Adventure Tales, Volume 5

by Achmed Abdullah

  “She would have had to smuggle them in, wouldn’t she?” asked Beverley of Toronto. The remark was more of a statement than a question.

  “Yes,” replied Lavender, “but that plan was probably worked out to the last comma. Smuggling offers no great difficulties to a clever person.”

  At the close of the meal, we were surrounded by interested questioners; but not even the wiles of Betty Cos­grave, the screen star, could shake Lavender’s re­serve. We heartlessly left the purser to answer all interviewers, and hurried on deck. On the way up, we passed the cap­tain, a pleasant-faced Englishman some­what past middle life. He had something on his mind.

  “Er—Mr. Lavender,” he ob­served, “Mr. Crown has been keeping me in­formed, of course, of ­this ­ex­ra­ordinary business. Nasty—very nasty indeed! Sin­ister! Mr. Crown, of course, acts for me and for the company. I have no wish to interfere with what is in better hands than my own; but you will understand that I am deeply affected by it all. May I ask whether you anticipate a—a success­ful conclusion?”

  “Entirely successful, Captain Rog­ers,” replied Lavender seriously. “It is the sort of case the very simplicity of which makes it difficult; but I believe it is yield­ing to treatment. I believe, quite hon­estly, that before long I shall be able to present you with the murderer of the Baroness Borsolini, and to turn over the stolen jewels.”

  “Thank you,” said the captain with a nod. “I have every confidence in you. And in Major Rittenhouse, too. Crown tells me you are both quite fam­ous men in your field. I am sorry I could not have you at my table. If I can be of service, please command me.”

  We finished our journey to the boat deck, without further interruption, and found our long-unused deck chairs await­ing us. The night had cleared, but a cold breeze was blowing over the sea, and we wrapped ourselves in rugs to our chins.

  “You seem pretty confident of suc­cess, Jimmie,” I ventured, when our pipes were going strongly, and the mo­ment seemed propitious.

  “I am confident,” said he. “It is be­yond credence that this fellow can es­cape. I am working privately on an idea of my own that, I confess, may not work out; but it looks promising. Frankly, Gilly, it has to do with that fragment of paper that the baroness gave young Russell; but that is all I dare say about it, at present. And I will ask you to keep that much a secret. What I want, of course, is the other piece of the paper—the larger piece.”

  “Did Mrs. Rittenhouse identify it?” I asked curiously.

  “She did,” replied my friend, almost grimly. “She identified it in a moment, because both she and her sister have papers exactly like it. Rit is working with me in this, and I may hear from him at any minute. He is less of a figure than I, in this thing, and can snoop about with less attention.”

  We sat in silence for a few mo­ments, listening to the throb of the ship’s great engines, and the rush of water beyond the white line of the rail. Then I spoke again. “Gallery was a bit previous, wasn’t he, Jimmie, in cabling Scotland Yard to help you?”

  “No, it was all right,” replied my friend, with a little smile. “Don’t be jeal­ous, Gilly. I know exactly why Gallery did that. He thought that I might, at the last moment, feel some embarrassment in using the wireless; that is, that I might find myself in a position where I could not use it without be­traying my suspicions, whatever they might be, to the person suspected. He anticipates that my use of the ship’s wireless, if my act­ions are being watched—and, rest as­sured, they are being watched—may alarm the murderer. It was a piece of clear think­ing on Gallery’s part, a resourceful man’s safe­guard against chance or pro­babil­ity.”

  I nodded, and again we sat with­out speech, until a step sounded along the boards, and the tall figure of the Major hove in view. Rittenhouse seated himself without a word beyond a greeting, and for a few moments we all smoked in silence.

  “Murchison is still ill,” he said, “but he’s coming around. I’ve seen him again. He has nothing to add to his first statement. He saw no one but the stewardess last night; he is willing to swear to that. I’ve had another whirl at Dover, the watch­man, too. He now re­members see­ing the doctor leave Mur­chison’s cabin. The incident made no impression on him, and he didn’t think of it before; it was just a part of routine to him, to see Brown in attendance somewhere or other. All in all, Jimmie, there is no escaping your con­clusion, and I am prepared to accept it.”

