by Conrad Allen
“Who?”
“Nobody,” he said, wanting to terminate the discussion. “Listen, honey, why don’t we get another hour’s sleep, then have breakfast together?”
“I’m not sharing a table with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You still don’t see why I’m so riled up, do you?”
“Of course I do. I made a mistake and I’m sorry.”
“An apology won’t cover the damage you inflicted last night.”
“Come back to bed.”
“No,” she snarled. “I don’t even want to be in the same room as you!”
“There’s no need to yell. People will hear us in the next cabin.”
“Let them hear us!” she shouted.
“Maxine!”
“I still haven’t got the truth out of you yet. Why did you want me to keep an eye on Jenny in the first place? And what was it about this Mr. Dillman that aroused your suspicions?”
“It doesn’t matter now,” he said wearily.
“I want to know, Rance.”
“Take it easy, will you?”
“And if you say that to me once more, I’ll throw something at you,” she said, grabbing a vase of flowers to prove that it was no idle threat. “I’m your wife, or had you forgotten? Married couples are supposed to share things.”
“Put that vase down.”
“Tell me what I want to know first.”
“Put it down,” he ordered, getting out of bed to snatch it from her. “And stop pushing me. You’re not the only person who can get angry.”
“Don’t threaten me, Rance. I’m still waiting.”
He put the vase back on the table. “You wouldn’t understand, Maxine.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand only too well.”
Gilpatrick turned to look at her. Curbing his anger, he sat on the edge of the bunk with his head in his hands. When he looked up at her again, he made an effort to control himself. He spoke with deliberate slowness.
“Here’s how it looked from where I was standing,” he explained. “No sooner do we get on the ship than Miss Masefield suddenly pops up out of the blue.”
“She was playing the piano. I couldn’t resist singing. That’s how we met. Jenny made no attempt to seek me out, Rance. How could she when she’d never set eyes on me before? Jenny didn’t just pop up. I chose her as a friend.”
“You chose her, but I didn’t. I confided my suspicions to you at the start. Now,” he said, wiping a hand across his mouth, “a few days later, Mr. Dillman turns up on the boat deck. I don’t know why. He certainly doesn’t have a cabin there. He seemed a pleasant guy and he knew a fair bit about the Minnesota. And I admit that I had a good laugh at him when he took a shot at Tommy’s stomach and almost broke his hand. Off he went and I forgot all about him. Until—lo and behold!—he’s seen slipping into Miss Masefield’s cabin.”
“By the man you stationed outside.”
“I thought I might learn something.”
“Why?”
“I told you before. I wanted to know what her game was.”
“Jenny is a passenger. She has no game.”
“It looked funny to me. Her and Dillman getting together like that.”
“What did you think the pair of them were doing?”
“Comparing notes about me.”
Maxine bit back a reply. Her rage was slowly replaced by a feeling of disquiet.
“Is something going on, Rance?” she asked.
“No, honey.”
“You’re up to your old tricks, aren’t you?”
“Of course not.”
“You swore to me that this was a kind of honeymoon. There might be a little business involved, you said, but it wouldn’t get in the way. Well, so far it’s been all business and no honeymoon,” she said, advancing on him. “Do you know what I think, Rance Gilpatrick? I don’t believe you wanted me here as your wife at all.”
“I did, Maxine. I love you.”
“You just needed a decoy, didn’t you?”
“No!”
“What are you up to this time?”
“Some minor transactions, that’s all.”
“Was that why I was locked out of my own cabin yesterday?” she said with heavy sarcasm. “So that you and the bellowing Joe McDade could discuss a minor transaction?”
“You get the benefit in the long run.”
“I’m more concerned with the short run, and there are very few benefits in that.”
“Maxine,” he protested. “I’ve done everything you wanted.”
“Like insulting my friend and making her pull out of the concert?”
“Who arranged the concert in the first place?”
“You did,” she conceded.
“And who fixed it so that you can use the orchestra’s piano?”
“You did.”
“Then there were the posters I commissioned.”
“Don’t mention those,” she snapped. “Why didn’t you discuss it with us before you hire some guy you know nothing about? This David Seymour-Jones may be a terrific artist, but he also happens to be the one man on the ship that Jenny can’t bear.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“It’s all your fault,” she said, crossing to the bathroom and pausing in the doorway. “Now, I want you out of here when I get dressed. Is that understood?”
He was shaken. “No, it isn’t.”
“I’m not stripping off while you’re in the bedroom.”
“But I’m your husband.”
“No, Rance,” she said pointedly. “You’re still the same cheap crook you were when I first met you. I thought you’d changed. Now you have money, I thought you didn’t need to sail so close to the wind. But you do and you always will. I don’t know what’s going on this time, but I want no part of it.”
“Maxine,” he said, crossing to her with outstretched hands.
“Keep away from me.”
“Listen,” he said, searching for ways to appease her. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll fix it so we dine at the captain’s table today. I’ll have flowers sent to Miss Masefield as an apology. I’ll even swallow my pride and beg her to play that piano for you. Just tell me what I can do, honey, and I swear I’ll do it.”
