Murder on the Oceanic

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Murder on the Oceanic Page 17

by Conrad Allen


  “I did,” confessed Killick, “but, with typical altruism, I was ready to lose her to a better man. Unfortunately, Bossingham is not that person. He’ll only crush her spirit and rob her of her delightful spontaneity. I think that Blanche finally realized that.”

  “Is that why you went over to him?” asked Genevieve.

  “I went to save a damsel in distress.”

  “Very chivalrous of you, Jonathan,” said Morgan.

  “I was too late, as it happens. I’ve been keeping an eye on them all evening,” said Killick, “and I could see that a storm was brewing. They had an argument of some kind then Blanche leapt up from the table and charged off. She’s probably weeping her heart out now.”

  “Then it’s up to her fiancé to console her.”

  “Any other person would be aware of that, Mr. Morgan, but not this particular one. In order to console her, Bossingham would have to visit her cabin, you see, and that would mean stepping over an invisible line that divides betrothal from marriage.”

  “I’ve met him,” said Genevieve. “He’s a slave to propriety.”

  “So, alas, am I,” said Killick with a hand on his heart, “or I’d be the first to offer my sympathy. Given the circumstances, it looks as if that duty falls to you, Miss Masefield.”

  “Me?”

  “At this moment in time, you’re probably the best friend that Blanche has on this ship. She’s in great distress, I can tell.”

  Genevieve made an instant decision. “I’ll have to go to her.”

  By the end of the meal, Abednego Thomas had sufficiently overcome his hatred of bankers to invite Ethan Boyd and his wife to join them in the lounge. The Americans were happy to accept the invitation, untroubled by the fact that most people in first class would treat the artist like a pariah. The Welshman looked across at Dillman.

  “You’ll come with us as well, George.”

  “I’ll join you in due course,” said Dillman.

  Veronica was dismayed. “We can’t let you run away from us.”

  “I’ll be back before long.”

  “I’ll come searching for you, if you don’t.”

  As they got up to leave the dining room, Dillman made sure that he was at the back of the group so that he could slip away once they were outside. He hoped to catch Genevieve’s eye before he left but she seemed to have vanished already. Morgan was hauling himself out of his seat before leading his party toward the door. Jonathan Killick was at his elbow. Dillman was pleased to see that the financier was keeping up appearances so well. Diverting attention away from the crimes that had occurred in his stateroom was of crucial importance.

  The first place that Dillman visited was the purser’s cabin. Lester Hembrow looked resplendent in his uniform but his face was clouded. He was under severe pressure from the captain to make an arrest.

  “I told him that he must be patient,” he said.

  “We’ll get there in time.”

  “How many suspects are left on the list?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “That sounds like an ominous number, George.”

  “It’s unlucky for the killer,” said Dillman. “I know that.”

  “You started out with seventy-three. Somehow, you’ve managed to cross sixty names off the list.”

  “Most people crossed their own names off, Lester. I only had to look at them to see that they were innocent. When I sat down to dinner, I had fifteen names left but, by chance, two of those people happened to be at the same table as me.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Ethan and Rosalie Boyd.”

  “Yes,” said Hembrow, “I met her. Mrs. Boyd is a nice lady but a trifle featherbrained. She was the one who reported the theft of a purse that had inadvertently been left in the library.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me. Her husband is the president of a bank in Washington, D.C. Since they own two holiday homes and can afford to spend a month every year in Europe, I don’t think that they need to steal anything from J. P. Morgan.” He gave a dry laugh. “The only thing that Ethan Boyd would like to steal is his autograph — preferably on a check.”

  “I doubt if Mr. Morgan is in the giving vein just now.”

  “We’ll have to ask Genevieve.”

  “Why?”

  “She was bidden to his table for the second time running.”

  “In view of what happened, I thought she’d want to avoid him.”

