an inside pocket of his dinner jacket. After this transaction both either became absorbed in the story of Passion’s Dupe or were lost in their own thoughts. Neither spoke for about a quarter of an hour.
“You’re paying a lot of attention to the young Penteado woman, Miguel,” remarked Miss Gautier in a querulous voice at length.
“What of it?”
“Oh, nothing. She’s very beautiful.”
“Jealous?”
“A little. I can’t help it, Miguel.”
“Don’t be childish. Purely a business matter.”
Renée Gautier here made some remark which escaped Vereker’s preternaturally acute hearing owing to a burst of laughter which accompanied some absurdity of the film story.
“I’ve managed that all right.”
“Good! I shall be glad if it comes off.”
“You deserve it, Renée. I’m indebted to you, and if anything nasty happens I’ll stand the racket willingly for your sake. Who is this young fellow Ricardo?”
“Charming boy—frivolous, witty and thinks himself no end of a success. Quite an innocent flirtation; it amuses me.”
“Doubtless, but you must be very careful.”
“Don’t get scared. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Fond of him?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s very ingenuous.”
“Are you piqued?”
“He’s young and good-looking. Has he money?”
“He writes stories for a living.”
“Suffit, cela suffit! He has a travelling companion?”
“Yes, a painter, who seems comfortably off.”
“Otherwise he wouldn’t paint. I’ve not spoken to him, but he looks a cunning fellow. Instinctively I’m afraid of him. His eyes see everything.”
“A dreamer and a bit of a prig. Nothing to fear.”
“I’m not so sure. My judgment is not often at fault.”
Again there followed an interval of silence, which was at length broken by Renée Gautier.
“Fancy the two of us being together for the rest of the trip! Aren’t you glad, Miguel?”
“I’m not going further than Lisbon, Renée.”
“What do you mean?”
The question was asked in a sharp tone in which surprise was mingled with anger, and could be heard distinctly by other people some seats distant.
“Shut up, you fool. You’re attracting attention. I mean what I say.”
“But, Miguel, you promised me…”
“I know, but this is business, not amusement. Do you want the whole affair to end in disaster?”
“But why are you leaving at Lisbon?”
“Don’t ask silly questions. Can’t you see that I must get clear of this ship at the first opportunity? The Colvins are getting dangerous.”
“But we have them safely in our hands.”
“I’m not so sure. Nothing is ever absolutely safe.”
“Then I am to travel alone?”
“You must go on. I shall cross Spain later and meet you at Barcelona. Then we can run up to Paris and get married.”
“What are the Penteados doing?”
“Why ask me?”
“I want to know.”
“I believe they are thinking of landing at Lisbon and catching a Blue Star liner to B.A. in a couple of days. The old lady is sick of the trip already. Nothing has been definitely settled.”
“You are not altering you plans to suit Miss Penteado, are you?”
“Look here, Renée, if you’re going to be stupidly jealous like this we had better part now for good.”
“Don’t be angry with me, Miguel. I’ll try hard not to be jealous, but I wouldn’t be jealous if I didn’t love you madly.”
“That’s better. Now everything is settled. We mustn’t be seen together again on the ‘Mars’. It’s too risky. You understand?”
“I shall be glad when we reach Paris…”
Shortly after this the film story concluded and the lights were switched on. Vereker was about to move away discreetly and leave the theatre when Dias turned and flung an inquisitive glance round him. Vereker looked in his direction to see if he had been recognised, and noticed an expression of alarm and suspicion cross Dias’s features. The next moment Renée Gautier swung quickly round in her seat, but Vereker was gazing blankly at the cinema screen in front of him as if he were eagerly awaiting the second item on the programme. He sat thus for some minutes and noticed that the pair were evidently uneasy that he had been so close to them during their conversation. The lights were once more lowered, and the second film had not proceeded far in its story before Dias rose from his seat and quietly left the theatre. Vereker sat patiently till the end of the performance. The orchestra played the National Anthem and the company began to disperse. Renée Gautier turned, looked directly at him and smiled. Vereker simulated surprise with complete success.
“Good evening, Miss Gautier,” he said. “I didn’t know you were sitting so close to me. When did you come in?”
“I have been here all the time. I didn’t see you.”
“What do you think of the show?”
“Very good… so remarkable to be able to go to the cinema on board ship. What a pity they were silent films!”
“I prefer them myself. I believe there are so many Board of Trade restrictions with regard to fire that the company can’t give us a really up-to-date film.”
