Murder on the Minnesota

by Conrad Allen

“Only in the obvious ways.”

  The marital disagreement continued until breakfast was served. Conversation then moved to other subjects. Genevieve did not enjoy the meal. Every time someone came into the dining saloon, she looked up to see if it was either Maxine or Dillman. Neither of them appeared. Finishing her meal well ahead of the Langmeads, she spurned the coffee and excused herself from the table, relieved that she had escaped a potentially awkward encounter. Her relief was premature. As Genevieve left the room, Maxine Gilpatrick was about to enter it. The newcomer wrapped her in a warm embrace.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” said Maxine. “We must talk.”

  “There’s no point.”

  “There’s every point, Jenny. First of all, I must apologize for what happened last night. What my husband did was disgraceful and I let him know it. Rance stepped over the line. I can’t say how sorry I am about that.”

  “I’d rather forget the whole thing, Maxine.”

  “It was crazy. He had no cause to be suspicious of you.”

  “Look,” said Genevieve reasonably, “I don’t blame you. It’s put you in a very embarrassing position, I know, but I have to stand by my decision. I think it best if you find yourself another pianist.”

  “You’re the only one I want.”

  “I’m no longer available, Maxine.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the circumstances.”

  “They can be changed.”

  “No, Maxine.”

  “They can,” urged the other woman. “The first thing we do is to get rid of that artist, Mr. Seymour-Jones. We don’t need posters. Word of mouth will be sufficient. Rance said that he’d get Captain Piercey to make a public announcement at dinner.” She gave a snort. “It’s the one bright thing he suggested this morning.”

  “I still want to pull out.”

  “But we worked so well together.”

  “Only up to a point,” said Genevieve. “Let’s face it, Maxine. You’re in a different class. You deserve a professional pianist like the one we saw yesterday in the concert. I could never play as well as that.”

  “That doesn’t matter, honey.”

  “It does to me.”

  “The idea only arose because I heard you playing ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ that day. We blended together instantly. You were in at the start, Jenny. Why throw away all the work that we’ve done so far?”

  “I feel that I must.”

  “Are you still so mad at my husband?”

  “There’s a little more to it than that.”

  “In what way?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does matter,” insisted Maxine. “If something else is upsetting you, I want to know what it is. I thought we were friends, Jenny. We are, aren’t we?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Genevieve paused to consider how much she should say. Needing to provide a stronger reason to withdraw from the concert, she decided to confide her anxiety.

  “Before I tell you anything,” she began, “let me say at once that I’m not accusing your husband. He probably had nothing at all to do with this.”

  “With what?”

  “Somebody broke into my cabin and searched it.”

  Maxine was enraged. “When?”

  “Two days ago. Nothing was taken, but someone had definitely been there.”

  “I’ll kill Rance if he was behind this!”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, Maxine. I’m sure that he was not involved.”

  “Did you report it to the purser?”

  “Yes,” said Genevieve. “He thought it might be a thief. Since I always have my jewelry locked up in Mr. Roebuck’s safe, there was nothing worth stealing. I don’t really care who it was. The fact remains that someone searched through my things, and that’s left me very shaky. I keep returning to my cabin throughout the day to check that he hasn’t been back. It’s ridiculous, perhaps, but that’s the effect it’s had on me.”

  “Sure,” said Maxine, with a consoling hand on her arm.

  “I’ve managed to keep up a bold front so far, but underneath I’m scared. It’s another reason I can’t go through with this concert. That incident is preying on my mind. I may have seemed all right in rehearsal,” she said, “but a public performance is much more testing. I’m afraid that the pressure would be too much. I’d go to pieces.”

  Maxine tried to assimilate the new information. The possibility that her husband had instigated the search made her feel both angry and disgusted. She sympathized with Genevieve, yet she still clung to the hope that they could somehow perform together. She searched desperately for compromise.

  “Listen, Jenny. Let me take this up with Rance.”

  “It might be safer if you don’t even mention it.”