“Then get lost!” she said.
Disappearing into the bathroom, she slammed the door in his face.
When the purser called on him, Dillman was still in his dressing gown. Mike Roebuck noticed the bruising on his temple and frowned with concern.
“Did he come, George?”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “He came and went.”
“What happened?”
“His jujitsu was more effective than my boxing skills.”
“Tell me all.”
Dillman gave him an account of events during the night, admitting freely that his adversary was too elusive for him. The frown on the purser’s face deepened.
“Why didn’t you come straight to me to report it?” he asked.
“What was the point of that, Mike?”
“I could have started a search.”
“Where? By the time you’d rustled up some men, he’d have gone to ground somewhere. On a ship this size, there must be thousands of hiding places. It would’ve been a complete waste of time.”
“The guy tried to kill you.”
“Unsuccessfully.”
“But he might have come back for a second crack.”
“No chance of that,” said Dillman proudly. “I gave him too warm a welcome. In any case, he’s after Mr. Blaine and not me. I don’t think it took him too long to realize that I couldn’t possibly be Mr. Blaine. That’s why he ran away.”
“I think I’d run away if you pounced on me.”
“I failed, Mike. I set the trap and he walked straight into it. Then he escaped.”
“I did tell you to have someone else in here with you.”
Dillman smiled. “I never share a bedroom with another man.�
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“Not even if he might save your life?”
“I saved it myself last night. And I landed a hefty punch on his face.”
“So?”
“All we need to do is to look for a passenger with a black eye.”
“If only it was that easy,” said Roebuck with a pessimistic grin, “but we can hardly ask fifteen hundred people to queue up so that you can examine their faces. Besides, he might have been a member of the crew. That gives you another two hundred and fifty to get around, and you’ll have real problems there.”
“Problems?”
“I was thinking of the stokers.”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “I see what you mean.”
“Passions run high down there, George. When you spend your whole day shoveling coal into a furnace, you don’t have time for the social niceties. Tempers are short. Arguments start. Fights develop. You’ll probably find half a dozen black eyes among the stokers.”
“I still think it could be a lead.”
“Only if your attacker ventures out into the light of day.”
“He can’t hide away forever.”
“All he has to do is to wait until the black eye fades.”
“I’ll find him,” asserted Dillman.
“Not by putting your own life on the line, George. I’m pulling rank on you. If you want to try this again, you share the cabin with a man or a gun or, preferably, both.” He looked around. “Not that there’s any chance of him coming here again. He’ll try to find out where Mr. Blaine is sleeping.”
“Don’t tell Mr. Blaine about this, will you?”
“I wasn’t going to,” said the purser. “He has enough on his mind as it is.”
“That’s true. Say that nobody showed up.”
“How will you explain that bruise on your temple?”
“I banged my head accidentally, didn’t I?”
“With a little help from someone else.”
“Mr. Blaine needn’t know that. Anyway,” said Dillman cheerily, “I’m glad you called, Mike. It’s not all bad news. I had a productive visit to the boat deck last night.”
“Did you get into Gilpatrick’s cabin?”
“And into Mr. Hayashi’s.”
The purser listened to his report and nodded his approval of the find.
“We had the feeling that it might be guns of some sort,” he said.
“Gilpatrick gets the silk, Hayashi gets the weapons.”
“We’ll need more evidence than a few catalogs.”
“Don’t forget that letter heading I copied in Hayashi’s cabin.”
“That might turn out to be useless, George. Give me something more solid.”
“Then you’ll have to trust my judgment.”
“In what way?”
“I’m going to need the keys to the orlop deck again,” said Dillman. “And I want to take you with me next time I go down there. That’s where we’ll get hard evidence.”
“We can’t go breaking into sealed cargo.”
“It’s the only way.”
“The skipper won’t sanction that without an extremely good reason.”
“Then I’ll provide it,” affirmed Dillman. “The contraband must be hidden down there somewhere. I’ll tell you this, Mike. You won’t find any guns in Gilpatrick’s wardrobe. There’s no room. His wife has filled it to the brim with her dresses.”
After waking early, Genevieve Masefield lay in her bunk and considered her plight. She was on the horns of a dilemma. Forced to invent a story about her relationship with Dillman, she now had to give visible proof of it, yet the last thing she wanted was for any link to be seen between the two of them. It lessened their effectiveness. There was also the nagging problem of Fay Brinkley. It was she who had confided her interest in Dillman to her friend. Genevieve could imagine how Fay might react if she saw her with the detective. Fay was an astute woman. Her suspicions would be aroused immediately. However, it was more important to allay Rance Gilpatrick’s suspicions. Genevieve had been rocked by his announcement that someone had seen Dillman going into her cabin. There had certainly been nobody in the passageway outside when she opened the door. Someone must have been lurking around the corner, and that thought unsettled her. She wondered if it was the same person who had searched her cabin.
