by Q. Patrick
There was another colloquy outside my door a little later when Jennings and Trubshaw came back with the stewardess, but I would not let anyone come in. I assured them that I needed nothing and then I heard them all tiptoeing away down the corridor.
Yes, Davy, they tiptoed away; but all the long time I’ve been writing this, someone has kept tiptoeing back again continuously. The corridor outside my room is haunted with the sound of footsteps. That is one reason why I’ve been sitting up writing to you instead of taking Adam’s advice to “try to get some sleep.”
Now, darling, once again I see through the porthole that there is a “grey mist on the sea’s face and a grey dawn breaking.” The idea of new day is giving me back my sanity. There have been no footsteps for the last half hour and I am-beginning to feel safe again—safe, at least, behind my locked door. It’s like a release from suffering, Davy, this sudden sense of security after the agony of fear. I feel a little as I did when I came out from under the ether three weeks ago—shaky and sick, but free from the cruelty of pain.
Tomorrow, perhaps, I shall have more courage and be able to laugh about it all. So good night at last, my very dear.
On deck,
11:00 A. M.
And good morning,—oh, blessed morning, Davy darling! In this clear, unclouded sunshine, surrounded as I am by laughing crowds of gaily-dressed people, by all the carefree bustle of a ship at play, the terrors of last night seem not only unreal and fantastic—but more utterly ridiculous than anything that ever I have been concerned with!
Will my insatiable reporter’s instinct always hound me into such foolhardy exploits as last night’s expedition to Room 213? Will the irrepressible Irish strain in my somber Welsh blood continue to persuade me into crazy deeds of derring-do? If so, may the outcome be always an object lesson, as last night was; may my essentially feminine and hysterical makeup always betray me. Then perhaps in time, before you give me up altogether, I may learn to check those impulses.
But already, you see, I’ve recovered, physically and mentally. Joy cometh with the morning: my curiosity has been satisfied, and Mary is—to all intents and purposes—herself again.
But now, I imagine, you will be anxious to hear all about what happened last night after I passed out of the picture, and why Adam Burr had left his virginal couch to play sentinel outside my door in the wee small hours of the morning. I’ve just had it from Jennings and believe me it’s some story, my dear, but it’s too bad I should have missed it all by fainting.
My stewardess brought me some tea and toast at about nine o’clock, and I dressed as quickly as I could because I wanted to have it out once and for all with Mr. Jennings. I found him in his office, looking far more damaged than I after the exploits of last night, but he seemed very much relieved at the sight of me and perked up considerably when I told him that I was none the worse for my experience.
After I had told him all that I’ve just told you (omitting, of course, my absurd suspicion that he might be Robinson), the purser proceeded to give me his version of what happened after he left me to follow, moth-like, after the disappearing light.
“I shall never be able to forgive myself, Miss Llewellyn,” he said frankly, “for leaving you alone like that. I suppose I was a bit wrought-up myself, but when I saw that light, I really thought we might have discovered something at last, so I gave chase for all I was worth. I kept catching glimpses of a white figure in the light of my flasher, but I never got near enough to see who it was. But one thing I did know—the johnny I was chasing was just as familiar with the geography of the boat as I was. He led me a merry little dance, but I finally cornered him in one of the unused bathrooms. You’ll never guess who it was.”
“I’m past guessing anything,” I said.
“It was Trubshaw—”
“My steward!”
“Yes. The wretched fellow was terrified out of his wits, but he wouldn’t give me any explanation of his presence except to say that he was there in your interests. Well, this riled me a bit, as you can probably imagine, so I just marched him back to Room 213 at the point of the gun, determined that he should tell his story in front of you. I thought that possibly you might have told him to follow—”
“Good heavens, no,” I exclaimed. Then remembering my mistrust of Jennings, I shut my mouth and waited for him to continue.
“When I got back to Room 213,” he went on, “you can imagine my surprise to find that the door was locked. I listened a minute or two and, hearing noises inside, I banged for all I was worth, threatening to shoot the damned thing down if it wasn’t opened at once. I called your name but you didn’t answer. It was terrible.
