Her ruminations were interrupted by the sound of Edward’s voice. He sounded irritable.
‘Are you listening? I said, did you see, when we were looking at the mural, there’s a panel in it about three-foot square which can be taken out – an inspection hatch? Doris told me about it but I had forgotten. They had to be able to get at the clock on the next deck down or something. V! Oh, I give up.’
‘Sorry, I was miles away. What clock?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Come to my cabin in fifteen minutes. I want to get Frank. He was dancing with the Roosevelt girl in here last night. Perhaps he saw something. Ouch! Blast this leg.’
‘I’ll fetch Frank. You go and rest your leg. You oughtn’t to be hopping around on it, at least until the swelling subsides.’
They left Doris with Bernard Hunt. He was being unexpectedly sympathetic – perhaps because he cared more about art than about people, Edward thought unkindly. The Captain, with a shrug of his shoulders, had returned to the bridge and the Purser went off to find someone to board over the damage. He had, however, imparted one important piece of information before he left. Apparently, one of the engineers checking the heating system in the Turkish bath had discovered that his toolbox, which he had left near the control panel, was missing a hammer.
Verity found Frank still in bed, complaining of a hangover. When he heard what had occurred he said he would join them ‘in two ticks’. As Verity left his cabin she bumped into the Dolmens who had already heard about the attack on the mural.
‘This is not correct what is happening on this ship,’ the Professor said plaintively. ‘It would not be permitted on a German ship. Es gefällt mir nicht.’
Verity agreed, it certainly wasn’t right.
Before going to his cabin, Edward decided to check on his charge. He was satisfied to find Benyon on a long chair talking to Fern. He could hardly be safer. He greeted the two men and told them about the attack on Doris’s mural. Benyon was horrified.
‘Good Lord, that’s too bad. I’ll go and find out if there is anything I can do.’
‘Hunt has been very kind. He says he has a tame picture restorer in New York who he will get on board to repair the mural.’
‘Good. I have to admit I don’t like the mural but the whole thing is bizarre and sinister. I mean, one could argue it’s healthy art can still arouse such passion but the viciousness of it . . . With the artist here to see it. Poor Miss Zinkeisen! It’s clearly a personal attack on her. There is too much hatred on this ship. I will be very glad to be back on dry land.’
Not as glad as I will be! Edward thought ruefully. What ought to have been a pleasant four or five days in a floating luxury hotel had turned into a succession of highly unpleasant incidents, most horrible of all, of course, Tom Barrett’s murder. He couldn’t put it out of his mind: the corpse swinging naked among the carcasses and the thought that, if Benyon was right, there was a girl back home who loved him and whom he had planned to marry.
Benyon was speaking again. ‘Could it have anything to do with Professor Dolmen, I wonder? No, I don’t see how it could. It’s ironic that such a very German German should be exiled by those to whom he was so loyal.’
‘Whatever do you mean, Benyon?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? No, of course I didn’t because it was confidential but I don’t see it matters now that awful man Day is dead.’
He proceeded to tell Edward how Dolmen had asked him to intercede for him with the immigration authorities if Senator Day had carried out his threat and laid information against him.
‘A Jew and a Nazi!’ Edward exclaimed.
‘It’s not as odd as you might suppose,’ Fern said. ‘I know through my business contacts that a number of Jews joined the Nazi Party in the hope of influencing Hitler and ingratiating themselves with the Party. For a man like Dolmen, who feels himself to be a German first and a Jew a long way after, the idea of not being allowed to work would have seemed too awful to contemplate. While the Nazis needed him, they wouldn’t have bothered him but then, for some reason, they must have decided to use his race against him. He was probably lucky to be allowed to emigrate. Knowing what he does about the Luftwaffe and the development of the jet engine, I’m surprised they didn’t just shoot him.’
Back in his cabin, Edward lay down on his bed and lit a cigarette. He blew a smoke ring and watched it float lazily up to the ceiling. He needed to make sense of all that had happened on the Queen Mary since he had come on board three days ago. It was not very long but it seemed an age. He had a feeling he had missed some vital clue which would make what was opaline translucent.