  “If he’s still angry with her,” said Dillman, “he didn’t show it in public. Whenever I glanced across at them, he and Genevieve seemed to be having an amicable conversation. When he sees her in private, however, it might be a little different.”

  “There’s one sure way to sweeten his disposition.”

  “Yes — catch the villain. I’ll get back on his trail, Lester.”

  “Please do,” said the purser. “I’ll pacify the captain somehow. Any suggestions as to what I might tell him?”

  Dillman grinned. “Tell him to steer due west and that we’re bound to sight land eventually.”

  He patted Hembrow on the shoulder then let himself out. Dillman began a systematic patrol of the corridors, beginning in second class then working his way back up the first-class quarters. Very few people were about and he saw nothing suspicious. He concluded his tour by checking on the stateroom occupied by J. P. Morgan, trying the door to make certain that it was locked then doing the same with the adjoining cabin. Howard Riedel’s belongings were still inside but he himself was lying on a bed of ice in another part of the vessel.

  Dillman strolled along the corridor toward the staircase that would take him up to the lounge. On his way, he passed the cabin that he had seen Manny Ellway peering into and he wondered what had aroused the steward’s interest. Curiosity made him stop outside the door. He decided to look through the keyhole himself but met with an insurmountable problem. There was a key in the lock on the other side. When he tried the handle, the door would not budge. Dillman was puzzled. How could an empty cabin be locked from the inside?

  ———

  Genevieve Masefield was on a mission of mercy. She was sorry to hear that Blanche Charlbury had fallen out with her fiancé but it did provide her with a welcome excuse to leave the table. She felt that she had spent enough time in the company of J. P. Morgan and she was more than ready to escape from Jonathan Killick. Though she did not wish to get involved in a closer friendship with Blanche, she was willing to respond to what seemed to be her hour of need. Reaching the cabin, she tapped on the door. There was no reply. She knocked harder.

  “Who is it?” asked a tearful voice from inside the cabin.

  “It’s me — Genevieve.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I just came to see how you were.”

  “This is not a good time to talk, Genevieve.”

  “Then I’ll leave you be. Good night, Blanche.”

  “No, wait,” said the other, changing her mind. The door opened. “Come inside for a moment.”

  Genevieve stepped into the cabin and the door was closed firmly behind her. Blanche had obviously been crying. Her eyes were red, her face lined, and her whole body sagged. She was unrecognizable from the confident young woman who had come into the dining room earlier. Genevieve was so moved to see her in such a state that she offered her hands. After squeezing them gratefully, Blanche flung herself into her friend’s arms and sobbed loudly. Genevieve held her tight and let her cry her fill. Then she guided Blanche to a chair.

  “What happened?” she asked softly.

  “We had a terrible argument.”

  “You must have done to flee from the dining room like that.”

  “When I heard the knock on the door,” said Blanche, “I thought that it might be Mark. The awful thing is that I didn’t know if I wanted it to be him or not. I’m so glad that it’s you.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “You could give me some advice, please.”

  “Of
course.”

  “But first, I must be honest with you. When I told you earlier that I wouldn’t be able to see quite so much of you, it wasn’t only because I wanted to spend more time alone with Mark.”

  “I know, Blanche. It was because he disapproves of me.”

  “I can’t for the life of me see why.”

  “He has his reasons, I’m sure,” said Genevieve, “but I don’t think that I was the cause of the argument — or was I?”

  “No, no.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  “Alicia Tremaine. At least, that’s how it all started. Johnny Killick made a point of whispering her name in my ear. According to him, my brother knew the girl at Oxford. That much is true — Dickon was madly in love with someone called Ally when he was at Balliol.”

  “How does Mark fit into this?”

  “Johnny says that my brother passed her on to him.”

  “Passed her on?”

  “It sounds dreadful, doesn’t it? I know that I’d hate the thought that any man had passed me on like a discarded overcoat.”

  “I don’t quite see what the problem is, Blanche.”