“I didn’t know that. Where is your friend Mr. Ricardo?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. He said something about attending the performance with you, and I was surprised to find that you were unaccompanied. I had arranged to come with him, but we altered our plans. I only decided to put in an appearance at the last minute because I was at a loose end.”
On reaching the vestibule outside the dining saloon Miss Gautier, saying she was going to retire, bade Vereker good night and disappeared down one of the alleyways running off that antechamber. Vereker made his way up to the smoking room on the next deck and passed out of it on to the promenade, which was deserted. He was about to patrol the deck when Doctor Macpherson turned round a corner walking at a brisk pace.
“Good evening, doctor. Taking a little exercise before turning in?” said Vereker, joining him.
“My sleeping draught I call it,” replied Macpherson.
For some time they marched along together, chatting generally, when the doctor, glancing at his watch, came to a halt.
“Will you come to my cabin and join me in a peg before you get into your hammock?” he asked.
Vereker accepted the invitation with alacrity, and together they made
their way to the doctor’s cabin. When seated over their drinks the doctor became confidential and asked:
“You managed your point all right with the Colvins?”
“Certainly.”
“Because we’ve made all arrangements for putting the body ashore at Lisbon to-morrow.”
“That’s satisfactory. The Colvins agreed with me that it was the best thing to do.”
“Any more news about the missing necklace?”
“I recovered the property and returned it to them.”
“Splendid. How the devil did you work the miracle?”
“It was a simple matter. But we’ll keep to our agreement. I’ll tell you all about it when the ‘Mars’ reaches London again.”
“Very good. Any irrelevant questions to ask?”
“Only one. What kind of a drug is nembutal, doctor?”
“Ah, I can tell you very little about it, because I’ve never had occasion to prescribe it. It belongs to the barbituric group of hypnotic drugs, such as veronal, medinal, luminal and others. It’s a new drug, and even experts have not finally determined the dosage. It evidently has toxic effects, and in a recent inquest Sir William Willcox, the Home Office analyst, was reported in the Press to have said that in his opinion it was a dangerous drug. That’s as much as I can tell you about it.”
“Would it produce prolonged unconsciousness?”
“An overdose certainly would, I should say. There might be a considerable period of coma before death.”
“That’s extremely interesting; it fits in so aptly with one of my theories.”
“Still puddling in romance, Mr. Vereker?”
“No, doctor, only piecing together deadly realities.”
At this point the conversation turned on other topics, and an hour later Vereker rose, thanked the doctor for his hospitality and was about to leave.
“I’d like to ask you one question before you go, Mr. Vereker,” said Macpherson.
“Out with it, doctor.”
“What was your idea in getting the Colvins to disembark at Lisbon with Mrs. Mesado’s body?”
“That’s not sticking to our agreement, doctor. You must wait and see. In detective work one has to leave nothing to chance. Every possible line of inquiry must be explored. Many of these lines only end in culs-de-sac and are a deadly waste of time, but none of them can be ignored.”
“I’ll bet you have the idea of an exhumation later on. You can’t hoodwink me,” said the doctor pertinently.
“Good night, doctor,” replied Vereker with a laugh and closed the door behind him.
II
When Vereker entered his cabin he found Ricardo lounging in a comfortable chair smoking a cigarette.
“You’re late, Algernon. I believe you’ve made a conquest. I saw you in earnest conversation today with that silver-haired grandame who affects a monocle and wears buttoned boots. I believe you’ve been helping her to take off her bottines, you cunning old bambocheur!”
“You mean Lady Hildenborough? Charming woman of the old school, Ricky. Victorian and as fragrant as lavender!”
“She reminds me of a hansom cab. I can’t explain why, Algernon.”
“I saw you at the show with Miss Penteado. Did you gather any information?”
“I’ve learned a good deal of the history of the Diss sisters.”
“And who are they?”
“Beryl and Constance, or, if you prefer it, Mrs. Mesado and Mrs. Colvin.”
“That’s useful. How many sisters were there?”
“Three. Beryl, whose body lies in the ship’s hospital; Constance, alive on board; and Amy, who died when she was a girl of seventeen. They come from Fakenham, in Norfolk. Their father was rather well off once upon a time, but got through most of his money. Constance married Colvin, who once had a bailiff’s job on a large Norfolk estate, but lost it down his throat. Beryl went on the stage, into the ballet, and was on the way to becoming a premiere danseuse when she made the acquaintance of Mesado, the meat millionaire. Strange how these monsters of modern industrialism succumb to the delicate enchantment of a fine body inspired with rhythm! He married her. Colvin, as I’ve told you before, got a parasitic job from his brother-in-law and has lived the life of a country gentleman ever since.”
