by Conrad Allen
Dillman walked past the door to glance into the lounge and Genevieve put her magazine down. It was the agreed-upon signal that she had the second suspect under surveillance. Dillman was free to search Pamela Clyne’s cabin. As soon as he went off, another familiar figure came hurrying into the room. Genevieve braced herself when she saw that it was Theodore Wright. He waved cheerily and sat down beside her.
“You certainly like playing hide-and-seek, Genevieve,” he said.
“I’ve been busy, Theo.”
“Avoiding me, by the look of it.”
“Not at all.”
“Listen, I came to apologize for what happened yesterday,” he said, sitting forward on the edge of his chair. “I’m so sorry. Wes had no call to try to frighten you off like that. I’ll never forgive him.”
“He was only doing it to protect you,” she said.
“I’m a big boy, Genevieve. Old enough to look after myself.”
“Let’s just forget the whole thing, shall we?”
“But we haven’t had our talk yet.”
Genevieve was pleasant but firm. “I don’t think there’s anything more to say, is there?” she asked. “Circumstances are against us, Theo. I’m very fond of you and I was touched by the flowers you sent, but that’s it, I’m afraid. You have your world and I have mine. I’d rather see you as a good friend.”
“Oh,” he said, visibly disappointed. “That means there’s someone else.”
“Perhaps.”
“I thought there must be. Any guy in his right mind would want you.”
“I didn’t mean to be a distraction, Theo.”
“You haven’t been, honestly. You were simply the person who brightened up my day. I love cycling but I do like to relax from time to time. Meeting you was the best thing that’s happened to me since we’ve been on the Caronia.”
“Don’t tell Isadora. She prefers to think that she is.”
“Yes,” he said, rallying. “Izzy is my most devoted fan.”
“Is that what you call her? Izzy?”
“I gave her a proper riding lesson today.”
“How did it go?”
“Very well, until she fell off. Don’t worry. I caught her.”
“I should imagine she enjoyed that, Theo.”
“She wants to come and see me riding in France.”
“So do I, Theo,” said Stanley Chase, catching the last sentence. “Do excuse me for butting in, Miss Masefield,” he went on. “I just wanted to tell Theo how impressed I’ve been by the thoroughness of his preparations.”
Wright was pleased. “You’ve seen me, Mr. Chase?”
“Yes, I was on the boat deck at midnight. I wanted to take a closer look at my investment, you see?”
“ ‘Investment’?” echoed Genevieve.
“That’s right, Miss Masefield. I had a quiet word with Theo’s coach and he convinced me that Theo is more or less bound to win the Bordeaux-to-Paris race.”
“I am!” said Wright, tapping his chest.
“So,” continued Chase, “since I liked what I saw, I decided to place a bet on Theo. As it happens, I pass through Paris every May on my way to a cottage I own in the south of France. I can time it so I’m there when Theo comes bursting through the tape.” He turned to the rider. “While you’re getting your breath back, I’ll be collecting my winnings.”
“Thanks for your support, Mr. Chase.”
“It does have a selfish element in it, I’m afraid, but there was something else as well. What really convinced me to put my money on you was a chat I had with a Monsieur Fontaine.”
“I met that guy,” said Wright. “He reckoned that Gaston Vannier would beat me by miles. Boy, has he got a surprise coming!”
“That was my feeling,” agreed Chase, “so I had a gentlemanly wager with him. He lives near Paris. I won’t have far to go to get my money from him. Monsieur Fontaine was acting out of naked patriotism in backing this chap Vannier. I felt it was only right to support Theo in the interests of Anglo-American relations.”
“That’s terrific, Mr. Chase.”
Genevieve was doubly grateful for the arrival of Stanley Chase. He had cut short an uncomfortable conversation, and so diverted the cyclist with his remarks that Wright seemed to have forgotten all about her. It was just as well. Pamela Clyne and her two companions were just getting up to leave. Genevieve had to delay them.
“Forgive me,” she said, rising to her feet. “I must speak to someone.”
* * *
Dillman subjected the second cabin to the same rigorous search. Nothing incriminating was found. Pamela Clyne’s personal possessions reflected their owner. Her clothes were dowdy and the outlay on them modest. She had several small souvenirs of her visit to America, all neatly tucked away in a case. The three books in the cabin were all romantic novels by Ouida. Dillman decided that Held in Bondage might give a mild thrill to a maiden lady but it was hardly standard reading for someone involved in smuggling drugs. After a final look around the room, he opened the door to slip away but someone was blocking his exit. Arms folded, the imposing figure of Mrs. Anstruther stood there.
“So you’re the devil who visits her cabin, are you?” she said.
Ramsey Leach finished another chapter before closing the book. After standing up and stretching himself, he elected to take a walk around the boat deck. It was busy this afternoon. Passengers were promenading or playing games or simply relaxing in the bright sunshine. Children were chasing each other. An old lady was exercising her dog. Leach strolled along until someone came out of a door and loomed over him.
“Hello, Mr. Leach,” said Frank Openshaw, clasping him by the shoulders. “Grand to see you again, my friend.”
“Yes,” Leach replied uneasily.