  “I want the truth,” asserted Maxine. “If I’m sharing my life with a guy who had your cabin searched, I want to know. For heaven’s sake, I’m married to him. Rance is no angel,” she continued. “I accepted that from the start. Running a saloon is not like being in charge of a cathedral. You have to be tough and ruthless. But he has a softer side to him as well. I knew about his other women. I knew about some shady deals he made. I knew I wasn’t marrying Jesus Christ. But heck,” she added with a laugh, “it’s not as if I was a vestal virgin myself. What I didn’t know, however, was that he’d stoop to having your cabin searched.”

  “We’re not certain that he did.”

  “Putting that aside, how about this for an idea? We postpone the concert.”

  “No, Maxine.”

  “It hasn’t been announced yet,” argued the other. “It would give us more time to rehearse and advertise. And there’s another thing, Jenny,” she said, gripping her arm, “It’ll give you time to get over this business. What do you say?”

  “You must look for another pianist.”

  “I don’t want anyone else, least of all that guy in the orchestra. Okay, he’s got talent, but he’s a man. Don’t you understand, Jenny?” she pleaded. “The thing that attracted me most about this whole thing was the fact that we were doing it together, putting on a concert to rival anything the men can do. We’d be striking a blow for women, Jenny. Doesn’t that have any appeal to you?”

  “A great deal, Maxine. But I’ve made my decision.”

  “Good morning, ladies!” said Willoughby Kincaid, bearing down on them. “Discussing your song recital, no doubt?” He offered both arms. “May I have the pleasure of taking the two of you into breakfast?”

  “No thank you, Mr. Kincaid,” said Genevieve. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “What a pity!”

  “And I need to go back to the cabin to speak to my husband,” said Maxine.

  “It doesn’t seem to be my day.” He beamed at Genevieve. “Can’t I even tempt you to another cup of coffee, Miss Masefield?”

  Genevieve froze. Over her shoulder, she could see Dillman approaching and saw the bruising on his temple. Her stomach turned. With Maxine beside her, she felt the urge to acknowledge him, especially as the sign of close friendship with another man might help to deter Kincaid. Then she remembered that Maxine would not recognize the detective. She had never met him before.

  She turned to Kincaid. “I couldn’t touch a thing, I’m afraid. Good-bye.”

  As she walked past him, Genevieve did not even look up at Dillman.

  * * *

  Rutherford Blaine had a streak of obstinacy in him that they had never seen before.

  “I’m sorry, Jake, but I won’t even consider the idea.”

  “Why not, sir?” asked Poole. “It’s for your own safety.”

  “I’d recommend it as well, Mr. Blaine,” said the purser.

  “I have a duty to protect you, sir.”

  “You’re the one who looks as if he’s in need of protection,” noted Blaine.

  The three men were in Blaine’s cabin. Though still nursing his wounds, Jake Poole felt
strong enough to offer his services again. In view of the attack on Dillman, the purser was anxious to shield the diplomat even more.

  “I may have one arm in a sling,” said the bodyguard, “but I can still hold a gun in the other. We’re taught to shoot with both hands, Mr. Blaine. Why take the risk of sleeping in here on your own when I could be in the other bunk?”

  “I managed perfectly well last night.”

  “Only because they don’t know where you are yet.”

  “In that case, there’s no danger.”

  “Yes, there is, sir,” said Roebuck. “If they’re clever enough to find out what you’re doing on this ship, it won’t take them long to track you down. Mr. Poole is right. You need protection around the clock.”

  Blaine gave a wry smile. “Does that mean someone has to hold my hand when I visit the bathroom? No, gentlemen,” he said, “I appreciate your concern but it’s not necessary. While I’m in the public rooms, I feel perfectly secure.”

  “This is where the attack is likely to come,” argued Poole.

  “They still think I’m in that cabin on the boat deck.” He turned to the purser. “Were there any problems there in the night, Mr. Roebuck?”

