Murder on the Minnesota

by Conrad Allen

  “What’s this favor you mention?” asked Gilpatrick.

  Maxine was angry. “It’s none of your business, Rance.”

  “Leave this to me, honey.”

  “You’re upsetting Jenny, can’t you see that?”

  “It’s all right, Maxine,” said Genevieve calmly. “I don’t mind telling you, but I must insist that it goes no further than this room. What I asked Mr. Dillman was whether or not he’d agree to act as a protective shield.”

  “Against what?”

  “Mr. Kincaid, for one. You were at that concert this afternoon, Maxine. You saw how he crept up on me. And it wasn’t the first time. He’s so determined to press his advances,” complained Genevieve, “that he somehow contrived to sit at the same table as me this evening.”

  “I noticed.”

  “However, he’s not my only concern. There’s someone who’s even more of a nuisance and, thanks to you, Mr. Gilpatrick,” she said forcefully, “he has an excuse to hound me more than ever.”

  “How do I come into it?” he asked in surprise.

  “Because you commissioned him to do some posters.”

  “That English artist?”

  “Yes,” said Genevieve. “David Seymour-Jones. I haven’t given him the slightest encouragement, but he’s been haunting me since the first day afloat. He drew a portrait of me when I wasn’t even aware that he was there and to top it all,” she added, working herself into genuine anger, “he followed me to my cabin and pretended that all he wanted were the details of the song recital. The sequel was even more embarrassing. Can you see now why I asked Mr. Dillman for his help? He’s my last resort. Because he’s married, there can never be anything but friendship between us, so it’s perfectly safe. But I need him to be seen with me in public in order to keep the others at bay.” Her eyes were blazing now. “Is there anything wrong in that, Mr. Gilpatrick?”

  “I guess not,” he conceded.

  “You should have let Tommy get rid of these guys for you,” said Maxine.

  “My way will be just as effective,” said Genevieve, “but it’s not something I care to have voiced abroad. Mr. Dillman would be as outraged as I am to hear that someone had been spying on us. I’m sorry, Maxine,” she went on, “but my hand is forced. When I agreed to play the piano for you, I didn’t realize that your husband would mount an investigation into my private life. Given the circumstances, I feel that you should look for someone else to act as your accompanist.”

  Before her friend could protest, Genevieve made a dignified exit. As she strode along the passageway, she could hear Maxine Gilpatrick taking out her rage on her husband. It had been a successful escape.

  Dillman was in no hurry to return to his new cabin. After calling on the purser to report his findings, he made his way to the covered promenade on the upper deck. As he looked through the windows, he could see the prow of the Minnesota rising and falling with the rhythm of a gigantic rocking horse. It was a comforting sight. With all the problems that had arisen, he had had no time simply to enjoy the pleasure of being on a voyage again. There was something exciting about being so far from land of any description. They were a tiny speck in the largest ocean in the world. He knew that it was also the deepest expanse of water on the globe, and that fact appealed to the sailor in him. The Atlantic might be more dangerous, but the Pacific somehow had more mystery. Dillman was not alone. A young couple was standing a small distance away, arms around each other as they gazed out at the view, lulled into a romantic mood by the steady movement of the vessel and by the beauty of the night sky. When Dillman heard footsteps behind him, he assumed that someone else had come out to savor the atmosphere.

  “I wish I was their age again,” said Fay Brinkley, stopping beside him.

  Dillman turned to face her. “I didn’t realize it was you, Mrs. Brinkley.”

  “Who were you expecting?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Don’t you envy them?” she asked, indicating the other couple.

  “Not really, Mrs. Brinkley.”

  “Why not?”

  “I prefer to be alone with my thoughts sometimes.”

  “Is that a polite way of telling me to move on?”

  “Not at all,” he said with a warm smile. “I’m very pleased to see you. How was dinner at the captain’s table?”