  “Yes,” replied Lavender, “it’s pretty certain; but the fellow must be made to betray himself. We haven’t enough to go on, as it is. It’s dangerously near being guesswork. You asked Crown about the baroness’s papers?”

  “I did. He has them in safekeep­ing. Not a thing in them, he says, that gives us a clue.”

  Lavender smiled. “There wouldn’t be,” he rejoined laconically. “Anyway, I’ve been through them twice, myself.”

  “However, I told him of the fragment of paper Russell gave you,” continued Rittenhouse. “It startled him.”

  “When are you going to tell me?” I demanded, at this juncture. “Where do I come in, Jimmie? Can I do no­thing?”

  Lavender turned to me very ser­i­ously.

  “The fact is, Gilly,” he said, “you will be a much better witness in all that is to follow, if you know nothing for a while. You can do one thing, though; you can keep an eye on me! I mean it. The fat is in the fire, if I’m not mistaken, and from now on, I shall be a marked man. I shall go calmly about my business, as if all were well, and it is up to you and Rit to see that I don’t get a knife in my back, or something equally unpleasant. Rit and I know the murderer. The question is: does he know that we know? I don’t think he suspects Rit; but he may suspect me. And the more innocent you appear, Gilly, the better it will be all around. But keep your eyes open.”

  “All right, Jimmie,” I replied obediently. But I was horrified by the turn the case was taking, and for a long time I sat and thought deeply, while the two cur­ious fellows who were with me ac­tually sat and talked about base­ball.

  Who, by any chance, could have com­mitted the crime? Who had the op­por­tunity? I faced the problem squarely, and admitted that there were plenty of persons who could have done it. In addi­tion to the great numbers of obscure passengers, first and second class, who had not even been named in the inquiry, there were undoubtedly half a dozen prin­cipals who might very well be definite suspects. The second class outfit, I was inclined to disregard, for a second class passenger surely would have been noticed by one of the stewards, if he trespassed on holy ground. And yet, as I came to think of it, was there so much difference between a first and a second class passenger? Actually, I was forced to admit, there was none, so far as ap­pearance was concerned. Of the principal figures, however, five at least, as I now numbered them, stood forth clearly as possibilities. All had been, or could have been, near the scene of the murder at the time it occurred. And with something of a thrill, I realized that I must add young Russell to the list. I did not for a moment suspect him, but for that matter I hardly suspected any of the others.

  And Lavender was in actual, active danger of one of them! Clearly, there was only one thing for me to do, and that was to watch everybody. I resolved to watch the entire ship, from the captain on down, not excluding Rittenhouse him­self. Since I was to be Lavender’s guard­ian, by Heaven, I would suspect ­every­body!

  In this frame of mind, I went to bed and dreamed a mad, fantastic dream in which the captain of the liner, which curiously had become a pirate ship, stole into Lavender’s stateroom and stabbed him with a ­fragment of paper, while the Baroness Bor­sol­ini joined hands with Rit­ten­house and danced around them. Waking with a start, I sat up and listened. Finally, I knocked three times on the wall of my cabin, and listened again. After a pause, there came back to me Lavender’s reply, in similar code. And after this performance, I turned over and managed to get to sleep.

  * * * *

  The morning of the fourth day broke clear and fair and cold. I w
ent at once to Lavender’s room, to find him already up and gone. He did not ap­pear until breakfast, and I had no op­portunity to ask him where he had been; but it oc­curred to me that he was not playing fair. If I was to guard him against assassination, he ought at least to keep me posted as to his move­ments. So I thought.

  Breakfast passed with the usual chat­ter about the uppermost subject in every­body’s mind, and at a table not far ­re­moved from ours sat Murchison, the Iowa clergyman, eating his first meal in the saloon. He looked pale and thin, but happy to be on earth and able to eat. Later, I saw him in conversation with the purser, and still later with the captain. Was he, then, the heart of the mystery, and were the coils beginning to tighten?

