Murder on the Titanic

by Evelyn Weiss

which he was reliving at the precise moment when he saw those papers in Agnes’s hand. A total emotional crisis which manifested itself as a physical seizure.”

  Chisholm looks at the professor and me: he understands. “So, what we conclude from all this is that the blackmail letter is irrelevant to the murder of Percy Spence – and that Unity, not Gwyneth, is Gilmour’s wife. Which is where we come to you, Gwyneth.”

  The fourth person in the room has been silent throughout our discussion. She sits in the corner, and although wrapped in an invalid’s blanket, covering the bandages which staunch her side, her eyes are bright. She seems almost relieved that we now know at least part of the truth about her.

  “Yes, you are correct. I am not Gwyneth Gilmour: I am Gwyneth Ogilvie – which is my maiden name.”

  I ask Gwyneth a question that has been in my mind a long time. “Are you also known as Colette Morgan?”

  Gwyneth laughs. “Yes. Of course I am.”

  She smiles at me, Chisholm and the professor in turn. But there’s no chance for any of us to reply. Because we hear a knock at the door, then it opens immediately, without waiting for our response. We stare in surprise as four men enter the room. Inspector Trench is followed by the two NYPD officers. I notice the hang of their jackets: they are carrying guns again.

  Behind them, Lord Buttermere enters, and closes the door. He looks at us, and there is ice in his eyes.

  “This is all very cozy. But I’m afraid this little party has to be broken up.” He glances across, like a signal, to the two police officers. They move to stand side by side behind Chisholm’s chair.

  “Sir Chisholm Strathfarrar. As you know, we received a telegram ordering your complete obedience to me, on pain of a charge of treason.”

  Chisholm looks up. He’s silent and calm. Lord Buttermere’s voice carries on.

  “Unfortunately, your deliberate disregard of my orders nearly led to the destruction of this ship and the loss of every life on board. Even as it stands, Mrs Gilmour was shot during a violent struggle that you initiated. I have no alternative but to ask Inspector Trench to place you under arrest, for the crime of treason. Treason on the high seas, in fact.” He turns his head, and speaks more softly. “Inspector, will you say the necessary words, and then take Sir Chisholm to the ship’s cell?”

  Inspector Trench’s dour pallor looks even grayer than usual. He says the arresting speech without expression, but I hear every word sticking in his throat. I can tell that he’s deeply unhappy with the actions that he’s involved in. After the inspector has spoken, no one does anything. The inspector and the two police officers don’t move: they just stand there, looking embarrassed, even ashamed.

  Chisholm seems resigned. He speaks wearily, like someone who feels compelled to point out niggling details even though he knows that no-one will pay any attention. “Two small but important points, Lord Buttermere. Firstly, I didn’t disobey your orders. Nolan was the one giving all the orders in the shaft tunnel. The only instruction you gave to us was that once we had escaped from Nolan, we should hold back from telling Captain Haddock, in order to give you time to do some kind of deal with Nolan. I disagreed with that course of action – but I didn’t do anything you had forbidden.

  And secondly, you’ve got the sequence of events wrong. Gwyneth was shot before my struggle with Nolan. But I guess those two facts don’t really matter to you, do they? You’re determined to arrest me.”

  Lord Buttermere doesn’t even both to answer. He simply looks at the police officers. “Well, get on with it. Take him to the cells.”

  For some reason, the only question that I’m able to bring to my lips is the least important one. “And what will you say to the passengers and crew, Lord Buttermere, about the explosion in the coal bunker? It must have been heard throughout the ship.”

  “An announcement is just about to be made on the loudspeaker system. The announcement will say that there has been a minor problem with the engines, but that it has now been fixed.”

  I want to say more, do more, but I feel paralyzed. But Professor Axelson stands up and looks Buttermere in the eye. I’ve never seen the professor like this before. I see a flinch in the English lord’s face as the professor smiles: the grimmest smile I’ve ever seen. But it’s Buttermere who speaks first.

  “Professor Axelson – please understand: this is a warning to you too. This investigation is closed. Our priority now is to avoid alarm aboard this ship and prevent any news of recent events becoming known by the mass of passengers and crew. So you must stop all activity. Again, I will regard any insubordination as treason.”

