by Conrad Allen
“Is she a keen musician?” said Pountney.
“Very keen, Mr. Pountney. She practices every day.”
“Someone else who’s found her mission in life, then.” He looked at his watch. “You must excuse me, gentlemen. I promised to meet Sir Alistair Longton at noon and I never keep a prospective business associate waiting. Good to meet you both.” Roland Pountney shook hands warmly with both of them before striding off.
“I hope that I didn’t interrupt anything, Mr. Goss,” said Dillman.
“Heck, no. We were just chatting about Egypt, that’s all. Mr. Pountney is an educated man. He may talk about the future of the country but he knows a fair bit about its past as well. He was pleasant company.”
“Yes,” agreed Dillman. “A model of English charm.”
“On the surface, at least,” said Goss. “Underneath, I suspect, he’s as tough as teak. I guess he’d have to be, in the world of high finance, or he wouldn’t survive. Mr. Pountney was very well informed. He had a detailed knowledge of last year’s financial crisis back home in the States.”
“It was reported in most British newspapers.”
“I know, but he actually had investments in the American market. Somehow they turned a good profit, according to him. See what I mean?” asked Goss. “If he can make money while everyone else is losing it in handfuls, Mr. Pountney must be a shrewd man.”
The cruise was as much a geography lesson as it was an opportunity to relax in a luxury vessel. After leaving the English Channel, the Marmora had made its way south toward the Bay of Biscay, then hugged the coast of northern Spain as it sailed on into the Atlantic. Those who stayed on deck during heavy drizzle could pick out the jagged contours of Portugal and, even though a new day brought rain, wind, and choppy water, almost everyone came out to get a first glimpse of the Rock of Gibraltar, the promontory in the extreme south of Cádiz. Mindful of the fact that it was a British colony, several English passengers set up a cheer when it was conjured out of the driving rain.
The port side of the ship was crammed with spectators, many seeing Gibraltar for the first time and marveling at its dramatic profile. The Duke and Duchess of Fife were among the onlookers, and their younger daughter clapped her hands in jubilation when she saw the Rock. It was not merely a testament to the enduring strength of the British Empire, it was a significant landmark that told them they had now entered the Mediterranean Sea. Warmer weather and quieter waters lay ahead.
Karl-Jurgen Lenz was not deterred by the inclement weather. Long before they got within range of the Strait, he set up his camera so that he could take some photographs of the Rock of Gibraltar as they sailed past. Genevieve Masefield came out on deck in time to see him talking to Frau Zumpe. She noticed how much more animated he became when he was able to use his own language. Wearing a cape and a wide-brimmed hat that was festooned with black ribbon, Frau Zumpe eventually broke away from him. In the open air, she somehow looked less formidable. Genevieve seized the opportunity of a private word with her.
“Good afternoon, Frau Zumpe,” she said.
“Ah, is you,” returned the other. “You have the good news for me?”
“Not yet. I still have a lot of inquiries to make. But I wanted to check a few facts with you first,” said Genevieve. “You mentioned that you were talking with Mr. Dugdale until midnight on the night of the theft.”
“So?”
“Did you leave him in the lounge when you went off to bed?”
“I tell you all you need to know.”
“Perhaps it was Mr. Dugdale who retired to his cabin first,” suggested Genevieve, keen to establish his movements. “Is that what happened, Frau Zumpe?”
The other woman was brusque. “What happened is that someone go into my cabin to steal my money while was I away. You get it back for me, no? What I say to Mr. Dugdale is not important.”
“It could be relevant.”
“Is no business of yours.”
“What about Mr. Pountney?” asked Genevieve, approaching the subject from another angle. “You said that he talked about his investment in an Egyptian company.”
“Yes,” said Frau Zumpe. “I was interested in what he say. He is very clever and I do not think that of many Englishmen. They are often stupid. Mr. Pountney, he was different. I speak about him to his friend this morning.”