  “Quite an event, Mr. Dillman. I didn’t know we had quite so many important people aboard. We had a Russian princess, a Polish count, and someone who’s high up in the Manchurian government. To be honest,” she admitted with a laugh, “I’m not sure how I managed to get an invitation.”

  “They come strictly on merit,” he said.

  “I think they just pulled my name out of a hat. Still,” she went on, “at least I got to sit next to Mr. Blaine. Just as well. I couldn’t understand a word that some of the others spoke, especially that Polish count. And whatever you do, please don’t ask me to spell his name. It didn’t seem to have any vowels in it.”

  “What sort of a man is the captain?”

  “He’s a gem. Captain Piercey was the perfect host.”

  “You were lucky not to be at my table,” he said. “Mrs. Van Bergen was there.”

  Fay laughed. “I daresay she spoke well of me.”

  “Your name did come up in conversation, I have to confess.”

  “Well, I hope you defended me like a true gentleman, Mr. Dillman.”

  “To the hilt.”

  She laughed again, then stood beside him, staring out across the ocean ahead.

  “Have you any idea where we are?” she asked. “I don’t. Captain Piercey said that we’d be passing some islands during the night, but I can’t recall their name. The wine we drank was very potent this evening.”

  “How was Mr. Blaine?”

  “As engaging as ever. Though I did sense something rather odd about him.”

  “Odd?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dillman. I could be wrong, of course. I did indulge myself ruinously in case it was my only chance to sit at the captain’s table. That probably impaired my faculties, but I still had this feeling about Mr. Blaine.”

  “What sort of feeling?”

  “He seemed frightened.”

  “Of what?”

  “That’s what I couldn’t work out.”

  “Could he have been frightened of you, perhaps.”

  “It’s a delicious thought,” she said with a grin, “but I’m afraid that wasn’t the case. Mr. Blaine is happily married. His wife’s name cropped up more than ever. In fact, it was one of the things that showed his insecurity. He’s always been so self-possessed before. But there were moments this evening when he was like an inexperienced swimmer, touching the bottom of the pool with his toe every so often just to make sure that it was there.”

  “It sounds to me as if he’s simply missing his wife a great deal.”

  “I have no quarrel with that. Husbands should miss their wives. You’d be surprised how many of them don’t when they’re set free. Married men are invariably the worst. Even at my age, I get propositions from husbands on the loose.”

  “That’s hardly surprising, Mrs Brinkley. You’re a handsome woman.”

  “What worries me is that I must look available to them. Do I, Mr. Dillman?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so.”

  “Then why do they come buzzing like flies around a honey pot?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “Is it because I’m divorced? Does that stamp me as a scarlet woman?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I can’t win,” she protested. “I’m shunned by the wives and hounded by the husbands. Divorce carries a social stigma, but I never hide the fact. Actually, I made sure that Mrs. Van Bergen knew my situation in order to scandalize her. Curious, isn’t it? Mrs. Van Bergen would cheerfully spurn me because I’m divorced, yet I’ll wager that Mr. Van Bergen would be on my tail if he was traveling on this ship without her.”

  “It’s one of the ironies
of life, Mrs. Brinkley.”

  She turned to him. “Why don’t you call me Fay?”

  “If you wish.”

  “May I call you George?”

  “It sounds like a fair exchange.”

  “What do you see yourself doing in a year’s time, George?”

  “I never look that far ahead.”

  “You don’t strike me as a man addicted to idle pleasures.”

  Dillman laughed. “I can’t afford to be, Fay. Besides, I’m too restless.”

  “For what? Work? Romance? Adventure?”

  “Challenges,” he said. “Of all kinds.”

  “Then we have something in common.” Their eyes locked. “What are you going to do when we reach Japan?”

  “See as much of it as I can before the ship sails on.”

  “Would you like some company?”

  “I’ll already have it, Fay,” he said, keen to avoid any commitment to her.

  She was disappointed. “Oh, I see.”

  “Besides, you’ll be too busy leading a protest at the docks.”