There was a knock on the door and Verity arrived, with Frank hard on her heels. ‘What’s this?’ Frank asked. ‘A council of war?’
He perched himself on the end of the bed and Verity collapsed into the armchair. No one said anything about asking Sam Forrest to join them.
‘That’s right – we need to thrash things out. Fenton will be here in a second. Ah, here he is. Take a pew, will you, Fenton. We need your counsel. I feel I am floundering and if we don’t look sharp, someone will have a go at Benyon and perhaps we won’t be there to stop him, but I’m convinced, if we pool our knowledge, we might be able to make sense of all the beastly things which have been happening. Frank, have you heard? Poor Miss Zinkeisen’s mural was vandalized during the night. I suppose you didn’t notice anything or anyone acting suspiciously before you went to bed?’
‘Verity just told me. Was it badly damaged?’
‘It had black paint thrown on it and the figure of the black girl was cut with a knife. A vicious attack.’
‘How horrible! No, I’m afraid I noticed nothing. As far as I know, it was all right when I went to bed. I admit I didn’t look at it but I’m sure I would have noticed if it had been attacked.’
‘I didn’t expect you to have seen anything. It must have been done in the middle of the night or very early in the morning before the cleaners arrived. Now, to more serious matters. I am only interested in Day’s murder in so far as it relates to our job which is to deliver Benyon safe and well to FBI Agent Fawcett in New York and, which amounts to the same thing, establish who killed Tom Barrett. It sounds cold-hearted, I know, but if we don’t focus on Benyon we may miss something vital.’
‘But surely we can’t ignore Day’s murder?’ Verity put in.
‘No. I am not saying we should ignore it but we only need to know who murdered him to be sure he isn’t going to go on and kill Lord Benyon.’
Frank whistled. ‘I suppose you’re right. So what do we do?’
’Let’s begin with Tom Barrett. I think we have to assume that he was killed because he was guarding Benyon. Does anyone disagree?’
‘None of us really knew him,’ Frank pointed out, ‘but I can’t imagine there could be any other reason. That was why he was on board.’
‘Right,’ Verity said, ‘and I think that suggests whoever killed him knew about Benyon and what he is going to do in the States – not, of course, that Edward has told us what that is but we know it’s pretty important.’
‘Which means,’ Frank concluded, ‘that the killer is a passenger on the ship for that one reason.’
‘It’s a pity we can’t discover which passengers booked their tickets after Benyon made his reservation. That might narrow it down’. Verity lit another cigarette, contributing to the blue haze which hung over them. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face. ‘Open a window or whatever you call it, will you, Frank?’
‘The same thought had occurred to me,’ Edward said. ‘I telephoned Barrett’s boss back in London and asked him to do some digging. I hope to get some answers soon. I was given a list of the First Class passengers but it doesn’t say when their reservations were made. And I’ll ask Benyon to tell me exactly when he or his staff made the booking.’
‘My lord, could Mr Barrett’s killer be a member of the crew or one of the servants?’
‘It’s possible, Fenton, but I doub
t it unless you have noticed anything which might suggest otherwise. There are relatively few crew members who are free to wander about First Class without a good reason. There’s the Purser, of course, the bartender – Roger, isn’t it? – and various waiters and so on. I think, Fenton, you could make it your job to see if any of them are exhibiting signs of wanting to murder the passengers. As for the ladies’ maids and the valets – again, I’ll have to leave that to you to investigate.’
‘Very good, my lord. I will attend to it.’
‘Are we looking for a man?’ Verity inquired.
‘As far as Tom Barrett is concerned, the answer is yes. Even with the winch, there is no way a woman could have lifted his body on to the hook. And the blow to his head was very heavy.’
‘Is it significant that Barrett and Day were both hit on the head with a blunt instrument?’
‘It may be but, until the police forensic bods examine the bodies, we have no way of knowing whether it was the same blunt instrument. It’s not very likely even if both killings were by the same person. He would hardly hold on to some – no doubt bloodied – truncheon or hammer after killing Tom. He would bung it overboard. There’s never any shortage of blunt instruments.’
