by Carola Dunn
The Purser cast a significant glance at Daisy, but as Alec failed to shoo her away, he shrugged and said, “Yes, sir. Captain Dane instructed me to inform you. The only passenger not positively located is a Curtis Pertwee.” He spelt the name.
Alec wrote it down. “Curtis Pertwee. What, if anything, do we know about him?”
“Not much. He is … was in a tourist-class cabin, sharing with another gentleman, a Mr. Welford, who is one of our sufferers, confined to his bunk. When the steward knocked and popped his head in to check who was there, Mr. Welford almost snapped it off. I suppose you’ll want to speak to him, sir?”
“Yes, of course. I need all the information I can get about Pertwee, and his travelling companion is the obvious source.”
“Er, they weren’t necessarily travelling together,” said Timmins uncomfortably. “That is, they didn’t necessarily know each other before the voyage or book together. Although at this time of year we generally have a few empty cabins, the company prefers us to double up passengers where possible. It’s a matter of economics.”
“One cabin to clean instead of two,” said Daisy, whom living with Lucy had taught that though two cannot live as cheaply as one, they can live much more cheaply together than apart. “I expect you can shut off some heating ducts, too, and things like that.”
“Exactly, madam, just a few odds and ends of savings. It’s not much but it adds up, and this is a highly competitive business.”
“At any rate,” Alec said impatiently, “this Welford is as likely as anyone aboard to be able to tell me something of Pertwee.”
“Yes, sir, though he did seem pretty chummy with the young American, Mr. Riddman. I suppose there’s no harm mentioning it since the fellow’s dead: I had some suspicion that Pertwee might be one of the professional, none too scrupulous gamblers we sometimes get aboard. My staff noticed him playing poker with Riddman in the Smoking Room the first night out and going in and out of Riddman’s first-class cabin since.”
Daisy gave Alec a look of triumph.
“I’ll bear it in mind,” he said.
“However,” Timmins continued, “he’s not a regular, not one of the fellows we watch out for, and I may be maligning him. If you must speak to Riddman, I hope you’ll, er, be tactful.”
“He’s a Detective Chief Inspector of the Metropolitan Police C.I.D., not a village bobby,” Daisy said indignantly.
“Sorry! It’s got us all on edge, two passengers falling overboard. Suppose it’s something in the food or the ventilation system that’s giving them dizzy turns? That’s my department, and I don’t mind admitting it’s got me worried. The last thing I need on top of that is a first-class passenger blaming me for letting him—so to speak—fall among sharks.”
“It’s the shark who drowned,” Alec pointed out. “If I were you, I’d be more worried about general panic among the passengers. Believe me, I’ll do my best to avoid any move which might have that result. Which cabin is the late Pertwee’s?”
The Purser gave him the number, and the names of the day and night stewards attendant on that cabin. “They may know something useful to you, though I don’t know quite what it is you’re looking for. Still, since Captain Dane wants a police officer to investigate this accident, I’m happy to leave the whole wretched business in your hands.”
Looking more harassed than happy, he shook Alec’s hand, bowed to Daisy, and took himself off.
“I’m surprised the Captain hasn’t told him it wasn’t an accident,” said Daisy.
“Possibly was not an accident,” Alec corrected her. “Dane’s playing his cards close to his chest, and I can’t say I blame him. The fewer people who know, the less chance of a leakage. I hate to think of the result of panic in a closed community like this, where no one can escape. Well, I’m off to interview Welford. I only hope he doesn’t set me off again.”
Standing up, he turned pale and had to put a hand on the table to steady himself. Daisy looked at him in alarm.
“You’ve had nothing to eat all day. You’ll be the next one overboard. Darling, promise you won’t go out on deck alone!”
“I’ve no intention of going out at all,” he said testily, heading for the door, his stride reassuringly resolute.
“But you might change your mind after seeing Welford. I’m coming, too. Don’t worry, I shan’t insist on invading the cabin of a sick man, but couldn’t I talk to the steward while you talk to Welford?”