  “No, no,” lied the other. “Mr. Dillman was undisturbed.”

  “There you are, then!”

  “All that proves is that they know you’ve moved out of the cabin,” said Poole. They’ll be searching for this one. I’d like to be here when they find it.”

  “You’ve done more than your share already, Jake.”

  “I feel as if I’m letting you down.”

  “Not at all,” said Blaine. “I’m the one with the guilt. You were attacked because of me. If Mr. Dillman hadn’t come along at the right time, your attacker might have finished the job. Imagine how I would have felt then.”

  “It’s my duty, sir. I know the risks.”

  “Well, you’re not taking any more on my behalf. Everything has gone smoothly so far. That door is very stout and it has two bolts on the inside. Even with a master key, nobody can get in at night. I think you should both stop worrying about me,” he said confidently. “We must rely on Mr. Dillman to catch this assassin before he reaches me.”

  Poole had doubts. “What are the chances of that?”

  “Much higher than you think,” said Roebuck defensively. “George Dillman is an amazing man. Mr. Blaine put his finger on it a moment ago when he talked about that fall of yours down the stairs. Someone came along at precisely the right time. George Dillman has an uncanny habit of doing that.”

  When he saw Dillman approaching him, Wu Feng’s first impulse was to flee, but the detective’s reassuring smile made him stand his ground.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Feng,” said Dillman. “I haven’t come to arrest you and your father again. I know that you’re legitimate passengers now. Your fare is paid.”

  “This kind man helped us, sir. Father Slattery.”

  “So I understand.”

  “You thank him for us? We no see him since.”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Dillman ruefully. “He’s been busy elsewhere.”

  As soon as breakfast was over, the detective had gone down to the main deck in search of the Fengs. Remembering where he had found them, he wondered if they might be able to shed some light on a problem that vexed him. Wu Feng was sitting on the deck among the other steerage passengers. He was still wary of Dillman.

  “I want to know how you came to be on the orlop deck,” said the detective. “Only crew members have access to the hold. How did you get down there in the first place?”

  “By accident, sir. We follow a man.”

  “What man? One of the crew?”

  “No, sir. My father and me, we get aboard the night before the ship sail. We not know where to hide. When passengers come onboard, there are men in uniform who ask everyone to show tickets.” He gave a gesture of despair. “We had none.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “We very frightened, sir. When man in uniform come towards us, we ran away. We go down steps, run as fast as we can. We finish up where you found us.”

  “But how?” asked Dillman, still puzzled. “The orlop deck is locked.”

  “The man had a key.”

  “The one in uniform?”

  “No, sir. Another man. He wears a suit and hat. We see him open a door so we sneak in after him and hide. Later,” he recalled sadly, “when the ship sail, we find that we locked in. Then you come looking for us.”

  “Actually, I was searching for something else,” said Dillman. “Tell me about this man who let you into the orlop deck. If he was wearing a suit and a hat, he certainly wasn’t one of the crew. Can you remember anything about him?”

  “No, sir. Nothing at all.” A memory surfaced. “Except for his ear.”

  “His ear?” repeated Dillman.

  “Yes, sir,” said Feng, indicating with his hand. “It was this big.”

  Maxine Gilpatrick’s anger was no match for her husband’s bad temper. He was up, dressed, and ready for her this time. When she accused him of arranging to have Genevieve’s cabin searched, he flew into such a rage that she backed off. Gilpatrick denied the charge hotly. His wife came to believe him. A tiny doubt still lingered, however. As she made her way alone back to the dining saloon, she saw the opportunity to clarify the situation. Tommy Gault was descending the stairs in front of her. She hurried to catch up.

  “Good morning, Tommy,” she said.

  “Oh, hello, Mrs. Gilpatrick,” he replied. “Sleep well?”

  “I’ve had better nights.”

  “I went out like a log. They serve good booze on this ship.”

