Murder on the Minnesota

by Conrad Allen

  “What’s happened, Genevieve?” he asked worriedly.

  “Lots,” she replied, “but let me tell you about that address you found first. No wonder you had such difficulty copying those Japanese characters, George. They turned out to be Chinese.”

  He grinned. “So much for a Western education!”

  “I had it translated and found that it’s the address of a firm of gunsmiths in Shanghai.” Dillman flicked a glance at Roebuck. “I wanted to find out more about them, so I went to the library to see if there was any business directory of Shanghai. There wasn’t, unfortunately, but I remembered someone who might be able to help.”

  “Who was that?” asked Dillman.

  “Willoughby Kincaid. When I went looking for him, of course, he immediately thought that I was finally succumbing to his charms so I had to put him right on that score. However,” she went on, “he does know about guns. I didn’t tell him how I’d come across this address, of course, but I asked him if he knew of any gunsmiths in the Bund in Shanghai. The first one he talked about was Telge and Schroeter. Apparently, they furnished most of the Chinese flotilla fleet. Then he moved on to this one,” she said, showing the translation to Dillman. “Herzog and Lindenmeier. It’s a much more disreputable firm, the kind of place where you can get any gun you want even though some of the other gunsmiths have exclusive licenses for some makes. Mr. Kincaid told me he was offered a Webley and Scott gun there, yet the sole agents are supposed to be someone on Canton Road, Shanghai.”

  The purser was impressed. “What a memory you have for detail!”

  “I couldn’t forget the bit about Webley and Scott. They’re an English firm. According to Mr. Kincaid, they’re small-arms manufacturers from Birmingham.”

  “We still need a link with Hayashi,” stressed Dillman.

  “I’m coming to that,” she explained. “Though the firm of Herzog and Lindenmeier still retains its old name, it was bought out over a year ago by a Japanese company. Mr. Kincaid said there was a branch in Kobe as well.”

  “That’s where Hayashi lives,” commented Dillman.

  “There are huge profits involved here. The Chinese army is drilling in Western style and equipping itself with all the latest weapons. But that’s only one source of income. The real money, according to Mr. Kincaid, would come from supplying rebel groups who will pay almost anything to get the best guns.”

  Dillman read the address on the piece of paper before thrusting it at Roebuck.

  “There you are, Mike,” he said. “Do you have enough to go to the captain now?”

  “I’m tempted, I must say,” replied the purser.

  “Give it a try.”

  “I will. Thanks, Miss Masefield. You’ve done wonders.”

  He let himself out of the cabin. As soon as he had gone, Dillman put his arms around her and gave her a kiss. The first thing she wanted to know was how he had gotten the bruise on his temple. Playing down the danger, he told her about his nocturnal visitor. She was very disturbed, but he managed to reassure her. Now that she had passed on her findings, Genevieve had some more awkward news to impart. He waved her to a seat and perched on the desk beside her. She told him about the confrontation with Gilpatrick on the previous night and how she had been forced to present Dillman in order to talk her way out of the situation. He was pleased to hear that she had also maneuvered herself out of the song recital.

  “It could be uncomfortable for you,” he observed, “sitting at a piano with a woman whose husband we’re on the verge of arresting. Give the Gilpatricks a wide berth from now on. You were getting too close to the fire.”

  “The flames were certainly licking me last night,” she said. “Just think how I felt when Gilpatrick told me you’d been seen going into my cabin.”

  “It must have been a sticky moment, Genevieve, but there’s one compensation.”

  “Is there?”

  “He gave himself away.”

  “I’m just sorry that I had to use your name like that.”

  “There was nothing else you could do.”

  “But it complicates things. How will it look to other people?”

  “It will keep Mr. Kincaid and the amorous artist off your back.”

  “I was thinking of Fay Brinkley.”

  Dillman sighed. “Yes, I’m glad you mentioned her. We had a chance encounter last night. Except that I don’t believe there was much chance involved.”