“I’d rather you tackled Mrs. Gotobed, since I can’t. Pertwee just may have let drop something helpful when he approached her, and if you can get the name of her second admirer, he might be able to help.”
“Not tonight, darling. I did promise I’d pop in, but she’s probably trying to fall asleep, if she’s not asleep already. It’s not the moment for an interrogation.”
“Go and do your popping then, love, and leave the steward to me.”
“Right-oh,” Daisy sighed, “but then I’m coming to find you.”
The steward tapped on the cabin door.
A shaky voice called, “Who’s there?”
“This is your steward, sir. A gentleman to see you.”
“Can’t see anyone. I’m not well.”
Though Alec was beginning to think he might survive the voyage, the memory of his ordeal was vivid enough to make him feel like a cad for disturbing someone still in the throes. Nonetheless, he said firmly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Welford, but I am under the Captain’s orders. There has been an accident. I’m afraid I must insist on speaking to you.”
When no response came, he tried the door. It was locked. He nodded to the steward, who had his pass-key at the ready. A moment later the door swung open.
The cabin was in near darkness, lit only by the light from the passage and the dim night safety bulb on the ceiling, which was not in the passengers’ control. Alec automatically reached for the switch by the door, then hesitated. His intrusion was bad enough, without exposing the poor fellow to the full glare of electric light.
He closed the door. After a few seconds his eyes adjusted to the dimness.
The cabin was an inside one, with no porthole, but otherwise the twin of his and Daisy’s: two cabin trunks against the bulkhead (his and Daisy’s came from the Fairacres attics, courtesy of Edgar, Lord Dalrymple), a washstand, wall hooks for coats and hats, railed shelves over the two berths—and a china basin on the floor between them.
Fortunately, Welford didn’t seem to have actually vomited. Alec was not sure he could have coped with that smell. As it was, having more or less found his sea-legs, he felt pleasantly superior to the miserable shape huddled in the right-hand berth.
“My name is Fletcher,” he said. “I most sincerely beg your pardon for intruding. I’m afraid your cabin-mate has suffered an accident, a fatal accident, and Captain Dane has instructed me to find out what I can about him.”
A groan was the only answer.
If Daisy had suffered an accident while Alec was feeling his worst, he liked to think he would have jumped up to do whatever was necessary. However, had his cabin-mate been a stranger assigned at random by the Wellington Line, he doubted he would have been able to summon up much interest in the fellow’s fate. He sympathized with Welford but pressed on.
“Were you acquainted with Mr. Pertwee before the voyage, sir?”
“No.”
“So you’ve known him only a few days. That’s a pity. Still, any information you can give me is more than I have now. Did he talk about his family?”
“No.”
“His work? His friends or associates at home?”
“No.”
“His purpose in going to America?” Alec persisted.
“No.”
“Not a conversable gentleman. But you must be aware of whom he associated with aboard?”
“No. Just because we shared a cabin, it doesn’t mean we had to stick together.” Welford’s peevish voice was educated, perhaps minor public school.
“True,” Alec a
greed. He shot an arrow at a venture, not really supposing that serious animosity could be generated in so short a time. “I take it you found you had little in common, then. Perhaps you even found being confined together at such close quarters irksome?”
Welford responded by performing a sort of half dive over the side of the berth, reaching for the basin. Alec fled.
The steward was waiting in the passage. “Any luck, sir?” he enquired.
Alec shook his head. “It sounds as if Welford and Pertwee scarcely exchanged a word.”
“That’s not so bad, sir. Sometimes them that’s put in together get to where they rub each other’s nerves something dreadful. They come running to us stewards with complaints about hairs in the wash-basin, and lights left on when someone’s trying to sleep, and someone else getting up early with a lot of noise when the other chap’s trying to sleep. Not much we can do about it ’cepting ask ’em to be more considerate.”
“You haven’t had any complaints from those two?”