“And did you get any other information about Amy?”
“None whatever, except that there was some mystery about her death.”
“That’s not very helpful. Are the Penteados old friends of the Mesados?”
“I can’t quite get at the truth from Rosaura on this point. She equivocates, and I think there’s a minor mystery hidden there. Père Penteado and Mesado were warm friends through chilled meat. The former died about a year ago and left his millions to his wife for life, and in reversion to his daughter. Rosaura got on very well with Beryl up to a point. Says Beryl was a jealous, temperamental woman with the very devil of a temper and most difficult to live with. Guillermo she thinks a most charming man, but very fond of the fair sex.”
“Was that the cause of the recent trouble with his wife?”
“Presumably. There was a woman in the case, but Rosaura doesn’t know who. Beryl believed in Romantic Love and, like many people, thought marriage put a full stop to amatory diversion.”
“I’m old-fashioned enough to think it ought to,” remarked Vereker gravely.
“I’m old enough to know that it frequently doesn’t, Algernon. I wouldn’t be surprised if in the near future jealousy is considered a crime punishable with seven years’ ‘hard’. You must admit it’s an unsocial trait in human nature.”
“Had they separated?”
“Guillermo has presumably gone back to the Argentine. Beryl, before leaving England, put up the house and furniture in Sussex, which is her property, for sale.”
“Was there going to be a divorce?”
“No mention of it. The fight had just commenced. Opening bombardment, so to speak.”
“What does Miss Penteado know of Miguel Dias?”
“Not very much, but is certain he’s an adventurer.”
“Give any reasons for her conviction?”
“Only that her father always said so and warned her against him. Old Penteado evidently knew more of Dias than he ever cared to disclose.”
“She seems to be very thick with Dias in spite of paternal warnings.”
“Merely an oceanic flirtation—watery waste affair. Dias pays her marked attention probably with an eye on her reversion, and you can’t blame a pretty woman for exercising her charms for Art’s sake. Might as well try and stop a cat from sticking her claws into a ball of wool.”
“I saw you were present at Passion’s Dupe.”
“Yes; it was unintentionally a delightful farce. We both ached with laughter, much to the annoyance of a reverend gentleman and his wife sitting in front, who doubtless thought us promising candidates for damnation. Where were you hiding?”
“Just behind Renée Gautier, who was seated next to Dias and in earnest conversation with him throughout the play. She’s evidently very much in love with him.”
“But he’s leaving the ‘Mars’ at Lisbon tomorrow, and is going to stay at the Hotel do Parque, Estoril. He’s been doing his best to persuade the Penteados to do the same.”
“They’ve refused?”
“Definitely. Is Renée going ashore with the Colvins?”
“No, she’s going on further, and I want you to carry on the work of investigation. Dance attendance on the lady. You won’t find that difficult, but you must be on the qui vive. In speaking to Dias she said you were an ingenuous youth and thought yourself a great success.”
“Good I won’t be stupid enough to let her find out that I really am one. What did she say about you?”
“Called me a bit of a prig!” replied Vereker, smiling.
“You got off lightly. After all, a prig is a fellow whose perfect equilibrium is intensely annoying to wobblers. Do you think Renée’s implicated in this Mesado death mystery?”
“She knows something about it, and so does Dias. From a fragment of their conversation that I overheard it appears they have a strangle-hold over the Colvins in the matter. You must try and find out what she knows.”
“I’ll do my best, Algernon. How far is she going?”
“Dias is going to meet her at Barcelona, and they’re travelling to Paris to get married. At least that’s his story. She seemed disappointed at his leaving her, but apparently agreed that it was advisable owing to some danger that threatens him.”
“She’s another of Passion’s dupes. What d’you think is the danger? Is he responsible for Mrs. Mesado’s death?”
“I can’t say, but he’s capable of anything, and we must treat them both as suspects in the meantime.”
“How long will you stay in Lisbon?”
“Only a few days. I shall try and keep an eye on Dias and the Colvins, and then I must get back to England by the Blue Star liner Avila Star. She’s a pet boat of mine and is on her way back from Buenos Aires. If Dias turns up at Barcelona you might leave the ‘Mars’ and follow him up. I’ll go to London on my return and get Heather on the job. He may know something of our friend Dias. There’ll be a little history of the gentleman in the records at Scotland Yard, if I’m not mistaken.”
The Pleasure Cruise Mystery Page 13