“My wife was talking about you earlier.”
“Was she?”
“Kitty suggested that we ask you to join us this evening.”
“I already have dinner companions, I’m afraid, Mr. Openshaw.”
“This would be for drinks before dinner,” the other said amiably. “We like to invite a different group of people in each day so that they can meet in more intimate surroundings. Shall we say, seven o’clock?”
“I may be busy at that time.”
“Kitty will be so disappointed if you don’t come.”
“Oh, I see.”
“That’s settled, then,” Openshaw said with a chuckle. “Goodbye.”
Frank Openshaw went striding off down the deck, leaving Leach to regret that he had accepted the invitation. Before he could continue his own stroll, he was approached by a steward. The man gave him a polite smile.
“Mr. Leach?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Ramsey Leach?”
“That’s me.”
“The purser sends his compliments and wondered if he could see you in his office. I’ll show you the way, if you wish.”
Leach was alarmed. He tried to hide his discomfort under a bland smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “I can manage on my own.”
* * *
After the pleasure of being alone with the man she loved, Isadora Singleton was condemned to spend an hour with her parents, taking afternoon tea with Lord and Lady Eddington in their cabin. She was on her best behavior, pleasing her mother and drawing smiles of approval from her hosts. Having been a diplomat, Lord Eddington was a seasoned traveler. When he talked about a posting he once had had to Paris, Isadora’s curiosity was aroused. She fed him with polite questions he was only too happy to answer.
Maria Singleton was delighted by the way her daughter was ingratiating herself. Isadora was truly a credit to both of them. It was only when they left the cabin that the problem arose. When they came to some steps, her parents let Isadora go up first. Maria’s sharp eye saw something that had been invisible before. Along the hem of the girl’s dress at the back was a long, black, shiny mark.
“Isadora!” she exclaimed. “What on earth is that?”
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Theodore Wright took some time to get over his rejection by Genevieve Masefield. Having relied so heavily on a positive response from her, he was downhearted at his failure. He was also afflicted with guilt. When he tried to view the situation from Genevieve’s point of view, he saw how inappropriate his attentions had been. He had inadvertently upset her and he deeply regretted that. In a day or two, Wright decided, when he felt calmer, he would apologize for causing her any distress. Meanwhile, he would keep away from her. His meditation took place at the rail on the promenade deck. Staring out across the ocean, he reflected on what he had lost, then cheered himself with the thought of what he had also gained.
Genevieve Masefield liked him. She made no attempt to hide her affection and clearly valued their friendship. Wright hoped they could keep in touch, perhaps even see each other in London. He had made other friends as well. Notable among them was Isadora Singleton, whose joy at learning to ride was infectious. Wright had a subversive streak. It amused him to be able to help her to defy her parents in secret. It gave the two of them a bond. The Openshaws also had sought his company, and Stanley Chase was so impressed by his cycling that he was actually going to place money on him. Wright remembered the kind interest shown in him by George Dillman, as well. Since he had been on the Caronia, the cyclist had made a definite impact. Even his argument with a French passenger about the merits of Gaston Vannier had been good-hearted. He was surrounded by new friends.
Bolstered by that thought, he went back to his cabin. Wes Odell was waiting for him with an accusatory glint in his eye. He closed in on the cyclist.
“You’ve been talking to her again, haven’t you?” he said.
“Well, yes.”
“After everything we agreed to last night?”
“I agreed to nothing. You were making impossible demands.”
“I saw you in the lounge, sitting alone beside her.”
“Only for a couple of minutes.”
“A second is far too long, Theo. Don’t you see that?”
“You talk as if Genevieve is an incurable disease.”
“Exactly,” retorted Odell. “She’s lethal. It’s so obvious from where I stand. What do I have to do to convince you of that?”
“You can stop yelling at me, for a start,” said Wright, squaring up to him. “We don’t have a contract, Wes. It was all done on a handshake,” he reminded him. “I can walk out on you anytime I like.”
“Do that, and your career is finished.”
“Who says so?”
“Everyone in professional cycling. I made you, Theo. Remember that.”
“Are you sure it isn’t the other way around?”
Odell was stung. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Wes. You’re not the most popular guy in the sport. Lots of cyclists wouldn’t let you pump up their tires, let alone ask you to coach them. Without you, I’m still a champ.” Their eyes locked. “What are you without me?”
“I’ll find someone else to coach.”
“In the middle of the Atlantic?” Wright asked sarcastically “Who would you pick? Stanley Chase? Frank Openshaw? Or what about that French guy? I bet he knows the road from Bordeaux to Paris.”
“Take it easy, Theo.”
“Then stop riling me.”
“There’s no need for us to bicker like this.”
“You started it.”
“I’m worried about you, son,” said Odell, with an appeasing smile.
“Leave me be.”
“And you’ll keep away from Miss Masefield?”
Wright exploded. “I’ll do what I damn well like, Wes!”
He pushed past Odell and went into the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he filled a glass with cold water and drank it down in one gulp. He needed a few minutes before he felt able to face his coach again. Odell was sitting down when Wright entered. The coach stared quizzically at him. He opted for a calmer approach this time.