“Nary a murmur, sir, nor Brittlin hasn’t, that’s on days. We pass ‘em on to each other, see, so’s we know what to look out for. I reckon they just ignored each other. I never saw ’em go in or out together, and the Purser always seats people sharing a cabin at different tables, ’less they’re a married couple, of course, or ask to be together.”
“I’ll have to go through Pertwee’s luggage tomorrow,” Alec said. “His next of kin must be informed of his death as soon as we reach New York.”
“I ’spect the Captain’s already sent the company a wireless, sir. They’ll be looking for next of kin.”
Unaccustomed to being anywhere he might need it, Alec had temporarily forgotten the existence of wireless telegraphy. He would telegraph the Yard and see what they came up with. If Pertwee was unknown to Records, Tom Tring could have a go at digging out his life history, including any enemies who might have wanted to do away with him.
“I’ll still need to go through his things,” he told the steward, “and I must have a word with—Brittlin, was it? May I leave it to you to arrange matters?”
“Right you are, sir,” said the man resignedly.
Who next, Alec thought, the unlucky gambler, Riddman, or Gotobed, whose story he really ought to hear for himself? Or should he go straight to the wireless room? No, it opened off the bridge, and he had more or less promised Daisy not to go outside alone. He did feel pretty groggy. He would wait and see if she had learnt anything new from Wanda and then decide what to do next.
Meanwhile, Daisy called on Wanda. The maid admitted her with a hopeful look, which faded as Daisy said, “I can only stay a minute. How is Mrs. Gotobed?”
“Restless, ma’am,” Baines said tiredly. “I’ll tell her you’re here.” She went into the bedroom, returning a moment later to invite Daisy to step in.
This time the room was lit by a standard lamp behind the chaise longue on which Wanda reclined. She dropped a copy of Vogue on the floor as Daisy entered. Clad in silk lounging pyjamas in her favourite bright pink, she looked much recovered.
“I’m glad you’ve come, Daisy,” she said. “I’m ever so bored.”
“I can only stay a few minutes. Mr. Gotobed would be happy to come down to entertain you, I know.”
“Oh no, I’m not well enough.” She put a theatrical hand to her forehead. “I did make an effort for his sake and get out of bed, but I’m reelly not well. It’s the make-up; it makes me look lots better than I feel.”
“Since you’ve recovered enough to get up though, just tell me, do you recall the names of your two admirers who were talking to you the other day?”
Sitting bolt upright, Wanda demanded in alarm, “Why?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t told your husband about them. It’s just that there’s been an accident and …”
“An accident! What’s happened?”
“I’m afraid a man I think was one of those two, a Mr. Pertwee, fell overboard and drowned.”
Wanda burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. Astonished, Daisy dug into her evening bag for a handkerchief.
“Here, take this. I’m frightfully sorry. I didn’t think it would upset you so.”
“It’s the shock,” Wanda sobbed. “He was … he was …”
“Don’t try to talk now. I’ll call your maid.”
“No, no, don’t. I’ll be all right in a minute, honest.” She raised her head, her face white beneath the smeared cosmetics. “I—I’m just too soft-hearted for me own good. I mean, someone I know! You don’t think something like that’ll happen. I feel all woozy.”
“Let me help you back to bed,” Daisy offered, filled with guilt. She had thought Wanda as hard as nails, or she would never have broken the news so abruptly.
The distress was obviously genuine. Wanda was actually shaking as Daisy supported her over to the bed. Was she really ill, not just sea-sick?
“Shall I ask Dr. Amboyne to look in on you?”
“No, it would only worry Dickie. I just want to get to sleep. I’ve got some powders somewhere. Baines’ll know, and tell her I want a hot-water bottle, will you?”
“Right-oh,” Daisy said obligingly. It seemed to be her day for summary dismissals. “I hope you get a good night’s sleep and feel better in the morning.”
She went to look for Alec and met him coming away from Pertwee’s cabin.
“What luck?” they asked simultaneously, and both shook their heads.