“His friend?”
“Sir Alistair Longton. You know him?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Genevieve.
“He tells me that Mr. Pountney’s venture in Egypt is bound to succeed, so he will put his own money into it. That shows it must be a good investment,” said Frau Zumpe. “When you find my money for me, I maybe buy some shares from Mr. Pountney as well.”
“What guarantee will you have?”
“The papers, of course.”
“Papers?”
“The details of this project in Cairo. Sir Alistair Longton has seen them and he was convinced. I would want to read the documents myself before I make the decision but I think Mr. Pountney is a man to trust.”
“Is that what Mr. Dugdale thought?” asked Genevieve.
“Why do you keep talking about him?”
“He must have been there when Mr. Pountney described this venture in which he’s involved. As a businessman, Mr. Dugdale must have been interested in it.”
“No,” said the other woman.
“Why not?”
“He not say.”
“He must have expressed an opinion of some sort,” insisted Genevieve.
“What does it matter?” Frau Zumpe said testily. “Tell me this, please. You think that Mr. Dugdale was working with the thief who took my money?”
“No, I’m absolutely certain that he wasn’t.”
“Then we forget him, yes?”
Genevieve could not understand why Frau Zumpe was so unwilling to reveal what she had been talking to Walter Dugdale about, or to explain which of them had gone off to a cabin first. The woman was being deliberately obstructive but there was no point in pressing her for information that she would not volunteer. Frau Zumpe had calmed down a great deal since Genevieve had first interviewed her and she did not wish to provoke the German woman’s anger again. Though they were talking in a quiet corner, the deck was filled with other people who would surely notice if Frau Zumpe exploded again. All Genevieve could do was to thank her for her help and move away.
Gibraltar now became the focal point for everyone. As they sailed through the Strait and took the measure of the Rock, passengers watched with fascination, pointing out certain features to each other and waving cheerily to those ashore. Lenz took a series of photographs and soon became an object of interest himself as some curious children gathered around him. Genevieve was as interested as anyone else to see Gibraltar—for the first time, in her case—but she also observed the reactions of other people. Frau Zumpe was the one who surprised her most. Standing at the rail some yards to the left of Genevieve, she gazed at the passing land-mass with a benign smile that took years off her face. Instead of wearing the grim and combative expression that had been there earlier, Frau Zumpe looked almost attractive.
Only when the ship had left Gibraltar in its wake and sailed on into the Mediterranean did the passengers begin to disperse to their cabins or to the public rooms. Genevieve lingered to talk to Lenz as he packed up his equipment.
“Did you get some good photographs, Herr Lenz?” she asked.
“I always get good photographs,” he said with pride.
“Even in rain like this?”
“Nothing stop me. I work in all conditions.” He looked at her with suspicion. “Have you talked to Mrs. Cathcart?”
“Several times. You’ve seen us dining together.”
“Did you speak to her about me?” he said with an accusatory stare. “I wish to take some photographs of her and she agree. Then she change her mind. Why? Did you turn Mrs. Cathcart against me?”
“Of course not, Herr Lenz.”
“Somebody did,
and you are her best friend.”
“We’d never met before we stepped onto the ship.”
“Mrs. Cathcart like you. She listen to what you say.”
“Well, I did not advise her to change her mind about the photographs,” Genevieve said firmly. “It’s nothing to do with me. It’s between you and Myra Cathcart.”
“Mr. Dugdale,” he snarled. “If it was not you, it must have been him. He has done this to me. When I see him next,” he warned, gathering up his equipment, “I will have something to say to Mr. Walter Dugdale.”
Genevieve could not tell him that he would never see Dugdale again. Turning abruptly on his heel, Lenz marched off and left her standing there. It was the second time that afternoon that Genevieve had had some friction with a German passenger. In each case, it had occurred when Walter Dugdale’s name had come into the conversation. It was something to ponder.