  Lavender too had a brief talk with the captain, after which they vanished in company, while Rittenhouse and the pur­ser talked in low tones at the door of the latter’s office. Obviously, something was afoot, and I felt strangely out in the cold. Then Mrs. Rittenbouse, and her sister, Miss Renshaw, corralled me, and for an hour I was forced to sing the praises of my friend Lavender to their admiring accompaniment.

  After this, however, the suppressed excitement seemed to loosen up, and for an entire day the routine of ship life went quietly forward with only casual mention of the crime. Some gayety was even apparent in the lounges and in the smok­ing rooms, and I reflected sar­donically on the adaptability and the callousness of human nature. The fifth day would be the last on board, for the sixth morning would bring us into port. It was this knowledge, I suppose, that cheered the passengers, although the Lord knew that the voyage had been anything but bore­some.

  When I asked Lavender what progress had been made, he answered merely that he was “waiting.”

  * * * *

  ON the fifth morning, I suddenly re­membered that this was the ­an­ni­ver­sary of my birth—not a ­par­tic­ularly sig­nificant occasion, Heaven knows, but at least a subject for tri­vial conversation. Lavender, how­ever, greeted the tidings with singular ­en­thus­iasm, and promptly ordered a splen­did dinner for the evening; Rit­ten­house ordered wine dur­ing the after­noon, to drink my health, and Mrs. Rittenhouse and her sister em­bar­rassed me immensely by present­ing me with ridiculous speeches, with tiny bot­tles of perfume and of post-shaving lotion, purchased of the ship’s barber. The dinner went off with gusto, with everybody or­dering cham­pagne and mak­ing ­id­iotic ad­dresses, to which I lamely re­sponded.

  My hum­ble birthday, indeed, was made an oc­casion for strained nerves to re­lax and for worried men to forget their problems. To cap the climax, when I went to my cabin in the evening, there was a gorgeously wrapped and tied box of cigars and cigarettes, with the cap­tain’s card attached to it, and a huge box of candies, with the purser’s com­pliments similarly presented. I felt ex­cess­ively guilty about these latter gifts, feel­ing as I did that they were intended to show appreciation of La­vender’s ser­vices. Lavender, however, only laughed and was pleased that my birth­day should have passed off so well.

  “Any occasion is good for a celebration, at sea,” he observed.

  Late in the afternoon, we had dropped anchor in the outer harbor of Cherbourg, while a tender took off our passengers for Paris. Then, with a fresh breeze, we had headed for England and the end of the voyage. I had noted that, during the transfer of passengers for France, Lavender stood at the gangplank stretched between the steamers, and care­fully observed every person who went aboard the tender. For a time, I had looked for fireworks, but apparently there was no call for his interference.

  We sat late that night, upon the deck, the three of us, and for a time the purser made a quartette. It was with reluctance that Crown took his departure.

  “We dock in the morning,” he said, as he prepared to go. “I’ve a nasty report to make to the company, Mr. Lavender. You haven’t anything to tell me that will make it easier?”

  “The report will be full and complete,” replied my friend. “The mur­derer will be apprehended at quar­antine, by Scotland Yard officials, and the jewels will be turned over at that time.”

  Crown was startled and amazed.

  “You don’t mean to say that—that you’ve got your man!”

  “Not yet,” said Lavender, “but I shall certainly get him. Crown, he is one of the officers of this ship.”

  The purser’s jaw dropped; his fat cheeks sagged. His eyes searched the eyes of Lavender.

  “My God!” he said. “I’m almost afraid to ask you—who he is!”

  Suddenly he got to his feet. “Will you come to my cabin?” he asked. “This is no place to discuss what you have to tell me.”

  Lavender nodded his head and stood up. They moved off together in the di­rection of the forward deck.

  “Ready, Gilruth!” said the Major, sharply, and I saw that his face was hard and set, his limbs braced. “After them quickly.”

  The sudden intelligence seared my brain like a hot iron, and then I went cold. But Rittenhouse was already on his way, and mechanically I followed him.

  We were none too soon. Lavender and the purser had barely disappeared beyond the cheek of the wireless cabin, when the huge criminal fell upon his companion. There was a shout, and then a scuffling of feet and the sound of blows. The next instant, Rittenhouse and I were on the scene.

