by Conrad Allen
“I fell down the steps. It was my own fault.”
“Someone hit you on the head. It’s a nasty wound.”
“Leave me alone, I tell you,” grunted the man.
Holding his arm and gritting his teeth, he hauled himself up and swayed unsteadily. When Dillman reached out a hand to help, the man shrugged him away and went blundering off down the corridor. He was in great pain and still partially dazed, but he wanted no assistance. Dillman’s first instinct was to go after him. Then he noticed an object on the floor and picked it up immediately. In the course of his fall, something had dropped out from inside the man’s jacket.
Dillman was holding a revolver.
NINE
Dillman examined the weapon with care. It was loaded. The detective went after the wounded man to question him, but he had already vanished around a corner. Dillman searched for him without success, wondering where he could possibly have gone. He could hardly bang on the door of every cabin in pursuit of him. Abandoning the search, he then went back to the companionway where the scuffle had occurred and climbed to the top. The corridor on the promenade deck was deserted, and there were no indications that a struggle had taken place. Dillman reasoned that it had been short-lived. The fact that nobody had been aroused by the sound showed how quickly the fight had been resolved. When he tumbled down the steps, the noise the man made was partially muffled by the constant hum of the ship’s engines. Dillman speculated on whether or not his presence had brought an end to the assault. Had the attacker simply pushed his victim down the steps, or would he have followed to inflict further damage? Whatever the truth, Dillman was grateful that he was passing when he did.
What mystified him was the victim’s reaction. Anyone else who was injured in that way would have welcomed help, yet the man had spurned it completely. He had not even admitted that the fight had taken place. Dillman wondered who he was. It was evident from his clothing that he had not dined in the first-class saloon, and Dillman did not recall having seen him on the ship before. Yet he had disappeared so quickly that he must have had a cabin on the upper deck. Dillman looked more closely at the weapon. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 Hand Ejector with a swing-out cylinder that was opened by a thumb-operated catch on the frame. He noted the locking lug under the barrel into which the front end of the ejector rod was engaged, thus securing the cylinder head at both ends. It was a refinement introduced by the manufacturer some years earlier. Dillman had once carried a revolver of that type in the course of his work as an operative for the Pinkerton Agency. It was an effective weapon, and the last thing he would have expected to find on a passenger.
The sound of footsteps down below alerted him. Thrusting the gun into his belt, he descended the steps at speed. Dillman reached the passageway below in time to see a figure walking casually away from him.
“Mr. Blaine?” he called.
He stopped and turned. “Why, Mr. Dillman. What are you doing about so late?”
“I was enjoying a walk on deck.”
“Wasn’t it rather cold out there?”
“A trifle.”
“I lingered rather longer in the smoking room than I intended,” said Blaine with a polite yawn. “I was sorry to desert you and Mrs. Brinkley like that.”
“Not at all. You obviously had an important summons.”
“It was a false alarm, as it happens,” said the other with a bland smile. “I wish I’d stayed to enjoy another brandy. Charming lady, isn’t she?” He gave another smile. “Mrs. Brinkley, I mean.”
“’I didn’t think that you were referring to Mrs. Van Bergen.”
“Poor woman. I hope that she didn’t feel we were ganging up on her.”
“We’ll know tomorrow when she chooses her table.”
Blaine pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Heavens! It is tomorrow,” he said, putting the watch away. “I’m far too old to be up this late, Mr. Dillman.”
“We all need our sleep.”
Dillman followed him along the passageway and around the corner. Blaine paused outside the door to his cabin. He turned to look at his companion.
“By the way,” he said, “have you had any more sightings of the gentleman?”
“Which gentleman?”
“The one you thought was watching us.”
“My feeling is that he was keeping an eye on me,” said Dillman. “But I haven’t been aware of him since. He’s either leaving me alone or being more careful.”
“I hope it’s the former. That kind of thing is irritating.”
“I take it that you haven’t been troubled by him, Mr. Blaine?”