“Then all of a sudden, I heard another voice—the door was
thrown open and I saw a man supporting you in his arms—”
“Oh, my God! Who on earth was it?”
“You may well ask, Miss Llewellyn,” replied Jennings, with a sly little smile. “I don’t know who I’d expect, but it certainly wasn’t the person I saw. It was Adam Burr—! His bald head was gleaming in the light of my flash-lamp and he was almost staggering in his efforts to support you and unlock the door at the same time. He looked so funny in his embroidered bathrobe —doing a sort of strong man act.”
“But why on earth was he there at all?” I asked incredulously. “I’ve never heard of anything so—so perfectly incongruous—to be locked alone in a stateroom with a corpse and Adam Burr!”
“Well,” said Jennings, “before asking Burr for any explanation the first thing to do—obviously—was to get you back to your stateroom.”
The purser then went on to describe how he and Trubshaw carried me through dark corridors and up innumerable companionways. (I can’t help being glad for their sakes that I still have to gain eleven pounds to reach my normal 120!)
“Mr. Burr came along, too,” continued the purser, “and—”
At this moment there was a knock at the door and Adam entered, looking very much the worse for wear and tear.
“Ah, we were just talking about you,” said Jennings cheerfully. “Perhaps you’d like to come in and tell the story of your life.”
Adam looked at me haggardly. “Thank God you’re all right,” he groaned.
“And what have you got to say for yourself, Mr. Burr?” I inquired archly. “Chasing a girl all over the ship that way—locking her into an empty stateroom? Are we going to have an explanation?”
Adam turned from one to the other of us and twiddled his thumbs. “Well,” he said at length, “Jennings has heard it all before, but—if you insist—it’s really quite simple—
“I’d been worried about you, Mary Llewellyn, for the past two days. You’d been avoiding me purposely and you’ve obviously had something on your mind. Yesterday I spoke to your steward about you. Trubshaw looked after me the last time I took this boat, so we are old friends. He told me about your anonymous letter. Well, the long and the short of it is that I promised him something—something pretty substantial—if he’d keep me in touch with your doings. You see,” he added apologetically, “we’ve lost one girl already on this trip—and—I happen to be rather fond of you, my dear. Fellow post-operatives and all that I But I won’t get sentimental. Last night he came to me and told me about your—er—projected expedition with Jennings. I offered him—”
There was an angry noise from the purser. “He shall hear about this from me,” he spluttered.
“Oh, no he won’t,” replied Adam suavely. “I told you last night that you are not going to make trouble for him, poor fellow, because if you do, it will mean awkward questions for you, John Jennings. You yourself might have some difficulty in explaining what you were doing alone with a young lady at 2:30 A. M. in the unoccupied parts of the ship. Now, don’t interrupt me any more.”
Adam came over and sat beside me; then he continued:
“Well, I decided to follow you. Trubshaw had a flash-light and claimed he knew the way. I’ll admit there was a double purpose in my plan.
I wanted to keep an eye on you, my dear, and, at the same time, to be in on any excitement that was going on. Well, we got to the corner without your suspecting that we were behind you. Then, after you got into the room, I was suddenly seized by an attack of sneezing. Trubshaw turned and fled, leaving me in complete darkness. I slipped past the door of No. 213 and heard Jennings go thundering along in the other direction. That gave me my opportunity to see what was going on in the stateroom, so I crept up to the door, slipped in and hid behind the curtains. I sensed at once that you were in a very nervous state, Miss Llewellyn. I decided, therefore, that I would not frighten you by announcing my presence until someone else was with you. I thought you’d just sit down and wait until Jennings came back. Everything was all right until you started to walk towards me. Then the ship gave a roll and your flashlight fell on the floor. Apparently losing your balance, you fell against me and clutched hold of my hand. I did not mean to scare you, but—well, the next thing I knew was that you were lying cold and limp in my arms and Jennings was uttering the most horrible threats from outside the door.”