‘Ugh!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘What a horrible picture you paint of some madman going around battering people to death.’
‘I think it’s most unlikely the two killings are related,’ Edward said.
‘I agree,’ Frank chipped in. ‘Day had lots of enemies but they weren’t Barrett’s enemies.’
‘Well,’ Verity said, stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette, ‘let’s concentrate on Day’s death for a moment.’ She waved her finger at Edward, ‘I know you said “only so far as it sheds light on Barrett” but still we cannot ignore it. I mean, two unconnected murders on one Atlantic crossing . . .? How likely is that? Do we know if Day was dead before he hit the water?’
‘The doctor thinks not. He drowned. There was water in his lungs.’
‘Oh, how awful! I have always hated the thought of drowning. But doesn’t that suggest it might not have been a man who knocked him on the head? All it needed was a light blow, just enough to unsteady him and tip him into the pool.’
Frank reached for his uncle’s gold cigarette case which lay on the bed but Edward grabbed his arm.
‘Uncle! Don’t be an ass. I’m sorry but I don’t see why I shouldn’t smoke. You two puff away like Stephenson’s Rocket. Anyway, look at this packet.’ He held up Verity’s packet of Camels. ‘It says Camels soothe the throat and my throat needs soothing.’
‘Oh all right then, if you must!’ Edward surrendered. ‘Fenton?’
‘No thank you, my lord. Might I suggest, my lord, it might help if we make a list of the Senator’s known enemies?’
‘Good idea,’ Frank said. ‘Day had plenty of people gunning for him. Will you take notes, Fenton?’ He counted off on his fingers. ‘Warren Fairley has to be top of the list. He hated Day and never pretended otherwise. They were political enemies and Day was doing his best to prevent Warren performing in the States. You heard what he said about this new committee to investigate – what did he call it? – un-American activities – whatever that means.’
‘And Sam hated him too,’ Verity put in, her voice sounding rather choked.
‘Oh?’ Edward encouraged her as non-committally as he could.
‘Yes. Day thought he was a Communist and Sam told me he had tried to blackmail him to help deal with some industrial dispute – I don’t know quite what. Anyway, Sam wasn’t having any of it. Still,’ she could not prevent herself from adding, ‘I can’t imagine Sam murdering anyone, even if he is a bit of a heel.’
There was a silence. Frank and Edward tried not to look expectant but failed. Verity wrestled with herself. She did not quite know why she owed Edward an explanation of her recent ill-temper. It was none of his business. On the other hand she liked honesty, hated muddle and misunderstanding. ‘I suppose I had better tell you – though it has nothing to do with anything – he rather misled me into thinking he was unmarried but in fact he is married.’
No one wished to make any comment. Edward said, ‘Benyon has just told me Professor Dolmen has a motive as well. Apparently Day was going to try and prevent his being allowed to enter the United States. It turns out he is or was a Nazi – believe it or not – even though he’s a Jew. But Dolmen is a scientist. He wanted above all to be allowed to work and he couldn’t work if he did not join the Party.’ As he said this, it flashed through Edward’s mind that he could imagine the mirror image of this situation occurring in Stalin’s Soviet Union. Would the Communist Party allow anyone to have a government job without joining the Party? He doubted it. He wondered if there would come a time when Verity might understand the nature of the beast to which she had attached herself. ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘Day was planning to use this against him – or so Dolmen believed.’
‘Gosh!’ Verity exclaimed. ‘That’s extraordinary. Some people are just so naive.’
Edward grinned wryly to himself.
‘Everyone hated Day,’ Frank said. ‘The Roosevelts couldn’t stand him. Oh God, if we went through the First Class passengers we could probably find a hundred who’d have been quite happy to see the end of that man.’
‘Why did the Roosevelts hate him?’ Edward asked.
‘Oh, let me think . . . I don’t really know. Perry must have said something . . . I suppose I could ask him?’
‘No, leave that to me. It might be embarrassing for you,’ Edward told him.