“No,” said the other cheerily. “I’ve had a wonderfully untroubled voyage so far. Apart from being ejected from my original cabin, that is. But one takes that kind of thing in one’s stride. Good night, Mr. Dillman. Sleep well.”
Their second session was far more successful. It took place shortly after breakfast. Genevieve played the piano in the rehearsal room used by the orchestra. At Maxine’s suggestion, they concentrated on only a few songs, working hard on each one until they had refined their performance. When they broke off, Maxine was thrilled.
“We’re getting somewhere at last, Jenny,” she said.
“You are, Maxine,” replied Genevieve. “You got better and better. I was more or less the same throughout.”
“No, you weren’t. You improved each time.”
“Did I?”
“Of course,” said Maxine, giving her a warm hug. “I’d choose you as my accompanist any day. Apart from anything else,” she added with a cackle, “you don’t try to pinch my ass like the men who’ve played piano for me.”
Genevieve gathered up the sheets of music. “Look, I hope you don’t mind,” she said uncertainly, “but I agreed to have luncheon with Fay Brinkley today.”
“That’s fine by me, honey.”
“You must be getting fed up with me by now, anyway.”
“Not at all,” said Maxine, “but you mustn’t feel tied to us. Rance was saying only last night how surprised he was that you didn’t spread your wings a little. Give all those single guys aboard a chance.”
“Some of them don’t need encouragement, Maxine.”
“You still having a problem with Mr. Kincaid?”
“Not really. But he did try to waylay me last night.”
“We can soon put a stop to that.”
“I coped.”
“Let me speak to Rance. He’ll deal with it.”
“No, Maxine. I don’t want any violence.”
“There won’t be any,” promised the other. “Rance will get someone to have a quiet word with Mr. Kincaid. That’s all it will take. Tommy is an expert at quiet words.”
“Tommy?”
“Tommy Gault. He works for Rance.”
“Well, I don’t want him involved in this, thank you,” said Genevieve. “I had my own quiet word with Mr. Kincaid and left him in no doubt about my feelings. I don’t think he’ll bother me again.”
“Good. He’ll soon find someone else.”
“Men like him always do.”
“He’s still got that Mrs. Van Bergen eating out of his hand.”
“Who?” asked Genevieve, recalling Dillman’s mention of the name.
“Some fool of a woman who’s been taken in by him,” she explained. “They play bridge together, apparently. In fact, it was Mrs. Van Bergen who told him about our little performance of ‘Beautiful Dreamer.’ That’s how he got our names in the first place. Kincaid is a sly old fox.”
“He certainly knows how to exploit people.”
“Well, he’s not going to exploit you, honey.”
They left the room and walked along the passageway. Genevieve began to fish.
“I didn’t see Mr. Hayashi at our table last night,” she remarked.
“No, he was dining with some Japanese friends.”
“His wife wears the most beautiful clothes. I loved that jewelry in her hair.”
“Ha
yashi is a rich man and he dotes on his wife.”
“What sort of business is he in?”
“I’m not sure but it clearly pays. Rance has had a lot of dealings with him. We’ll be staying with Hayashi and his wife in Kobe. They’re lovely people. Whenever I ask Rance about Japan, all he can talk about is geishas,” she said with a snort. “What I want is one of those kimonos like Mrs. Hayashi. She’s got half a dozen of them. Pure silk.”
They came to the end of the passageway and stopped. Genevieve pointed.
“My cabin is this way,” she said, “so I’ll leave you here. Thank you, Maxine.”
“For what?”
“Putting up with my mistakes on the piano.”
Maxine grinned. “I didn’t notice any. We’ll have another practice tonight, Jenny. In the meantime, we can have a good rest from each other. Actually,” she said, “it’s a good job you won’t be sitting at our table today.”
“Why?”
“Things could get a little noisy. Joe McDade will be there.”
“Mr. McDade?” said Genevieve with interest. “I’ve met him.”
