“Perhaps. It’s certainly curious.”
“Why then didn’t you reveal it previously?”
He said it would have seemed as if he were pointing the finger at one man, and he didn’t feel sure enough to do that. It had the sound of plausibility, so finally I acquiesced and left for the cabin. He joined me there not long afterward. I had some trouble returning his attention to the clue he’d mentioned, for the man was as persistent as he was charming. But eventually, he told me that on the day the theft was discovered, he noticed that the kegs were sealed with red wax.
“Isn’t that normal?” I asked.
“Yes, but when we saw them sealed in New York, I’m sure it was a deeper color. Much darker.”
“Well, that would merely confirm they’d been tampered with. Which is obvious.”
“Yes, but I believe I had the same feeling when we brought the kegs on board in New York. The color didn’t look right. That is what I found curious.”
He seemed to be implying that the kegs had been tampered with between the time the gold had left the Assay Office and when it came on board L’Aquitaine. But I reminded him that he himself had accompanied it.
“Yes, that is true. But I was not watching it every moment. And the gold was loaded into a wagon, while M. Palmer and I followed behind in a carriage.”
“Who is M. Palmer?”
“The representative of the bank, in New York. The wagon was in our sight the whole time, and I saw the kegs unloaded at the pier. But…”
“But if someone had been very clever, and well prepared, they might have switched kegs at some point.”
“Precisely. I make no accusation, please understand.”
“No, no. Surely not.”
M. Rollin’s mind now moved on to other subjects. It was becoming increasingly challenging to keep him at bay in the tiny cabin. I had just removed a hat pin and was preparing to plunge it into his thigh, when the steward knocked. At my invitation he entered, acting as if it was quite normal to find a ship’s officer in a lady’s cabin. Happily, the intrusion was sufficient to send M. Rollin on his way.
At dinner there was an empty seat beside M. Guenard. His fiancée was not feeling well, he told us. We all voiced sympathy, including Mme. Dupagnier. But she took immediate advantage of the situation. And it was clear M. Guenard was coming to enjoy her attentions. Meanwhile, M. Rollin made me the target of his.
That evening, another performance was scheduled in the music room. And this one involved a child prodigy. Mme. Veblynde winced when she told me. I suggested we instead retire to the ladies’ drawing room and I would teach her to play bridge. Mr. Smallby came by about eleven. He managed to slip me an envelope containing two hundred francs, the equivalent of forty dollars. I had hoped for more, but assumed he had needed to bid higher at the evening’s auction in order to secure our preferred position. It was quite late when I went down to our cabin that night. Harry had preceded me some time before and I saw no one else about—until just as I reached our door. I heard a noise not far away. I turned and distinctly saw M. Houyvet, the first officer, emerging from one of the passenger cabins. The next morning, I discreetly asked the steward who that cabin belonged to. It was Mme. Dupagnier’s.
After lunch, I spent some time trying to reach some conclusion about the case. At first, I was inclined to dismiss M. Rollin’s evidence, as it didn’t explain the three bars in Mme. Yvard’s trunk. If the gold had been stolen in New York, there seemed no logical reason for any being in her luggage. But then, I wondered, could that be why it was there? By having the gold fall from the trunk, they made it seem certain that the gold had been on the ship. Perhaps Mme. Yvard was the lover of one of the conspirators. She’d been somehow given the gold in New York, and her trunk deliberately weakened.
That night, I had a long and informative conversation with Mme. Veblynde. I was in her cabin keeping her company while the captain was on watch. She told me a most amazing story about the Countess von Schnurrenberger, whom we had seen in Trouville. But since it bears nothing on the present story, I will save it for a later installment.
I slept quite late the next day, missing breakfast entirely. There was a note from Harry telling me he was off making a search of the engine room. Just as I was reading it I heard a great clanking and I had the impression the ship had slowed. When I later asked Harry if the noise had anything to do with his search, he denied it, but then became suspiciously evasive. Harry is a horrible liar. By that I mean he is horrible at hiding his lies—a quality any wife would find endearing.