  “Mark denied that he’d ever heard of Alicia Tremaine.”

  “Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps Jonathan Killick was lying.”

  “No, Genevieve. The girl existed and Mark must have known her because he and Dickon were like brothers. I pressed him and pressed him over dinner. In the end, he admitted that he’d had what he called a fleeting friendship with her.”

  “But it was years ago,” argued Genevieve.

  “That’s not the point. He lied to me. Mark quizzed me very closely about any romances that I’d had in the past, but he kept the truth from me about this particular girl.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Genevieve’s sympathy welled up. Blanche had set such great store by the voyage. Deeply in love with her fiancé, she saw it as a time for bonding with him, for getting to know him properly and for rehearsing, to some degree, the companionship they would share after marriage. All at once, her certainties had been shattered and she was bereft. The worst of it was that Blanche still had days to spend on the Oceanic, followed by a long spell in her fiancé’s company in New York, then a return voyage to England. It was a bleak prospect.

  “What am I to do, Genevieve?” she bleated.

  “Take time to think it over. It may look rather different in the morning. It was wrong of Mark to mislead you like that but he does deserve the chance to explain himself.”

  “I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

  “An apology is definitely in order here,” said Genevieve. “He has to make amends by being more candid about his past. You’re going to be his wife, Blanche. There should be no secrets of that kind between you.”

  “Supposing that he won’t apologize?”

  “Then the situation will become more serious.”

  “That’s what I’m frightened of,” admitted Blanche, biting her lip. “It’s an awful feeling to know that you’ve been lied to but I hate the idea that I might actually lose Mark. We’re engaged.”

  “I’m sure that he doesn’t want to lose you either.”

  “It may come to that.”

  There was a fresh burst of tears and Genevieve put an arm around her as she dabbed at her eyes with an already moist handkerchief. Blanche made an effort to pull herself together. She swallowed hard.

  “What would you do in my position?” she asked. “Not that you’d ever be in similar circumstances, of course.”

  “As it happens, I have been.”

  Blanche was taken aback. “You were engaged?”

  “For a time.”

  “When — and to whom?”

  “That’s irrelevant,” said Genevieve, reluctant to give her too much detail. “The simple fact is that I had a fiancé whom I loved and trusted until he did something that was quite unforgivable. I had no option but to break the engagement off.”

  “You mean that infidelity was involved?” said Blanche, aghast.

  “I mean that his behavior was totally unacceptable. Now, that’s not the case here. Mark has been less than honest with you about something that happened during his undergraduate days,” Genevieve went on, “but I don’t feel that that’s a good enough reason in itself to make you sever the relationship. That has to be a last resort.”

  “I know.”

  “Mark has some explaining to do but, by the same token, you must give him the opportunity to do it. It’s worth remembering that this whole business blew up because of someone else’s mischief-making.”

  “Johnny Killick would love to break us up.”

  “Then don’t give him the pleasure. Close ranks.”

  “I want an apology first.”

  “From what I’ve seen of Mark, you can count on getting one.”

  “I ought to get one from Johnny as well but there’s no chance of that. Well, you’ve seen him in action. You know the sort of person he is.”

  “Quite,” said Genevieve. “What interests me is how he got to know about this girl in the first place. Over dinner, he was boasting to us that he got sent down from Oxford after four terms.”

  “It was amazing that he lasted that long, Genevieve.”

  “Did he overlap with Mark and your brother?”

  “For a short while,” said Blanche. “All three were in the same dining club. Needless to say, Johnny disgraced himself regularly there. And he didn’t do a scrap of work.”

  “Is that why he was kicked out of Oxford?”

  “No,” replied Blanche, “it was for stealing. They caught him taking money from rooms belonging to one of the dons. Johnny was always short of cash. He even tried to pawn some of the college plate and there was a real scandal about that.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “He was lucky that they didn’t prosecute.”

  “Why didn’t they?”