“Wanda’s not at all well,” said Daisy, “and easily upset. She cried like anything when I told her Pertwee is dead, so I’m sure he was one of her admirers though I never did get an answer out of her.”
“You didn’t get the name of the second admirer?” Alec asked.
“No, but it strikes me, darling, that Pertwee probably knew whoever it was quite well or they wouldn’t both have approached her at the same time. It wasn’t Welford?”
Alec shrugged. “Welford denies knowing anything about Pertwee, but he was too sick to be communicative. Of course, supposing they were in league to cheat at cards, he wouldn’t want the connection known. If so, they were careful. The steward never saw them coming or going together.”
“That in itself sounds fishy. You’ll have to ask Chester Riddman who his poker partners are. Were.”
As they talked, Alec had led the way to their own cabin. Taking off his jacket, he said, “It’s going to be ticklish. Get me out my evening togs, will you, love? You say Lady Brenda told you Riddman lost a lot of money. The Purser says he’s known to have played poker with Pertwee. You saw Riddman on deck shortly after Pertwee was shot—assuming, as I must, that he was shot. Obviously Riddman is a prime suspect.”
“So you can’t just march up to him and start asking questions without putting him on his guard.”
“Precisely. At least I’ll talk to his steward first, see if I can get a description of the other man or men he gambled with. What did the second stage-door Johnnie look like? Damn this collar! I hate stiff collars.”
“They’re as silly as bustles or Grecian Bends,” Daisy agreed. She noticed with pleasure his use of “damn,” equating it to Gotobed’s lapses into pure Yorkshire. After just over a fortnight of marriage, Alec was no longer afraid the odd swear-word might injure her delicate aristocratic sensibilities. “Let me do the studs for you, darling. Johnnie Number Two was utterly nondescript. All I can remember about him is that he was shorter than Number One—Pertwee. What’s Welford like?”
“As I only saw him under the bedcovers by the light of the night-lamp, I couldn’t describe him to save my life. He did emerge in the end, but when I realized his objective was the basin on the floor, I scarpered. I got the impression of a smallish man with a bald spot.”
“He can’t be ruled out as Number Two then. Gosh, darling, it’s just dawned on me that Pertwee might have been more to Wanda than simply another admirer. If he had been her lover, it would explain why she was so upset.”
Alec stopped with his waistcoat half on.
“It certainly would,” he agreed, “and that opens up all sorts of possibilities. For instance, did he follow her in order to blackmail her?”
“I don’t think so,” Daisy said doubtfully, holding the waistcoat for him to put his other arm in. “They looked quite chummy. All she seemed concerned about afterwards was that Gotobed shouldn’t find out.”
“Which suggests that there was something to find out,” said Alec. He buttoned his waistcoat and reached for his dinner jacket. “She told you she didn’t want him reminded of her career on the stage?”
“Yes, though come to think of it, he’s never shown the least reluctance to talk about it. But if she’s sensitive about it, she probably assumes he is.”
“Very likely. On the other hand, she’d have every reason to fear his finding out that her lover was aboard.”
“Even if Pertwee is still … was still her lover, I can’t see why he came on the Talavera.” Daisy straighted Alec’s black tie, a wifely gesture in which she took great pleasure. “It would be easier and safer to resume their liaison when she gets back to England.”
“Failing a deathless passion and resultant refusal to be parted, I’d guess he was living on Gotobed’s unknowing largesse,” Alec said cynically as they left the cabin. “She would find it difficult to pass on large sums so early in the marriage, so he’d have to remain nearby.”
“But he’s been winning at poker. Oh, but Brenda said Riddman’s cheques hadn’t been cashed. I think he told her the winner promised to hold them till New York. Darling, I bet Brenda knows the names of the men who played poker with Riddman! Shall I have a little heart-to-heart with her? If you try to pump her, it’s bound to get back to him and warn him of your suspicions.”
“Daisy, I haven’t forgotten Riddman,” Alec said, “but you do realize, don’t you, love, that if Pertwee was Wanda’s lover, the man with the best motive for putting him away is Gotobed?”