“Well,” I said, “you are the first man that’s ever scared me into unconsciousness, but I’ve no doubt you acted with the best intentions. The road to Hell—”
“Exactly,” said Adam, “and I think our expedition of last night was a good example of what we shall let ourselves in for in the next world if we don’t mind our own business in this. Now, is everything forgiven and forgotten?”
“Certainly.”
Then we shook hands all round and Jennings produced some stuff called Amer Picon and we all took an apéritif, pledging each other to silence and secrecy as to the details of last night.
As Adam and I left the purser’s office, he whispered in my ear, “I didn’t tell Jennings that it was you who locked the door, my dear. But I think I know why you did it—”
“Oh, thank you,” I breathed fervently. “It was a wild impulse on the spur of the moment. He’s such a nice boy and—”
Here I heard my name called from the purser’s office. Bidding Adam wait for me on the upper deck, I reentered and found Jennings sitting where we had left him, a mischievous smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
“I thought perhaps you might be wondering why I—in my official capacity—did not take steps with regard to Mr. Burr’s extraordinary behavior last night?”
“I’ve got past wondering about anything on board this ship,” I replied.
“Well, has it ever occurred to you,” continued the purser, “that Adam Burr might be a villain—after all?”
“It has occurred to me, though, on the whole, I’m inclined to think that he is a nice, old fashioned gentleman with practically no vices except a slight and perfectly innocuous tendency toward being a ‘sugar daddy.’”
Jennings smiled, then he started to laugh, rather foolishly. Finally he spluttered out:
“You know, I almost had him arrested last night, but—when Trubshaw and I were carrying you back to your cabin—we had just reached a bulkhead—Burr started to push it back for us—there was a puff of wind—the embroidered robe was blown open—and—and—well, he clutched at it with frantic modesty—but, Miss Llewellyn—”
Here Jennings broke off and cleared his voice. Then he continued:
“At that moment I saw something which will establish his innocence once and for all—something that makes it impossible for me to believe evil of him. Miss Llewellyn—”
He lowered his voice as if to impart some scandalous impropriety,
“—he wears—a—nightshirt!”
On deck.
Wednesday, November 18th.
5:00 P. M.
So now, my dear, my confidence in Adam is completely restored and we are back on the old basis. I am reinstated in my former position as safety-valve and he is once again the father confessor and maiden aunt. It was Jennings’ account of his sleeping apparel that did it, Davy, for try as I will, I am utterly unable to visualize a villain who wears a nightshirt!
But I’ll come back to Adam later on. Meanwhile, I must tell you that I went down to see Mrs. Lambert after lunch. She is much calmer now and was holding quite an animated conversation with Earnshaw when I entered. Apparently she feels she would like to offer some sort of reward for information leading to the arrest of the criminal. In fact, she has suggested this to Captain Fortescue, but he is still unwilling to let the passengers know definitely that there is a cold-blooded murderer in their midst. The voyage has only just begun to take on some semblance of gaiety and relaxation, which he is naturally loath to disturb in any way.
Earnshaw, on the other hand, looks drawn and haggard. Even his dapper little moustache appears quite wilted and droopy. Several times I noticed that Mrs. Lambert was looking at him in a peculiar way as if she were afraid that he might be contemplating something desperate. I found him, nevertheless, extraordinarily controlled and reasonable, despite his air of dejection.
When I took my leave, he walked a little way down the corridor with me and I told him of my adventures of last night, omitting, of course, my various suspicions of the persons concerned. He listened with absorbed interest. When I had finished he said:
“That was a splendid idea of yours, Miss Llewellyn. I’ve spent a lot of time lately on this Robinson hunt, but I never thought of looking in that stateroom. It was a long shot of course and apparently didn’t lead to anything except—well, I’m bound to say I think Mr. Burr’s presence there was decidedly fishy!”
“Neither you nor Mrs. Lambert is particularly fond of Mr. Burr, are you?” I asked innocently.