  When he related what had happened, she was amused and intrigued. Genevieve was also glad that he was so honest about it and held nothing back. Anxiety returned.

  “Fay will be hurt if we walk into the dining saloon together.”

  “There may be a way around that,” he said thoughtfully. “Leave it to me. But if we are going to be identified as a couple, there’s something we can do at once, Genevieve.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Issue a challenge.” He moved to the door. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  When he got back to his cabin, Rance Gilpatrick was given a severe jolt. After the row with his wife, he had seen no sign of her. Maxine, he assumed, was keeping out of his way unless he lost his temper again. He prided himself on having rebuffed her accusation about the search of Genevieve Masefield’s cabin. It had enabled him to gain the upper hand again. He soon discovered that that was an illusion. When he stepped into the cabin, he sensed at once that something was awry. It was markedly tidier than it usually was. None of Maxine’s possessions were scattered about on the table or chairs. Going into the bedroom, he had the same experience. There was a sudden emptiness. Gilpatrick dived for the wardrobe and flung open the doors, hoping to find it filled with his wife’s dresses. He stepped back in alarm. They had all disappeared.

  Tommy Gault’s fame as an entertainer had spread. Over a dozen children had gathered on the boat deck to watch his displays of strength. Though wearing a jacket and pants, he stood on his hands to amuse them, let them punch him in the stomach, and lifted each of them in turn by getting them to hold their elbows tight against their sides. Cupping the tips of their elbows in his hands, he lifted them right above his head in one fluent move. The children loved it. When Dillman arrived with Genevieve, the children were laughing with glee at Gault’s antics. Recognizing Genevieve, he was a little shamefaced at first, fearful that she might have come to accuse him of searching her cabin, but it was Dillman who had sought him out.

  “I wondered if I could take another crack at you, Mr. Gault?” he asked.

  “Sure, Mr. Dillman,” said the ex-boxer. “Wear a knuckle duster, if you like.”

  “No thanks. I just want to be certain that you’ve got nothing hidden away under your shirt.” He removed his jacket and gave it to Genevieve. “Take your coat off. Let me see the target properly.”

  “I’ll put on a singlet and boxing shorts, if you prefer,” boasted Gault, slipping his coat off. Genevieve took it from him. Gault slapped his stomach. “See? Nothing there except hard muscle. Whitey Thompson said it was like hitting a brick wall.”

  “In that case,” said Dillman, flexing his right hand, “I’ll take a small precaution.”

  Retrieving a handkerchief from the top pocket of his jacket, he wound it around his knuckles. The children were agog. Dillman was tall and fit. He looked as if he might trouble Gault. Some of them egged him on while others, who had seen his earlier attempt at throwing a punch, sided with Gault. As Dillman got himself ready, the little audience cheered them on. Nobody noticed that Genevieve was slipping a deft hand into the pocket of Gault’s jacket.

  “Ready?” asked Dillman.

  “Give it all you’ve got,” goaded the other man.

  “Here goes!”

  Dillman did not pull his punch this time. Putting much more power into the blow, he struck Gault in the middle of the stomach and saw a faint glimmer of pain in his eyes. Dillman shook his hand, then removed the handkerchief to blow on his knuckles. The children laughed and Gault grinned in triumph.

  “You’r
e welcome to try any time, Mr. Dillman,” he said.

  “No thanks. I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

  “It was my fault,” said Genevieve. “I wanted to see if what he told me was true.”

  “It’s true, all right,” said Dillman, taking his jacket from her. “I’ve never felt stomach muscles like that before. I’ll need to put my hand in cold water.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. Gault,” she said. “The professional wins the day.”

  Gault put his chest out. “I was a good fighter. Fourteen knockouts.”

  “It shows.”

  After helping him on with his coat, she went off with Dillman and left Tommy Gault to entertain the children. They were out of earshot before Dillman spoke.