“Then you know how he can sound off. His poor wife must be deaf with that voice booming in her ear all the time. Anyway, Rance needs to talk business with Joe, so we’ll have to put up with him.”
“I thought that Mr. McDade was involved in copper mining.”
“He’s involved in everything, honey.” Maxine grinned. “Just like Rance.”
Mike Roebuck stared at the revolver in dismay. He looked up at Dillman with a frown.
“Where did you get this, George?”
“One of your passengers dropped it by mistake.”
“We can’t have people carrying weapons aboard the Minnesota. It’s against company rules. Somebody could get hurt.”
“Actually, it was the man who owned this who got injured, Mike.”
“How?”
“That’s what I came to tell you.”
Dillman gave him a succinct account of what had happened and Roebuck listened intently. When his friend had finished, the purser had some surprising news for him.
“And this guy vanished, you say?”
“Into thin air.”
“Not exactly, George. I had breakfast with Dr. Ramirez this morning. He was called out just after midnight to treat a wounded man. Whoever pushed him down those steps did a good job,” he said. “The guy had a broken arm and a couple of broken ribs. Quite apart from heavy bruising, that is.”
“What about the head wound?”
“Dr. Ramirez had to put in six stitches.”
“Did the man say how he’d come by the injuries?”
“He reckoned he’d had too much to drink and fallen down the steps, but Ramirez didn’t believe him. There wasn’t the slightest scent of alcohol on his breath. He looked stone-cold sober. Anyway,” he continued, handing the revolver back to Dillman, “I can explain how this guy disappeared before your eyes.”
“Can you?”
“He popped into a cabin. Not far from yours, as it happens. That’s where the doctor was summoned. Cabin number thirty-seven.”
“Thirty-seven?” Dillman was astonished. “That belongs to Mr. Blaine.”
When the visitors came, Rutherford Blaine was seated in a chair, reading through a document. The knock on his cabin door made him stiffen. He walked slowly over.
“Who is it?” he called.
“The purser, sir,” said Roebuck.
“This is not a convenient moment to call.”
“I can’t help that, Mr. Blaine. I need to speak to you urgently.”
“What about?”
“Last night.”
Blaine hesitated, considered the options, then reluctantly opened the door. Expecting to find the purser alone, he was taken aback to see that Dillman was standing beside him. Roebuck led the way into the cabin and the door was shut behind them.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Dillman?” asked Blaine.
“We’ll come to that in a moment, sir,” said Roebuck. “Is it true that you called the doctor to this cabin last night?”
“Yes. A friend of mine was injured.”
“The name he gave to Dr. Ramirez was Poole. Is that correct?”
“Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?”
“I’m just confirming details, Mr. Blaine.”
“Jake Poole’s name is on the passenger list. Check it and see.”
“I already have, sir. Mr. Poole seems to have a cabin on this deck as well. Number forty-eight. It’s around the corner. I wondered why the doctor was summoned here and not there.”
“That’s easy to explain,” said Blaine calmly. “Jake fell down the steps of that companionway nearby. He was badly dazed. Since my cabin was nearer, he came banging on my door and I took over.”
“Was this before or after you met me?” asked Dillman pointedly. “It couldn’t have been before, could it, Mr. Blaine, because you were in the smoking room until midnight. I must say, I find that odd. You told me that you didn’t smoke.”
Blaine became indignant. “Are you doubting my word?”
“Frankly, I am.”
“Why? Look, what are you doing here in the first place?”
“Hoping that you’ll tell us the truth, Mr. Blaine,” said Dillman coldly. “When I bumped into you last night, you weren’t returning from the smoking room at all. You were in that passageway to search for this.”
Opening his jacket, he produced the revolver and held it out. Blaine gasped.
“Mr. Dillman found it when the injured man fled,” explained Roebuck. “He couldn’t understand why someone with a broken arm and broken ribs refused his offer of help. The very least that Mr. Poole could have done was to ask him to fetch you.”
Running a tongue over his lips, Blaine looked from one man to another.