After I’d confirmed that the syndicate had again been victorious, I went off to look for Mr. Finn. I was anxious to confront him on the matter of the wax seals mentioned by M. Rollin. Just after lunch, I found him in a deck chair reading. He agreed to meet me in my cabin. There, I told him what I had heard about the wax seals. He became very defensive and revealed that Mr. Palmer, the bank officer who had escorted the gold with M. Rollin, was his father-in-law. He seemed to think that would in some way alleviate my suspicion. It was a naïve notion, of course, for it merely made me suspect him as well. Nonetheless, I apologized for upsetting him and agreed there was probably nothing to the rumor. When I showed him out, I saw someone, a man, peering down the passageway in our direction. He moved away quickly, but I felt certain it was Mr. Smallby. I hoped he was coming to give me another share of our winnings, but when I spoke with him later he said I must have been mistaken. Due to our success, the bids at the auction for the shortest run had gone up, and he didn’t want to be caught short. I agreed he should continue to hold the money and even returned the two hundred francs he’d given me earlier.
III
That evening at dinner, the purser, M. Guenard, arrived with Mlle. Moreau on his arm. Mme. Dupagnier’s seat was taken by a young Canadian gentleman and we were told she was dining elsewhere. I was once again seated for M. Rollin’s convenience. How quickly the charming gentleman becomes the bothersome windbag. He suggested we take a stroll after dinner and I consented, chiefly to challenge him on the matter of the changing colors of sealing wax.
“That was a lie you told me, M. Rollin.” This was merely a conjecture on my part, but I thought one worth trying.
“Not a lie, but perhaps my memory is not so good,” he replied playfully. “But you make it so difficult to see you in private.”
“It’s for your own safety. I should have warned you how jealous Harry can become.”
He smiled at the thought—until I told him how Harry once shot a man who had threatened his position with me, and then hid the body by sinking it in a putrid industrial canal. I had no trouble telling a very convincing story. Not that Harry had ever done such a thing, but I had often imagined he would. I told him I was sure Harry was spying on us at that very moment. But it was only when I alluded to a revolver that M. Rollin finally made some excuse and absented himself. I was quite relieved to be rid of him. But all I had accomplished was to confirm that M. Rollin’s testimony about the wax was doubtful, not that Mr. Finn was innocent. It seemed quite a coincidence that the loading of the gold was supervised by his father-in-law.
That night, when we returned to our cabin, Harry found a lady’s handkerchief lying just inside the door. He seemed not to realize whose it was, and I didn’t see any reason to share with him that I recognized it as Mme. Dupagnier’s. She wore a most distinctive perfume. Harry assumed the steward had dropped it there, but why would a steward have Mme. Dupagnier’s handkerchief?
I lay awake for some hours trying to reason out who had stolen the gold. Then it struck me. What if Mme. Dupagnier was really Charlotte Yvard, the minister’s wife? Suppose she had conspired with some member of the crew to steal the gold and secrete three bars in her trunk. They had been found, but she had come back to make another try. The woman I knew as Julie Dupagnier had hazel eyes, and they were just as stunning as the reports of Mme. Yvard’s. The veil was used to obscure them. She must also have dyed her blonde hair brunette. I wouldn’t have th
ought this would be enough to fool the attentive eyes of M. Rollin, but perhaps he hadn’t really spent any time with Mme. Yvard at all. And it would explain why M. Houyvet had visited her cabin: he was her confederate. She must have snuck into our cabin to find out what we knew.
At breakfast the next morning, I convinced Harry he should begin searching the passengers’ cabins. He spoke with the captain and one of the stewards was assigned to accompany us. I made certain that Mme. Dupagnier’s was included. If she was spying on us, I thought it only fair that we should return the favor. I must admit to being rather envious of the woman’s wardrobe. I’m no slave to fashion, unlike some of my friends who’ll impoverish themselves for a new pair of shoes. But I do know the goods when I see them. I was able to confirm that it was indeed her handkerchief we’d found in our cabin. I also found a leather brace. It looked like some sort of orthopedic device. But I couldn’t fathom how exactly it was to be worn. And the stitching had been done by a clumsy hand. Then I went to her dressing table and found her brush and combs. I looked carefully at several strands, but, alas, the hair was not dyed.