  “I meant to ask you something, Tommy,” she said casually. “When you searched Jenny Masefield’s cabin, what did you find?” Gault’s eyes darted nervously. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “Rance told me that you were going in there. What did you find?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted. “Nothing at all.”

  It was midmorning before Genevieve finally chanced upon Tadu Natsuki. He and his wife were drinking tea in the lounge. They were both delighted to see her again.

  “I wanted to ask you a favor,” said Genevieve, sitting beside Natsuki.

  “Of course,” he said.

  “I wondered if you could possibly translate this for me?” She passed him the slip of paper that Dillman had given her. “It’s an address that I need to have but I can’t make head or tail of it.”

  Natsuki grinned. “Neither can I, Miss Masefield.”

  “But you speak Japanese, don’t you?”

  “Perfectly, but these are Chinese characters.”

  “Oh, dear!”

  “Simple mistake,” he went on. “You weren’t to know. But you are in luck. I know very little Chinese, but Hisako is an expert. She does translation work for a publisher from time to time. That is why she was so upset by what Father Slattery was saying the other day,” he explained. “The last book she translated into Chinese was about Shinto.” He handed the paper to his wife. “Hisako?”

  “I am happy to help,” said Hisako.

  Genevieve had thought to bring paper and pencil with her. She handed both to the woman and waited while the latter studied the characters. Hisako’s face puckered.

  “I’m sorry if it’s inaccurate,” said Genevieve. “The person who copied it out is not used to writing Chinese characters.”

  Hisako smiled tolerantly. “I can see that, Miss Masefield. It just seems an odd address for a young lady like you to have.” Translating it into English, she wrote it down, then handed the paper back. “There you are.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Natsuki. You’re very kind.” She glanced at the address and blinked in surprise. “I see what you mean,” she said.

  Pleased with his discovery, Dillman could not wait to report it to the purser. Mike Roebuck was in his office, locking up the safe. He was intrigued by the latest piece of information, but he still did not find the evidence concl
usive enough.

  “There has to be something else, George,” he warned. “If I go to the skipper and tell him that all we have are some gun catalogs and a cauliflower ear, he’s not going to authorize us to tamper with sealed cargo.”

  “The weapons must be there, Mike. I know it!”

  “Find some more proof.”

  “How much more do you need?” said Dillman with exasperation. “Mr. Feng saw someone with a cauliflower ear on the orlop deck. It has to have been Tommy Gault. There may be more than one black eye aboard, but I bet he’s got the only cauliflower ear. Somehow, he has a key to the orlop deck. How did he get it?”

  “Who knows? There are far too many keys in the wrong hands on this ship.”

  “Supposing I search Gault’s cabin and find that key. Is that proof enough?”

  “No, George. Besides, I don’t think he’s punch-drunk. Tommy wouldn’t leave something like that hanging about. He’d carry it around with him. We’re on the right track, I know,” he said, “but we need to take just a few more steps along it.”

  Dillman moved to the door. “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “See you later.”

  “Hold on,” ordered the purser, restraining him with a hand. “When I got back here, there was a note under the door from your partner. She said it’s vital to speak to you as soon as possible. I’m to hold you here until she comes.”

  “Did she give any details?”

  Roebuck opened a drawer and took out the note. “Read it for yourself,” he said, passing it to Dillman. “And not just the words. Read between the lines. I smell a crisis.”

  “So do I, Mike,” said Dillman, scanning the note. “What’s up, I wonder?”

  “Well, she’s still able to write neatly so she hasn’t been trying to punch Tommy Gault in the stomach. Seriously, though,” he went on, “I’m getting worried. I hired the pair of you to catch a smuggler. You’ve survived an attempt on your life and Miss Masefield is playing piano in the lion’s own den.”

  “We have to take risks in our business.”

  “That’s what Jake Poole said earlier. Look what happened to him.”

  There was a tap on the door and Roebuck opened it to let Genevieve in. When she saw Dillman, she gave a gasp of relief. It was only the purser’s presence that stopped him from putting his arms around her.