  “A protest? Against what?”

  “The exploitation of female labor,” he said. “According to Mr. Chang, the ship is coaled by teams of women who pass heavy bags to each other in a human chain. Can you imagine American women being forced to do that?”

  “Metaphorically, they are. But thanks for the warning.”

  “I don’t think China’s record is any better with regard to female employment, but Mr. Chang was careful to slide over that. Brace yourself for a few shocks, Fay.”

  “My brother’s already warned me about some of them. Well,” she said with a sigh of reluctance, “that wine is getting to my head. Time for me turn in.”

  “Let me ask you a question first.”

  “As many as you like.”

  “How did you know that I’d be out here tonight?”

  “I didn’t. We met by complete accident.”

  “You told me that you never did anything by accident.”

  “Did I?” she replied with a laugh. “That shows how carefully you listen to me, George. I’ll take encouragement from that.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s call it a promising start. Good night.”

  As he lay on his bunk, Dillman had much to occupy his mind. He had moved to the cabin formerly occupied by Rutherford Blaine, and was determined to remain awake as long as possible. If an attack came, he wanted to be ready for it. While he speculated on whether or not the assassin would try to strike again, he also kept Fay Brinkley at the back of his mind. He had never met a woman quite like her. As soon as they had parted on deck, he resolved to tell Genevieve Masefield about the encounter. Anxious to obviate another misunderstanding, he also wanted to ask Genevieve what she would read into some of Fay’s remarks. He suspected that Fay would use Genevieve as a confidante again, and looked forward to hearing what was said between the two women.

  But the main question that haunted him was whether or not he was fighting on two fronts or simply on one. If Rance Gilpatrick was involved in the murder as well as the smuggling it would simplify matters considerably, but he inclined to the view that he was up against two quite unconnected villains. That made his job much more difficult. While he was concentrating on one, he was taking his eye off the other. The death threat hanging over Rutherford Blaine had to take precedence, and he was interested in Fay’s observation that the man had been frightened. It was hardly surprising. One man had been killed in the diplomat’s place, and his wounded bodyguard had been forced to retire from the field. Under such pressure, Blaine was holding up very well. Only someone as acute as Fay Brinkley would spot the quiet tremors underneath the bland exterior.

  Fatigue eventually got the better of him. Dillman had been careful to drink very little alcohol that evening, but it had been a long and taxing day. Before he could stop himself, he drifted gently off to sleep. Every so often, he would force himself awake for a few seconds and sit up in the darkness, convinced that someone was there. He was mistaken. Lowering his head to the pillow, he was soon slumbering peacefully again. When the sound came, his eyes were wide open in an instant, but this time he did not sit up. What he heard was the scrape of a key in the lock and the swish of the door as it opened and shut. He did have a visitor this time. Dillman came fully awake.

  The man was short, hunched, and stealthy. With a piece of cord held between both hands, he crept toward the bunk and tried to make out the shape of the man lying there. Dillman waited until his nocturnal caller was close before he reacted. He could hear the man’s breath and see him in hazy outline. Before the assassin could strike, Dillman flung back the sheets and leapt from the bunk, catching the man with a savage punch to the face. His assailant reeled back, but he recovered with speed. As Dillman tried to grapple with him, a leg shot out to trip him expertly to the floor, and a series of kicks made him grunt with pain. Rolling over, Dillman struggled to his feet and managed to get a firmer grip on the man, hurling him against the wall and landing a punch in his stomach that drew a sharp gasp. Once again, however, the man retaliated, holding one of Dillman’s arms and swinging around with speed so that his back was to the detective. He pulled hard. Dillman found himself diving over the man’s shoulder to hit his head on the floor.