  In the deep shadow of the piled life­boats, a desperate struggle was in pro­gress, with the rail and the water dan­gerously close. Even as we reached them, the wrestlers pitched toward the edge; the great bulk of the purser was forcing the slimmer figure of Lavender back over the rail. I heard the cold rush of the water, and the heaving breathing of the combatants. The wind snatched away my cap, and tingling spray beat upon my face.

  Then Rittenhouse was upon the pur­ser like a wolf, and with cleared wits I was beside him, aiding.

  The powerful Crown fought like a maniac, but the odds were now against him, and slowly we wore him down. Hag­gard and disheveled, he struggled to the last. At length, Rittenhouse tripped him and brought him down with a thud that seemed to shake the deck. Kneeling on the great heaving chest of the beaten man, the Major forced the purser’s wrists together, while Lavender snapped on brace­lets of steel. As the struggle ended, Captain Rogers and his first officer ran up out of the shadows.

  “Mr. Crown, Mr. Crown,” panted the captain, “what is the meaning of this?”

  But as the purser could only glare and foam, Lavender, slightly breathless, replied for him.

  “It means, sir,” said he, “that Mr. Crown has just been frustrated in an at­tempt to throw me overboard. Major Rit­tenhouse and Mr. Gilruth pre­vented him. As I explained to you, our actual evidence was slight, and it be­came necessary to force Mr. Crown to incriminate himself. The attempted mur­der of James E. Lavender will do for the present charge. Later it will be changed to something more serious.”

  The first officer was incredulous.

  “Do you mean,” he began, “that Mr. Crown had anything to do with—?”

  “I believe the murder of the Baron­ess Borsolini to have been accidental,” ans­wered Lavender. “None the less, it was Mr. Crown who committed the crime.”

  Suddenly the fat face of the prostrate man wrinkled like that of a child, and the great frame began to heave. Then sobs of anguish broke from the lips, and ­in­credible tears rolled down the massive cheeks.

  “I didn’t mean to kill her,” sobbed the purser. “I swear to God, Captain, it was an accident! I never meant to kill her. So help me God, it was an accident!”

  * * * *

  V

  With the purser safely locked in his room, under heavy guard, Laven­der, in the captain’s cabin, repeated the tale as chronologically it should be told.

  “The Baroness Borsolini,” said he, “was really Kitty Desmond, a well-known adventuress. Crown has made a full confession to me and to Ritten­house. Miss Desmond was made the re­pository of the stolen Schuyler jew­els, and sent to England with them, where they were to be sold, I imagine, and the
money di­vided. She re­cog­nized me when I came on board, and wondered if I were on her trail. It worried her, and she made the bold play of coming to me with a cock-and-bull story of attempted theft, in or­der to find out what I knew and, if I knew nothing, to gain my sympathies. I am convinced that there was no attempt on her room, the first night.

  “Crown, however, recognized her. She had been a frequent voyager on the Atlantic, and many men knew her. She had been pointed out to Crown, a year ago, on another ship. He knew only that she was a police character, and probably up to no good. When I sent her to him, to test her story, she was obliged to carry the thing through, and tell him the same story she had told me. She trusted Crown’s office, as she had every right to do, and actually deposited the jewels there, and re­ceived the usual receipt.

  “But the temptation was too great for Crown. He was desperately hard up—deeply in debt—back home in England. It looked to him like a sure thing. He would keep the jewels himself, steal the receipt which had been issued to Kitty Desmond, and defy her to say anything. He was, of course, in a position to fix the records in his own office, and being a matter of routine no one else likely to remember the issu­ing of that particular receipt. There could be no ap­peal for the woman; her story would be laughed at, if she re­ported it, for her reputation was against her. Probably she would accept the inevitable and make no outcry.

  “Crown’s slip occurred when, on the second night, he stole the receipt which had been given her. She woke up, and to keep her from screaming, he choked her. His reputation de­pended upon his silencing her, at least until he could talk to her. If he had not killed her, he would have offered her—when she caught him in the act of theft—a share of the pro­fits. Unfortunately, she died under his hands; he is stronger than he suspects. He got the receipt, however, and fled. No one saw him; he had timed everything very well.