  “His father stepped in and poured oil on troubled waters by making a hefty donation to college funds. But Johnny was sent down on the spot.”

  “Serves him right.”

  “It wasn’t the first time, you see.”

  “Oh?”

  “He was expelled from Harrow for exactly the same thing.”

  “Stealing?”

  “Yes, Genevieve,” she said. “Johnny always claims that he only does it in fun but we don’t believe him. It’s in his character. He finds it daring to take risks and sail close to the wind. Oddly enough, he does have some good qualities as well and that’s why I was drawn to him. He can be kind and extraordinarily generous. But there’s one thing about Johnny Killick that all his friends know — he’s a thief.”

  Fond of a smoke at the end of each day, Sidney Browne had sneaked out on deck to enjoy a cigarette and stare up at the stars. In such moments of contemplation, he wondered what impulse had driven him to become a steward on an ocean liner, and he speculated on how much happier his lot might have been if he had followed his father into the boot-making trade. When his cigarette was almost spent, he took one last pull on it then flicked the butt into the sea. It was time to turn in.

  Manny Ellway was the only person in their cabin, sitting on his bunk and reading a newspaper. He looked up with a smile.

  “Hello, Sid. Had your fag on deck?”

  “Yes,” said Browne gloomily. “Bleedin’ cold out there.”

  “Don’t know how you can afford to smoke. I can’t.”

  “It’s the only pleasure left in life, Manny. What you got there?”

  “One of the passengers gave me this.”

  “But it must be days out of date.”

  “So what? Time stands still on the Atlantic.” He put the paper aside. “How are you getting on with Mr. Morgan now?”

  “Very well. ’Aven’t set eyes on ’im all day.”

  “Is that bodyguard of his still laid up?”

  “Yes,” replied Browne, “and I ’ope it’s somethi
n’ serious. Nasty piece of work, ’e was, that Mr. ’oward Riedel. I always gets the worst passengers. I’d change my lot for yours straightaway.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you met them.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well,” said Ellway with a chuckle, “you may have some nasty people but I’ve certainly got some really weird ones.”

  “Such as?”

  “That Welsh artist I told you about — Abednego Thomas.”

  Browne smirked. “The one who paints them naked ladies?”

  “He doesn’t only paint them, Sid.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is between the two of us, mind. I don’t usually tell tales about passengers but I know I can trust you. So keep this to yourself. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “There’s funny goings in that cabin and I’m not at all sure it should be allowed.”

  “What did you see?” asked Browne, agog.

  “It’s not so much what I saw, Sid, as what I worked out. Mr. and Mrs. Thomas are in one cabin, see, and this French young lady, his model, is in the one next door. At least,” said Ellway, “that’s how it was on the first night.”

  Browne rubbed his hands. “This is gettin’ interestin’, Manny.”

  “Mrs. Thomas wears this lovely blue nightdress. She made it herself. She designs all her clothes.”

  “So?”

  “The French lady has this red silk nightdress.”

  “If she’s used to posin’ naked all day, I’m surprised that she wears anythin’ at all in bed. You know what these French women are like.”

  “I’m beginning to find out,” admitted Ellway. “When I turned down the beds earlier, they’d changed places. The red silk nightdress was folded up neatly under the pillow in Mr. Thomas’s cabin while the blue one had moved to the cabin next door.”

  “That is weird,” said Browne, “and no mistake. Why should the two ladies want to wear each other’s nightdresses?”

  “They don’t, Sid.”

  “Then why did they …?”

  Browne stopped as he realized that another interpretation could be placed on the facts. Ellway was still not certain if he should be shocked or amused, but his friend was not hampered by indecision. Putting his head back, Browne emitted a high-pitched cackle.

  “The lucky devil!” he cried. “Abednego Thomas is sleepin’ with each of them in turn. I tell you what, Manny, I wouldn’t mind bein’ an artist if that kind of thing is normal.”

 

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