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Yes, George,” she said, slipping a key into his hand. “In his right pocket.”

  “I had a feeling it would be on him somewhere.”

  “What now?”

  “I’m going down to the orlop deck to see if it fits.”

  THIRTEEN

  Rance Gilpatrick’s anger was tempered with embarrassment. Though he demanded to see the purser instantly, he was more subdued as he explained the situation. Mike Roebuck was fascinated by the latest development, but his face remained motionless.

  “Where is Maxine hiding?” asked Gilpatrick.

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  “She must be on the ship somewhere. If my wife intended to jump over the side, she’d hardly take her entire wardrobe with her.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  “So where is she, Mr. Roebuck?”

  “I don’t know. Did Mrs. Gilpatrick leave no note for you?”

  “No,” complained the other. “She just vamoosed.”

  “Don’t worry too much about it, sir,” said the purser, trying to reassure him. “It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened. What usually occurs is that the lady in question storms out, goes off alone to brood, and gradually calms down. It’s not my place to offer advice where disputes of this nature are involved, but I’ve noticed how valuable a cooling-off period can be for both parties. Why not wait for a few hours?”

  “Because I don’t want to wait.”

  “At the moment, I suspect, your wife doesn’t wish to be found.”

  “She ran out on me. I want her back.”

  “Did you have some sort of disagreement, sir?”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “So stop offering me advice and find out where my wife is hiding.”

  “I’ll have to speak to the chief steward,” said Roebuck. “If she wanted another cabin, Mrs. Gilpatrick may have gone straight to him. He’ll pass on the information to me so that I can make an adjustment in the passenger list. When he does—”

  “Where will I find this guy?” interrupted Gilpatrick.

  “The chief steward has quarters on the main deck, sir.”

  “Give me the number of his cabin. This is my wife we’re talking about, damn it! I can’t hang around until the chief steward decides to report to you.”

  Mike Roebuck soothed him, gave him the details he wanted, then held the door open for him. As Gilpatrick surged out, Dillman was coming along the passageway. The detective offered a polite greeting but the other ignored him, heading for the staircase and plunging down it. Dillman joined the purser at the door of his office.

  “What’s got into him, Mike?” he asked.

  “His wife has left him.”

  Dillman was astonished. “Left him?”

  “Yes, George. When he went back to the cabin just now, she’d cleared out all her things. Gilpatrick has been searching everywhere for her.”

  “What prompted all this?”

  “Who knows? But it must be something serious. I wonder if it has some connection with this projected concert.”

  “It does, Mike. Let’s step inside and I’ll explain.” They went into the office and closed the door. “Genevieve was forced to pull out. That really upset Mrs. Gilpatrick.”

  He told the purser about Genevieve’s confrontation with Gilpatrick the previous night and how she had taken the opportunity to withdraw from the song recital.

  “That’s not enough reason for a wife to leave her husband,” said Roebuck.

  “There’s more,” said Dillman. “When Mrs. Gilpatrick cornered her this morning and tried to persuade her to change her mind, Genevieve confided that someone had searched her cabin. She hinted, very subtly, that Rance Gilpatrick was involved. My guess is that he was and that his wife has found out about it. She’s a spirited woman. Maxine Gilpatrick would be outraged.”

  “She got her message across to her husband, I know that.”

  “It obviously stunned him. He didn’t even see me when he rushed past. Still,” he went on, “let’s forget his marital difficulties for a moment, shall we? Did you speak to Captain Piercey?”

  “We had a long talk, George.”

  “And?”

  “He wants to think it over.”

  “You mean, he won’t give us permission to open some of the cargo?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “But he must.”

  “Not without more evidence.”

  Dillman thrust a key at him. “Show him this.”

  “What is it?”

  “The key to the orlop deck. It fits, Mike. I’ve just tried it.”

  “Where did it come from?”

  “Tommy Gault’s pocket.”

  “You stole it?” asked the purser.