As the ship altered course to head northeast toward Marseilles, the wind blew the rain in to sweep the decks more purposefully. Genevieve went off to her cabin to get out of her wet coat and hat. As she entered the passageway, however, she found her way blocked by the man who had hitherto ignored her. Nigel Wilmshurst smiled broadly.
“Hello, Jenny,” he said, arms wide apart. “We meet at last.”
TEN
Genevieve was so shocked by the unexpected confrontation that she was rooted to the spot. Having convinced herself that he would avoid her at all costs, she was now face-to-face with a man who revived some extremely unpleasant memories for her, and it was unsettling. There had been a time when she’d thought she had loved him, but there was not even the most vestigial fondness left. Genevieve disliked him intensely. What made her feel even more uncomfortable in his presence was that, for his part, Wilmshurst seemed delighted to see her.
“Don’t I even get a kiss?” he asked, moving toward her.
“No,” she said, holding up a hand to stop him. “Stay back, Nigel.”
“Why? We’re old friends, aren’t we?”
“You weren’t very friendly when you first saw that I was aboard.”
“That’s because I was taken aback, Jenny. Dash it all!” he said, running his eyes appreciatively over her. “When a chap comes on his honeymoon, the last person he expects to find on the same ship is the gorgeous woman to whom he was once engaged.”
“That’s all in the past, Nigel. I suggest that we let it stay there.”
“Do I detect a note of bitterness?”
“I’m just being practical,” said Genevieve, resenting the boldness of his scrutiny. “We live in different worlds now. You’re married to a beautiful woman and I wish you both well. But you and I have nothing to say to each other.”
“Oh, but we do,” argued Wilmshurst. “We’ve heaps of things to talk about.”
“I don’t think so.”
“To start with, you can tell me what you’re doing on this ship.”
“That’s my business,” she said. “Now, please let me pass.”
“Not until you agree to have a proper chat with me sometime.”
“In the circumstances, it would hardly be appropriate.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t think that your wife would approve, would she?” said Genevieve. “Have you told her that I’m sailing on the same vessel as you?”
“No,” he admitted.
“Does she know that you were engaged to someone else before she met you?”
“Of course—and there’s no reason why Araminta should be reminded of it, especially on her honeymoon. That would be bad form. I’m determined to make this an unforgettable experience for my wife.”
“How can you do that when you’re out here, pestering me?”
“I’m pestering nobody,” he said with an appeasing smile. “I simply wanted the pleasure of meeting you again and taking a proper look at you. Time has been very kind to you, Jenny. You look as wonderful as ever.”
“Thank you,” she said, “but you should save your compliments for your wife.”
“Araminta has more than her share of those, I can promise you. After all, I’ve paid her the greatest compliment that a man can pay a woman. I married her.” He arched an eyebrow. “Instead of you.”
“We both know why I broke off the engagement.”
“It was a silly mistake on my part, Jenny. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
“Then you’ll have as much reason as I do to leave it buried in the past.”
“But I don’t,” he said. “I feel that I owe you an apology. Anger has a cruel way of distorting the truth. In the heat of the moment, we both said things that were very unkind. I’m profoundly sorry about that.”
“So am I, Nigel. It’s not something I look back on with any pride.”
“Then why can’t we kiss to show that there are no hard feelings?”
“Because I don’t wish to,” Genevieve said crisply. “Put yourself in my position and you’ll understand why.” She took a deep breath and tried to sound calm. “We did have some happy times together—I’d be the first to concede that—but they were completely overshadowed by what happened later. I want to be left alone, Nigel. I can’t put it any plainer than that.”
“Won’t you even tell me where you’re going on the Marmora?”
“To Australia.”
He was appalled. “Australia? Are you serious? It’s a barbarous place. We used to send convicts there.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“You deserve better than that, Jenny,” he said. “Much, much better. I expected you to have made a good marriage yourself by now. And how is it that you’re traveling alone? You were never short of admirers before I came along.”