I had some difficulty in disengaging Harry from Mme. Dupagnier’s lingerie, but eventually we made our way to Mr. Finn’s cabin. There was nothing at all incriminating among his possessions. Though the nauseating endearments he and his wife used for each other should really never have been recorded, even in private correspondence. She had preceded him to New York, apparently. In one letter, she made reference to the fact that her father was retiring and would be joining them in Buenos Aires.
That afternoon, I showed Mme. Veblynde the handkerchief. She examined it carefully and told me it would have been very expensive, as was the perfume. I then told her who it belonged to, and about M. Houyvet’s suspicious behavior. She thought it unlikely there was any association between the two. And while I agreed that there seemed little about M. Houyvet that would tempt a woman to stray, the facts spoke for themselves. I told her that I had already searched the lady’s cabin and was determined to search the first officer’s as well. I believe I shocked her with this revelation, but ultimately she conceded it was necessary. I asked her if she would accompany me. This she declined to do. She did, however, agree to determine at what time he would be standing watch and, after a great deal of cajoling, to lend me a ring of keys the captain kept in his desk.
My best opportunity would be sometime after the 2 a.m. watch change. At three, I left our cabin without waking Harry and made my way to M. Houyvet’s. There was no one about at that hour and I only needed to try three keys before I found the one that fit. I covered the porthole and turned on a light. M. Houyvet was a very neat man, though I suppose that may be characteristic of all ship’s officers. The cabin held some family keepsakes, and a number of books. But I saw nothing at all suspicious—until I came across a small casket in the depths of his chest. It held a most intriguing plunder. There were two unmatched stockings, three garters, five pieces of lingerie, easily a dozen handkerchiefs, and a half-dozen earrings, no two alike. I was sitting on the bed with this suggestive collection in my lap, when suddenly the door swung open. It was M. Houyvet, and I can honestly say I’d never been so frightened in my life. I gave a small yelp.
But instead of sounding the alarm, M. Houyvet acted sheepish. I asked him if these were mementos of various conquests. He blushed. No, he said, nothing like that. He confessed he found it challenging even to talk to a woman. But he became easily infatuated with the beautiful women he met on board and had at some point developed the unfortunate habit of removing these souvenirs from their cabins as they slept. He sat down beside me on the bed. Then he picked up each piece in succession and told me about its owner. But not as a gushing romantic. More as the poet Mallarmé would have expressed it. It was quite intoxicating. I told him his talents were wasted, and he blushed again.
He confessed he knew nothing about Mme. Dupagnier, other than that she was so exquisitely beautiful. He’d never even spoken to her. I showed him the handkerchief, but he said he had not taken it. He retrieved a second chest from under the bed and pulled out a beautiful piece of silk lingerie. There was no mistaking that it was Mme. Dupagnier’s. He insisted he had no idea how the handkerchief had gotten into our cabin. And I felt he was telling me the truth, having seen nothing of my own in his collection. It seems odd in the retelling, but I must admit that my vanity was wounded when he confirmed that was the case. And I think this sensitive man realized my feelings. He glanced up at the small comb I’d placed in my hair before leaving our cabin. As we sat there, side by side, M. Houyvet reached up and removed it with a delicacy that can only be described as erotic. I was blushing now, and knew I needed to leave quickly. I told him his secret was safe with me and then left him—and my comb.
The next morning, there was a great deal of commotion below decks. There was some trouble among the third-class passengers and it was several hours before the crew finally restored order. Somehow, those in steerage had heard there was gold hidden aboard the ship. Not surprisingly, they initiated a vigorous search. I wasn’t sure if Harry was behind it, but whatever the cause, it was very good news for the syndicate.
Later, I returned the keys to Mme. Veblynde. Given that she had taken some risk in the matter, I couldn’t very well keep from her what I’d learned about M. Houyvet. She seemed pleased, as if it came as a relief to her that he had some hidden depths. She told me M. Houyvet always took the watch at dinner time and so had had little opportunity of socializing with the passengers. But in the future she would try to remedy that. As I anticipated, she asked if I had found anything of hers among the treasures. She described an earring she was sure had gone missing on board and I told her I’d most definitely seen it.