  “We borrowed it,” replied Dillman. “I played a little trick on him. While Genevieve was holding his jacket, she searched the pockets and found the key. How did a passenger come to have something as valuable as this in his possession?”

  “The skipper will ask the same question.”

  “Go back to him. Tell him we must examine that cargo.”

  “I will,” said the purser, taking the key. “But what will happen when Tommy Gault finds the key missing? He’ll guess who must have stolen it, surely?”

  Dillman smiled. “I doubt it. Genevieve and I have arrested enough pickpockets to know how they work. When she found the key in his pocket,” he said, “she replaced it with a similar one. Genevieve took a selection with her. My feeling is that Gault went down into the hold on the day we sailed to make sure that all of their cargo was aboard. He’ll have no reason to visit the orlop deck during the voyage.”

  “You’re a genius!”

  “Tell that to the captain. Oh, and while you’re at it, Mike, I need a favor.”

  “What is it?”

  “Genevieve and I have to be at the captain’s table tonight. Arrange it, please.”

  When he found the cabin, Rance Gilpatrick banged on the door with a bunched fist.

  “Maxine!” he called. “You in there?”

  “Go away!” she answered from inside.

  “Open this door.”

  “No, Rance.”

  “Open this door!” he shouted. “I’m not standing out here.”

  “Then take yourself off. You’re not coming into my cabin.”

  “We already have a cabin. On the boat deck.”

  “That’s all yours now,” she said coldly. “You can have as many meetings in there with Joe McDade as you like. I’ve got my own place now.”

  “Let me in!” he ordered.

  “Never again. You’re done with pushing me around.”

  He tried to control his ire. “Maxine, please,” he begged.

  “Good-bye, Rance.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “You know why.”

  “There’s no need to get sore with me, honey. I told you. I’ll fix everything. You want Miss Masefield to play the piano, you’ll have her. I guarantee it.”

  “Save your breath. Jenny guessed that you were behind it.”

  “Behind what?”

  “That search of her cabin.”<
br />
  “I swear to you that I had nothing to do with it!”

  “Tommy Gault sings a different tune.”

  He gulped. “Tommy?”

  “According to him, he went in there but found nothing. Tommy’s not very bright. When I told him I knew he’d carried out the search, he confirmed it. One of you is lying, Rance,” she concluded, “and it’s not him. Now disappear, will you?”

  There was a long pause. “Maxine,” he said at length.

  “Are you still there?”

  “We have to talk.”

  “No, Rance,” she said vehemently, “you have to learn to listen. We’re finished. I’ve walked out on you. I can’t share my life with a cheat and a liar. You spied on my friend and had her cabin searched. Why? What were you expecting to find? It’s a dreadful way to treat your wife’s friends.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s not the way it sounds. Let me explain.”

  “I’m sick of your explanations.”

  “Maxine!”

  “This conversation is over.”

  Gilpatrick was near despair. “We’ve got to sort this out. I can’t spend the rest of the voyage with my wife in a separate cabin. I’ve got business associates aboard. We have to be seen together, honey,” he pleaded. “Think how this will make me look.”

  From the other side of the door came the sound of mocking laughter.

  ______

  Luncheon found Genevieve Masefield back at the same table as Fay Brinkley. Their hosts, the Langmeads, had also invited the Newtons, along with Yves and Jeanne Houlier. It was an inspired selection. Everyone got on extremely well with one another and the repartee was witty and free flowing. Genevieve had finally shaken off both of her admirers. David Seymour-Jones adored her from a distant table and Willoughby Kincaid ogled her from a much closer one, but she was unperturbed. She could talk with friends instead of having to fend off unwelcome attentions. Seated next to her, Fay contrived a private word during the main course.

  “What’s all this about a song recital?”

  “I’ve had to withdraw, Fay.”

  “I didn’t know you were involved in the first place,” said Fay. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re a dark horse, Genevieve. How many other secrets are you holding back?”