“Why was one of the cycles missing from the storeroom this afternoon?”
* * *
Ramsey Leach delayed his visit to the purser for as long as he could. Desperate to make contact with Pamela Clyne beforehand, he could not find her anywhere and resorted to slipping a note under her door. When he finally presented himself at the purser’s office, he swallowed hard before knocking and going in. Paul Taggart was seated behind his desk. Dillman was standing beside him. Leach was taken aback.
“Come in, Mr. Leach,” Taggart said easily. “We just wanted a little chat with you. I believe you’ve met Mr. Dillman before.”
“Yes, yes,” said Leach.
“What you didn’t know was that Mr. Dillman is employed by Cunard as a detective. That’s why he’s here with me now.” He indicated a chair. “Do sit down, sir.”
Leach lowered himself gingerly into the chair as if expecting a thousand volts of electricity to shoot through it. His discomfort was intense. Beads of perspiration had broken out on his forehead and he clutched his hands tightly together.
“Have you any idea why Mr. Taggart invited you here?” asked Dillman.
“Yes,” replied Leach.
“Well?”
“Mrs. Anstruther has complained, hasn’t she?”
“She’s never stopped complaining,” Taggart said bitterly, “but that’s not the only reason we wanted to speak to you, Mr. Leach.”
“According to the manifest,” resumed Dillman, “you have a funeral casket on board. Yet you told me categorically that you had bought nothing in America.”
“I lied to you, Mr. Dillman,” admitted Leach.
“Why did you do that, sir?”
“Private reasons.”
“Were those reasons anything to do with what the funeral casket might contain?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I think you do, Mr. Leach,” said Taggart.
“It’s just an ordinary coffin,” said Leach. “Well, strictly speaking, that’s not true. It’s a very superior product, far better than the ones I normally use. That’s why I bought it, Mr. Taggart. I want some copies of it made in England.”
“What we’re interested in is its contents,” said Dillman. “Let me be blunt, Mr. Leach. We have it on good authority that someone is trying to smuggle cocaine and heroin on this vessel. What better place to conceal it than in a funeral casket that you denied even existed until you came here?” Leach loosened his collar. “It’s only fair to tell you that I twice saw you leave your cabin at midnight, sir. On the second occasion, I took the liberty of following you.”
“Oh my God!” gasped Leach.
“It will save a lot of time if you tell us the full truth.”
“The captain can authorize an inspection of that funeral casket,” warned Taggart. “We’ll find those drugs if we have to rip it completely apart.”
“But it’s empty, I swear it.”
“Then why did you tell Mr. Dillman you had no cargo aboard?”
“I can explain that, Mr. Taggart.”
“Explain this at the same time, if you will,” suggested Dillman, taking the revolver from a drawer in the desk. “I found it in your cabin.”
Leach turned a ghastly white and looked as if he were about to faint.
“Well, sir,” said Taggart. “What do you have to say?”
______
Being an essentially truthful person, Isadora Singleton saw no reason to lie. When they returned to their cabin, both parents stood over her and demanded an explanation. They were flabbergasted when they heard it.
“A bicycle!” said Maria in disgust. “That oil came from a bicycle?”
“Yes, Mother.”
Singleton was aghast. “Whatever were you doing on a bicycle?”
“Riding it, of course.”
“But you don’t know how to ride a bicycle.”
“Theo is teaching me, Father.”
“Who?”
“Theo Wright. He’s famous. He’s the American champion.”
“What on ear
th are you talking about, Isadora?” asked Maria. “Are you telling us that you’ve been sneaking off behind our backs to spend time with this individual?”
“It was the only way to do it.”
“No, it wasn’t,” said Singleton. “You should have come to us for permission.”
“Would you have given it, Father?”
“I’m not sure.”
“No!” said Maria, shooting him a glance. “Your father and I would have turned down the request at once. A girl in your position doesn’t need to do anything as common as riding a bicycle. We have standards. We travel by automobile.”
“Yes,” said Isadora, “but it’s driven by somebody else. Riding a bicycle is something I can do on my own. Theo says it will only take a few more lessons. He’s going to France to take part in a race from Bordeaux to Paris.”
“I don’t care if he’s riding from Boston to Buenos Aries,” said Maria, with well-bred malevolence. “He is not going to consort with our daughter.”
“Theo and I are friends, Mother.”
“It’s not a friendship of which we approve—is it, Waldo?”
“No, dear,” said her husband, taking his cue. “And it’s very distressing to learn all this has been taking place in secret. We’re shocked, Isadora. You’ve always been such a truthful person.”
“This fellow obviously has led her astray,” said Maria.
“But he hasn’t,” Isadora protested.
“We’ll be the judge of that.”
“You can’t stop me seeing Theo.”
“Oh, yes we can, young lady.”
“That’s cruel, Mother!”
“It’s what is necessary,” decreed Maria. “Teaching you to ride, indeed! What do you think Lord and Lady Eddington would say? They’d drop us like a stone.”
“Your mother is right, Isadora,” said Singleton. “You must never see him again.”
“That must be made clear to him as well. What’s the fellow’s name?”