Harry spent most of that afternoon hanging about the cabin reading. I asked him if he was ill, and he insisted he was fine. It wasn’t like Harry to be stoic about such things, but when he told me he expected to spend the next day resting I felt some concern. Then the doctor came by, without us even calling for him. After he examined Harry, I escorted him out. He told me that the ship’s officers were convinced Harry wasn’t entirely rational, as his searches seemed to achieve nothing other than to disrupt the ship’s routine. I suggested it was probably nervous exhaustion.
With Harry’s searches suspended, and the captain making every effort to regain some of the lost time, I thought a reversal of strategy was in order. I informed Mr. Smallby that he should bid for the longest mileage. When the time was posted the next noon, we had won handily. I now made discreet use of M. Houyvet’s friendship and asked about the prospects for our last day at sea. He said extra stokers had been put on and the weather ahead seemed to be excellent. I suggested to Mr. Smallby that we use our entire capital to acquire the longest mileage again that evening. He made some cautious reply, but given that I knew him to be carrying on some subterfuge, he was forced to carry out my instructions. Later that evening, Mme. Veblynde made a rather startling revelation. I was playing bridge in the saloon when she rushed up and all but dragged me out on deck.
“She’s a Courtois!” she exclaimed.
It was some time before I was able to calm her. Then she made her meaning clear: Julie Dupagnier had been born Julie Courtois. I remembered then that Mme. Yvard was none other than Charlotte Courtois. Apparently, she was a younger sister of Julie’s father. We both agreed this was just too much of a coincidence. I resolved to keep an even closer watch on Mme. Dupagnier.
The next morning, our last at sea, I came upon a most unexpected sight. Harry had disappeared and I was on my way to breakfast alone. Coming up a stairway, I saw Julie Dupagnier, née Courtois, together with Mlle. Moreau, the purser’s fiancée. They were chatting amiably. Then they separated on entering the saloon. How odd that they should become friends, I thought. I began to look for M. Guenard, but was interrupted by yet another commotion below decks. It came as no surprise that Harry was responsible for it. But what was surprising was that he’d actually found the gold. Or most o
f it, anyway. Seventeen bars of the twenty-four still missing. I was dumbfounded. I’d never realized he’d actually been looking for it.
Later, Harry and I were invited to luncheon in the captain’s stateroom. In addition to the captain and his wife, Mr. Finn was also with us. Harry, of course, was roundly congratulated. Given that his methods had seemed so haphazard, and his exertions so lackadaisical, everyone was very curious to hear how he had managed it. No one more so than myself. He told us how he had deduced that the thieves must have known a shipment of gold would be arriving on board in New York. So, they arranged for a quantity of lead to be shipped as cargo as well. During the voyage, they cut into three of the kegs, removed the gold, and replaced it with lead. They then planned to smuggle the gold out in the crates the lead had been shipped in, so the theft wouldn’t have been exposed until the kegs arrived at the bank in Paris. But once the three gold bars fell out of Mme. Yvard’s trunk, they knew the cargo would be searched. So they removed the gold from the crates and hid it elsewhere on the ship.
“But how did you find where they’d hidden it?” I asked.
“I didn’t. I couldn’t even imagine how to go about that. It seemed far easier to have them bring the gold to me.”
“And how did you manage to orchestrate that?”
“First, I made it known among the crew that there would be no need to search the cargo because it would be guarded throughout the trip. Then I arranged to have the same man assigned to that task who had been guarding the gold during the last voyage.”
“I see. You thought he must have been in on the theft.”
“Either that, or wholly incompetent. I soon found out it was the latter. Give Seaman Francher a bottle of claret and he’d sleep through the Apocalypse.”
“And you took him the claret?” I asked.
“Yes, quite a lot of it. I wanted to make it as easy as possible for the thieves to sneak the gold in among the cargo. Then this morning, Seaman Francher and a couple of his fellows helped me search the cargo. Eventually, we found the gold in a large piece of machinery.”
First Blush: A Meegs Miscellany (A Harry Reese Mystery) Page 6