“Oh, I’ve got nothing against him,” he said hurriedly. “Nothing whatever. He was a business rival of Mr. Lambert’s—but he seems a harmless old thing. Nevertheless, I hope you are taking care of yourself. When I think of what happened to Betty—I— You keep your door locked at night, I suppose?”
“Invariably; and the captain has told someone to watch my room. Don’t worry about me.”
He held out his hand and I saw him smile for the first time since Betty’s death; smile so almost tenderly, in fact, that I felt my nerves tingle a little bit, just as Betty’s might have done. But really only a tiny bit, darling.
“And you should take better care of yourself,” I added, “you look quite worn out.” Then I disengaged my hand which seemed to be still in his.
After this I went up on deck, where I was soon joined by Adam, who came fussing up to me like a freight train on a siding.
“Well, have you forgiven me?” he asked. “Have I proved at last that, though I am a bald-headed old prune, your safety is very near and dear to me? If I have, there’s a piece of news you might be interested to hear. It concerns yourself, incidentally.”
Of course, Davy, no one in the world can resist that kind of thing, so I quickly assured Adam that I was all ears.
“Well, we have some information about Betty at last. It’s not much, but it’s something. I went to see Jennings after lunch and started to tell him once again what I thought of him for taking you down to that filthy place in the middle of the night. Of course, John Jennings and I are old friends—but there are limits to what one will put up with, even from friends. Finally, he admitted that he had received instructions from the captain himself to let you have your way in everything, because—because apparently you are involved in Betty’s death more than you think.”
I sat up in my deck chair with a jerk. “Involved! What on earth do you mean? I was talking to Earnshaw in the smoking room when the poor child—”
“Oh, no. I don’t mean you are under suspicion. No, no. It would take a man—or at least a far stronger woman than you—to throw an able-bodied girl like Betty over that high rail. But, it appears that she left a message for you on the night that she died.”
“A message for me! I never got it.”
“No, unfortunately it was given to the steward at about nine o’clock and you never went down to your stateroom again. It happened this way,
apparently, though no one knows about it yet—that is, none of the passengers except you and me.”
“But, why wasn’t I told? Surely it’s my business if the message was for me.”
“Don’t be impatient, my dear. I’m telling you now. Well, as I was saying, or rather, as Jennings was saying an hour ago—Trubshaw, who is the Lamberts’ steward as well as yours, happened to pass the door of their suite at about 8:15. He heard an argument going on inside and suddenly the door was thrown open and Betty rushed out with tears in her eyes. He heard her parting words: ‘I don’t care what you say, I’m going to do it’ or something of the sort. The steward is positive of that. Then she went straight to her own stateroom and locked the door. About three quarters of an hour later she rang for Trubshaw. She was lying on the bed in the dark and her voice still sounded very tearful. Then she said that she wanted to see you just as soon as ever you came down to your stateroom. She gave him a dollar and made him promise not to tell a soul. At the same time she asked him to get in touch with you at whatever hour you appeared, as it was very urgent. It’s too bad you never got the message—you might have saved the poor kid’s life. She was never seen after that, except by her aunt at eleven o’clock, just before she was murdered.”
“How frightful!” I exclaimed. “I expect she wanted to ask me to go on that date with her. But it’s no wonder Mrs. Lambert was worried and got up to look for her. Incidentally, was she able to throw any light on the earlier incident?”
“Oh, of course, Mrs. Lambert was terribly upset when the subject was brought up. She blames herself for not being more sympathetic with her niece. Apparently she had asked Betty what she was going to do with herself that evening and Betty said that, since Earnshaw was busy, she was going to keep a date which she had on deck. Mrs. Lambert asked if the date was with you, and Betty finally confessed that it was with a man. Her aunt remonstrated pretty strongly, pointing out that it wasn’t exactly the thing for her to make herself conspicuous with strangers so soon after her uncle’s death. At last she (very foolishly) forbade her to go and Betty flung out of the room with the words which Trubshaw overheard.”