  The professor’s face is impassive, and he speaks calmly, like the voice of reason.

  “Lord Buttermere. So far, I have gone along with the way you’ve run this operation. But I am a Swedish citizen, and while under maritime law Captain Haddock may have jurisdiction over me, you don’t. Not even your King George could command me. You British are so used to ruling a quarter of the globe, you forget that there are other countries, other laws. I think that both Miss Agnes and Mrs Gilmour here will feel the same. None of us are your King’s subjects. You speak of treason and insubordination, yet in truth you have no power over me. All that I, or in fact any of us, Chisholm included, have done is to dare to have a different opinion from you. In fact I will go further, Lord Buttermere. Not only do I have different opinions from you: I don’t have a good opinion of you.”

  “How is that relevant?”

  “I don’t trust you. So far, you’ve run this operation with an equal combination of arrogance and incompetence. But worst of all, you could not give us a satisfactory answer to the questions that Miss Agnes and Sir Chisholm raised about the provenance of the telegram from London. Nolan used dynamite to try to hold this ship hostage, and failed. But you have succeeded in hold us hostage to your wishes, by means of an unverified coded message.”

  Buttermere’s mouth is the thinnest of lines. I realize what I should have guessed all along: his assured exterior is a sham. I see the veins moving in his neck. He’s under severe strain, and deeply worried.

  The professor carries on speaking. “In short, Lord Buttermere. I’m not convinced that you have told us the truth. But the good news is, I don’t – yet – condemn you as a total liar either. I simply reserve judgment on that question.” He smiles genially. “After all, every good scientist is a natural skeptic.”

  Lord Buttermere looks like he would like to arrest all of us. I can almost see that thought running through his brain: he’s working the problem through in his mind, looking for the most effective solution. He realizes that to lock us all up would escalate the problem rather than solving it. But the professor is still speaking.

  “I see your dilemma, Lord Buttermere. You now want this whole business hushed up, as if it never happened. Well, we all – you included – wanted a safe conclusion to this business, and if possible to expose whatever this strange conspiracy is, and solve the mystery of Spence’s death. But in your case, you thought that the case could only be solved if you caught Nolan alive. You placed that objective above the safety of this ship. But now you’ve failed to catch Nolan alive. So, you think that your next best option is to sweep everything under the carpet.”

  “It’s better that way, professor. Despite your investigations, there are deeper matters that you know nothing about. But I do know. And, under the authority of the telegram, I am responsible for safety aboard this ship. My first priority now is to prevent panic. To prevent rumor spreading.”

  “I would agree with you – if it were a matter of preventing false rumors. But we are not dealing with rumors: we have clear facts. You can’t pretend about the two shots that were fired in the shaft tunnel. Despite Nolan’s death, an unknown person remains aboard this ship, armed and ready to kill. Unless we all continue to act together as a team – there will be more deaths aboard the Olympic.”

  The two men’s eyes are locked. Lord Buttermere has formal authority on his side, but I sense the
feelings of everyone in the room, as the professor concludes. “For all our sakes, please – let Sir Chisholm go free.”

  As if by an act of will, Buttermere ignores him. His cultured face is rigid and stony as he speaks directly to the police officers. “Take Sir Chisholm to the cells. Explain to the Petty Warrant Officer that under maritime law you, officers Bass and McMorrow, have assumed authority for the safekeeping of the prisoner. Then, bring me the keys to the cell. From then on, I need you both to take turns. One of you at a time must guard Sir Chisholm in his cell: the other must watch Professor Axelson and prevent him speaking further to the other persons in this room, or to anyone else on board the Olympic. As for you two ladies, I request that you go to your cabins and remain there for the rest of the voyage. I will arrange for your meals to be brought to you.”

  I find my voice. “I notice your word ‘request’, Lord Buttermere. Both Gwyneth and I are American citizens, and, like Professor Axelson, you have no power to compel us. We’ll act according to our conscience. You agree, don’t you, Gwyneth?”

  “No.”

  “Gwyneth! What do you mean?”

  “I mean this, Agnes. The professor may feel he needs scientific proof of Lord Buttermere’s authority. But Captain Haddock yielded to that authority. Which means