There were two consolations to be drawn from the confrontation on the previous night. Stunned as she had been by Gilpatrick’s accusation, she did feel that she had extricated herself from the situation with some adroitness. Genevieve had also used the opportunity to resign from her musical partnership with Maxine. It was a relationship that had been awash with reservations from the start. While it got her close to the Gilpatricks, it also exposed her to danger, but it was at a personal level that the main doubts arose. She was increasingly fond of Maxine, finding, in a woman she expected to be hardened by her experience, a yearning for the recognition as a singer that she had never achieved. Maxine Montgomery sought status. Wanting her to succeed, Genevieve had been dragged along with her, but the anxieties never disappeared. The fact remained that she was using Maxine in order to gain vital information about her husband and his associates. At some stage, when the truth finally emerged, there would have been complications. She felt easier in her mind now that she had withdrawn. Another pianist could soon be found to replace her.
Dillman had to be warned. That was her first thought. After taking a bath she dressed and headed for the purser’s office, but he was nowhere to be seen. In view of the fact that she had already been watched, she did not dare to go to the upper deck in search of Dillman himself. Their meeting would have to be postponed. She slipped a note under the purser’s door, asking him to warn her partner that something had transpired that he needed to know about. Mike Roebuck would have to act as their go-between. As she headed for the dining saloon, Genevieve knew that Maxine would try to persuade her to reconsider her decision. She might have to cope with the blandishments of husband and wife. Determined to resist them at all costs, she went in to have breakfast.
It was still early and the place was fairly empty. Two friends of hers, however, were already there. They gave her their usual cordial welcome and beckoned her over. Genevieve was glad to join Horace and Etta Langmead. Without knowing it, they would offer her some insulation against a possible swoop by the Gilpatricks.
“You’re up with the lark,” observed Etta Langmead.
“I wanted to miss the rush,” said Genevieve.
“What rush?” asked Langmead. “The place is as quiet as the grave. This is a good time to have your breakfast. The waiters fight to serve you.”
“They always fight to serve Miss Masefield,” said his wife.
“I don’t blame them, Etta.”
“I’m so sorry we invited Mr. Seymour-Jones to our table for the second time,” she apologized. “Horry told me that you found his attentions rather embarrassing. It won’t happen again, Miss Masefield. And we did provide that nice Mr. Kincaid in his stead. He’s such an amusing character, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Genevieve, forcing a smile.
“I liked the French couple,” said Langmead. “Especially the wife.”
“They were such an interesting couple, Mr. Langmead. So sophisticated.”
“I wish I knew where she bought that dress,” said Etta enviously.
“In Paris.”
“Yes, but where? Do you think she’d give me the address?”
“Don’t bother, honey,” advised her husband. “That’s the trouble with fashion. It changes so quickly. As soon as you got that dress sent over, it would be old hat. Wait until we get to China. They have lovely silk dresses there.”
“It’s not the same. Horry. I want to look French, not Chinese.”
“Wait until you get to Peking,” he said. “Chinese women are not all peasants, you know. The wealthy ones dress very stylishly. They can hold their own with the French.”
Etta was not persuaded. “Nothing compares with Paris fashions.”
“It’s a question of personal taste,” said Genevieve.
“That’s why I’m having breakfast with two gorgeous ladies,” added Langmead gallantly. “Ah, here they come!”
Two waiters converged on the table. One took Genevieve’s order while the other served the Langmeads. The men went off to the kitchen. Other people were drifting into the room now, but there was no sign of Maxine. Genevieve hoped that she might have finished her breakfast before her friend appeared. Etta Langmead gave her a nudge.
“That was very exciting news that we heard last night, Miss Masefield.”
“News?”
“About this song recital you’re involved in. I didn’t realize you were a pianist.”
“Strictly speaking, I’m not.”
“You must be if you’re able to give a public performance.”
“You have beauty and talent,” observed Langmead. “An irresistible combination.”
“Actually,” confessed Genevieve, “there’s some doubt about my involvement. I think that Mrs. Gilpatrick deserves a more experienced accompanist, so I decided to pull out of the concert.”
“Oh, no!”
“What a shame!” said Etta.
“We were so looking forward to seeing you up on that stage.”
Genevieve did not wish to discuss the subject, but there was one advantage. In explaining her position to the Langmeads, she was rehearsing arguments that she might later use against Maxine. She made no mention of Rance Gilpatrick’s part in her decision, but she did tell them that David Seymour-Jones had been hired to design posters.
“You poor thing!” exclaimed Etta, a hand on Genevieve’s arm. “That can’t have been your idea. It’s given Mr. Seymour-Jones the excuse to write your name in big letters time and again. That would only feed his infatuation.”
“Not now that I’ve withdrawn, Mrs. Langmead.”
“I’m beginning to see the wisdom of that. I mean, every woman likes admiration but not if it’s taken to extremes. When he’s near you, Mr. Seymour-Jones looks like a lovesick spaniel.”
“Spaniels don’t get lovesick, honey,” said Langmead.
“How do you know?”
“They’re dumb animals.”
“It doesn’t mean that they don’t have feelings, Horry.”
“Maybe, but they’re different from humans.”