“I had a feeling that you were not an ordinary passenger, Mr. Dillman,” he said with grudging admiration. “You were rather too observant.”
“I’m employed as a detective on this vessel,” admitted Dillman, “and I’ve seen far too much to be deceived. I suggest that you stop lying to us, Mr. Blaine. We mean to get to the bottom of this matter.”
Blaine nodded. “You will. First, let me ask you an important question.”
“Go on.”
“What’s happened to Father Slattery?”
“Nothing, sir,” said Roebuck, exchanging a glance with Dillman. “I understand that Father Slattery is unwell. That’s why you haven’t seen him about.”
“So he’s still in his cabin?”
“Yes, Mr. Blaine.”
“Has the doctor been to see him?”
“Of course.”
“Now it’s you who’s lying,” accused the other. “There’s nobody in that cabin at all. The bed has been stripped and Father Slattery’s belongings have all been tidied away into the wardrobe. Don’t hide the truth,” he demanded. “He’s been killed, hasn’t he?”
Roebuck paused. “Father Slattery died,” he said eventually.
“He was murdered,” insisted the other. “There’s no other conclusion to be drawn. Jake Poole inspected the cabin last night.” He turned to Dillman. “That note you saw me receive in the dining saloon was from him.” They stared blankly at him. “You don’t understand, do you? It was a dreadful mistake. Father Slattery was not the intended target at all. He wasn’t supposed to be in cabin number twenty-five. I was.”
Dillman thought quickly. He looked down at the gun and remembered the man who had been watching them on their first night. The same man had been lurking in the area of his cabin. The detective was certain that he knew his name now.
“Mr. Poole is your bodyguard, isn’t he?”
“He was,” said Blaine with a sigh. “Jake is not much use to me in that condition. Neither is that thing,” he went on, pointing at the gun. “I wouldn’t have a clue how to fire it.” He indicated the chairs. “Why don’t you take a seat, gentlemen? I think we have a lot to discuss.”
<
br /> * * *
When Maxine found her husband, he was sitting in a chair on the boat deck beside a short, thickset man in his thirties with rugged features and a cauliflower ear. As soon as he saw his wife, Rance Gilpatrick hauled himself to his feet and gave his companion an order out of the side of his mouth.
“Make yourself scarce, Tommy.”
“Okay, Rance.”
“I’ll speak to you later.”
Tommy Gault greeted Maxine with a gap-toothed grin and a raised hat. She gave him a farewell smile. Gilpatrick waited for his wife to sit down before he joined her.
“Tommy has warmed it up for you, honey.”
“I feel sorry for him every time I see that ear of his.”
“Feel sorry for the man who gave it to him,” said Gilpatrick with a chuckle. “Tommy knocked him out in the next round. The guy was out cold for hours. Still,” he continued, patting her thigh, “you don’t want to hear about Tommy Gault’s boxing career. How did the rehearsal go?”
“Much better.”
“Is Genevieve going to be up to it?”
“When she’s had more practice. She’s still very nervous.”
“So am I when I’m around you,” he said with a lecherous smirk.
“Behave yourself, Rance!”
“This is our honeymoon, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” she complained. “Then why do you spend so much time with your business associates? I’m beginning to feel neglected.”
“Well, we can soon change that,” he soothed. “Now, why don’t you think up some ways in which your loving husband can spoil you?”
“I can give you a hundred at least.”
“Hey, don’t overdo it, honey.”
“Why don’t you start with a nice big kiss?”
He leaned over to kiss her. “There! That was a treat for me as well.” He settled back in his chair. “Oh, by the way, Maxine, I need to ask you a favor. I want the cabin to myself for an hour or so this afternoon.”
“Why?” she teased. “Expecting a visit from another woman?”
“Not unless she goes by the name of Joe McDade.”
She was hurt. “You’re kicking me out to make way for him?”
“Joe and I need to talk.”
“But we’re having lunch with him. You can talk to him all you want—if you can get a word in, that is. Joe McDade just loves the sound of his own voice.”