  The fight was over. Realizing that he had picked the wrong man yet again, the assassin took to his heels and fled. Still dazed, Dillman dragged himself to his feet and lumbered out in the passageway. He knew that pursuit was futile. However, two things had been established. The threat to Rutherford Blaine was very serious, but the assassin was definitely not Rance Gilpatrick’s henchman. Dillman’s stomach punch had inflicted pain. It would have had no impact on Tommy Gault. The detective chided himself for coming off worst in the fight, but at least he had shielded Blaine from the attack. As he stumbled to the bathroom to examine his wounds, he consoled himself with the thought that he had landed a solid punch on the man’s face. The bruise would still be there the next day. It was an important clue.

  TWELVE

  Maxine Gilpatrick's fury had not abated during the night. When she woke up the next morning, she was still as angry at her husband as before. Gilpatrick was not allowed to enjoy his customary lie-in. She shook him until he was roused from his slumbers.

  “What’s going on?” he mumbled, blinking in the light.

  “I want to speak to you, Rance. Wake up.”

  “Why did you shake me like that? I thought there was some kind of emergency.”

  “There is,” she declared. “It concerns our marriage.”

  He saw the clock beside his bunk. “It’s not even seven yet!”

  “Who cares?”

  “I do, Maxine. A guy needs his sleep. Get back in your bed.”

  “Not until we’ve had this out,” she said, hands on hips. “I’m not going to holler at you as I did last night. I just want you to know how upset I am at what you did. I’ll never forgive you for that.”

  “For what?” he asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

  “Having Jenny watched like that.”

  “I thought I had good cause.”

  “Well, you didn’t. You acted outrageously.”

  “That’s not what happened, honey.”

  “No,” she retorted, simmering with rage. “What happened was that, between the two of you, you and Tommy Gault robbed me of the best friend I’ve made since we came onboard. You also lost me my accompanist for the song recital.”

  “We’ll find another.”

  “I don’t want another. I want Jenny Masefield.”

  “Then we talk her around. Let me fix it.”

  “That’s the last thing I’m going to do,” she stormed. “You keep well away from Jenny in the future. And if Tommy Gault ever gets within twenty yards of her, I’ll brain him. Keep him away from her or you’ll be sleeping alone in this cabin from now on.”

  He was hurt. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I say.”

  “Look, t
ake it easy,” he soothed. “You’re getting this out of proportion.”

  “No, I’m not, Rance. This is how I see it,” she said, folding her arms and glaring her defiance. “Last night, Jenny and I had the best rehearsal so far. It was so good it actually settled her nerves. Before you butted in, we were in a wonderful mood.”

  “You had every right to be, Maxine. I heard you sing.”

  “Then why couldn’t you just applaud and then take me out of there?”

  “Because I came to speak to Miss Masefield.”

  “You came to accuse her. I know that look of yours. You thought you’d caught her out and bided your time until you could spring your little surprise on her. Jenny is beautiful, unmarried, and over the age of twenty-one,” she reminded him. “She can invite the entire crew into her cabin if she wishes to—only she doesn’t want Tommy outside the door, counting them as they go in.”

  He reached out for her. “Maxine—”

  “Don’t touch me!” she said contemptuously, backing away.

  “We can sort this out between us.”

  “You’ve done enough sorting as it is. What on earth possessed you to have Jenny watched? She’s completely harmless.”

  “I wasn’t sure about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, little things,” he said impatiently. “You knew I had doubts about her from the start. That’s why I asked you to find out a little more about her.”

  “I’m not doing your spying for you, Rance. That’s not my idea of a wifely duty. Besides,” she insisted, “there was nothing to find out.”

  “I felt that there was. Especially after that guy Dillman showed up.”

  “He’s a friend of hers, that’s all.”

  “Then why did she deny it at first?”

  “Jenny didn’t. She merely said she didn’t know him all that well.”

  “She knew him well enough to invite him into her cabin.”

  “Now we know why. Honestly, Rance,” she went on, teeth bared, “I’ve never felt so humiliated in my life. What you did to that woman was appalling. How would you like it if another man was snooping on me?”

  “I thought he might be. Indirectly.”