“You came along and went, Nigel,” she reminded him. “And you’re on your honeymoon, which means—or should mean—that you’re far too busy to pay any attention to someone from your distant past.”
“It wasn’t all that distant. When I look at you now, it seems like only yesterday.”
“Yesterday, you snubbed me in the dining room for the second time.”
“I thought that you’d prefer it if I kept my distance.”
“I do, believe me.”
“Then I began thinking about all the fun we had together,” he said, “and I realized how stupid I was being. Yes, I’m married and I’m devoted to Araminta. But that doesn’t mean I’ve turned my back on you, Jenny.”
Their eyes locked and she felt a tremor of alarm. Nigel Wilmhurst had been furious when she had broken off their engagement, and he had vowed to get back at her at some point. Chance had now contrived to put her in a position where he could do just that. There was a lot of affection in his gaze but it was fringed with malice. She knew that he could be a dangerous enemy and did not wish to antagonize him. At the same time, she was not going to submit to any interrogation. Wounds that had healed some time ago now threatened to open again. Genevieve needed to get away.
“Excuse me, please,” she said pointedly.
“Certainly,” he said, politely stepping aside for her to pass.
“Good-bye, Nigel.”
“Good-bye, Jenny,” he said cheerily. “Until the next time.”
Brian Kilhendry was seated at his desk when Dillman came into the office. The purser looked up from the letter he was writing. He was more hospitable than usual.
“Ah, good,” he said. “I was hoping that you’d pop in to see me. Any progress?”
“A little, Mr. Kilhendry. We’re still feeling our way into the case.”
“Well, don’t be too long about it.”
“I came to look at those items that Mr. Dugdale left for safekeeping.”
“Yes,” said Kilhendry, opening a drawer to take out a small box. “They’re in here, Mr. Dillman. Unlike some of our passengers, Walter Dugdale was a sensible man. He put everything of value under lock and key.”
“Thank you,” said Dillman, taking the box from him to sift through its contents. “Now, then, what
have we got here?”
“Some money, his passport, his return ticket, and a set of keys. Oh, and there’s a gold watch that must have cost a pretty penny. His name is inscribed on the back.”
Dillman examined the pocket watch first. It was large, expensive, and attached to a thick gold chain. On the back, beneath Dugdale’s name, were the initials C.P.C.
“Is that some kind of academic qualification in your country?” said Kilhendry.
“No, I suspect that the initials stand for someone who gave him the watch.”
“There are three letters. Some society or association, perhaps?”
“Not necessarily,” said Dillman. “Americans tend to use their middle names more than anyone else. ‘C.P.C.’ could well be a person. A woman, possibly.”
“Then she was not short of cash. Nor was Mr. Dugdale.”
Dillman flicked through the wads of notes. Pounds sterling and U.S. dollars were there in equal amounts. Dugdale was taking a lot of money with him on his trip. A glance through his passport showed how well-traveled he had been. The pages had been stamped in well over a dozen different countries, some of which he had visited more than once. He was a man who, it appeared, had been in perpetual motion.
“What we don’t yet know,” said Kilhendry, indicating the sheet of stationery on his desk, “is his next of kin. I was drafting a letter of explanation to them when you came in. Was he married? He wore no wedding ring.”
“He was married,” said Dillman. “Twice, as it happens. But he had the air of a single man so I don’t think he still has a wife. I fancy that the next of kin will be his daughter, Anna. I found an address for her in New York City.”
“Let me have it, please.”
“There was a photograph of her in his billfold. I’d say she is in her twenties but the photo could have been taken some time ago.”
Kilhendry sighed. “There’s no easy way to explain what happened,” he said. “She’ll be informed by telegraph first, of course, and that will be brutally short. I feel that she deserved a fuller account, though I’ll omit the more gory details.”
“That’s very considerate of you, Mr. Kilhendry.”