‘Who had the opportunity to kill Day?’ Verity asked.
‘Put it the other way, V. Who wasn’t at the race? I did a list but, of course, the murderer might be someone quite different . . .’
‘Like Major Cranton, for instance,’ Frank said, puffing at his cigarette. ‘There’s something wrong about him. And there’s Doris Zinkeisen although she’s not my idea of a murderer. I rather like her, despite the clothes she wears and the stories she tells, but she is Jewish and makes her living working in Hollywood. She might easily have made an enemy of Day.’
‘I know,’ Edward agreed, ‘and, if the attack on her mural had happened before Day was killed, she would certainly be a prime suspect . . .’
‘And anyway, as you say, she doesn’t look like a murderer – whatever a murderer looks like. She’s too . . . too fey,’ Verity said.
‘Cranton was very much in evidence during the race. We can dismiss any idea of his being Day’s killer.’ Edward spoke a trifle regretfully.
‘There’s Bernard Hunt,’ Frank put in. ‘I told you the dirty old man put a hand on my knee.’
‘Gosh, no, really?’
‘I don’t see why you are so surprised, V. Some people think I’m rather good-looking. Just joking,’ he added, as Verity threw a cushion at him.
‘Now, children,’ Edward rebuked them, ‘this is serious. Mind you, we’ve all noticed the girl – Philly. She seems to think you’re handsome.’
Frank blushed. ‘Tommy rot! Still, what about Philly’s mother? Do you know she has arsenic beside her bed?’
‘Mrs Roosevelt has arsenic?’ Edward exclaimed.
‘Yes, in a bottle. I saw it when I went to her cabin during the storm to see how she was.’
‘Perhaps that’s why she has so many headaches?’ Verity suggested.
Edward looked as though he was going to say something but in the end kept silent.
‘There was one odd thing about Philly,’ Verity said pensively. ‘She went down below deck just before the race and when she reappeared she was wearing a different dress.’
‘Very good, V! That’s just the sort of thing a woman sees and a man doesn’t.’
‘But – haven’t you noticed? Philly’s as clean as a cat.’ Frank was eager in her defence. ‘She’s always changing her clothes and washing . . . she washes all the time. It’s a sort of phobia. Still, you can’t really think Philly killed anyone? It’s ridiculous. Day was a bear of a man
. He could have broken her with a flick of his finger. She couldn’t have killed him.’ There was silence and Frank went on in panic. ‘Are you suggesting Philly had to change her dress because she had blood on it?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Frank. I’m just saying what I saw.’
‘And women don’t kill men. Or, if they do, they poison them,’ he said, suddenly remembering that Lord Weaver’s stepdaughter had poisoned old General Craig, or so his uncle had told him, over a fine port one evening at Mersham Castle.
‘But going back to Hunt,’ Verity continued, ‘he may be a homosexual but that doesn’t mean he’s a murderer.’
‘No,’ Frank agreed, ‘but he also told me – when he was drunk in the storm – that he was a “fellow-traveller”.’
‘ “Fellow-traveller”! Horrible jargon! Do you have to use it?’
‘I just mean, Uncle, that he’s not a Party member but he thinks along the same lines as us.’
‘I know what it means but it’s such a . . . Oh, I suppose I’m old-fashioned.’
‘But we love you,’ Very said jokingly and then wished she had not. She hurried on, ‘We haven’t mentioned the attack on Jane Barclay. It’s not much fun being poached to death. I suppose that’s related to everything else in some way?’
‘I’ve got an idea about that,’ Edward interjected, ‘but I don’t want to say anything for the moment,’ he added irritatingly. ‘I’m probably wrong. In fact, I thought I might totter along and have a word with her. While I do that, Fenton, will you pursue your investigations into any of the crew with access to First Class and among the passengers’ servants? Verity, will you have a talk to Bernard Hunt? As he’s a fellow what-do-y’-call-it and you are a full-blown “traveller”, you may have something in common. No, better not get into politics. Ask him for some advice on a picture . . . say you are thinking of commissioning Doris Zinkeisen to do a portrait for you.’
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