There seemed to be a singular dearth of servants about. Even Captain Brentworth’s strident bellows for Rashid produced no result.
“They must be being kept below,” Stephen ventured. “If they were above deck I think we would have heard them—or they us.”
He glanced over at Captain Brentworth, who was moodily puffing on a cigarette as if Rashid’s failure to appear were a personal insult.
Sometime later a steward who professed to know nothing about the earlier commotion appeared on deck and asked if he could bring anyone some light refreshment. Dinner would be served on schedule, but for the time being the passengers were asked to remain where they were. Not long after that, Mr. Watkins returned. He walked directly over to Stephen Holmboe.
“Mr. Holmboe,” he said, “if I may trouble you, your presence has been requested by the captain.”
Stephen rose from his chair, putting his book aside.
“Certainly,” he said. “Lead on.”
“Half a moment,” Neville said. “Mr. Holmboe is in my employ. I cannot have him involved in something without my knowledge.”
Mr. Watkins frowned, but did not seem inclined to argue.
“Very well, Sir Neville. If you gentlemen…”
Jenny interrupted.
“I’m coming, too,” she said. “Wild horses wouldn’t stop me.”
Mr. Watkins obviously knew when he was beaten. “If your uncle desires your presence,” he said.
Neville knew he’d rather have Jenny under his eye than spend his energy worrying about what ingenious methods she would be devising to satisfy her curiosity.
“I do,” he said firmly. “Come along, Genevieve.”
The use of her formal name was as an adequate reminder to be on her best behavior. Jenny followed demurely, not asking any of the questions that normally would come tumbling out.
Mr. Watkins explained the details of the situation, once they were below. “The difficulty is with Colonel and Mrs. Travers. They are waiting in the ship’s library. As the matter is somewhat private, I would rather leave it to them to explain.”
The small library was impossibly crowded. Colonel Travers was bending over his loudly weeping wife, while Mary knelt at her mother’s feet. A servant was setting down a tray with teapot and cups, his expression neutral but his eyes alive with interest. Captain Easthill was just departing, smoothing a scowl of annoyance from his features when he saw the new arrivals.
“Carry on, Watkins,” he said gruffly to the purser. “It’s stormy weather in there. Mr. Holmboe, thank you for your assistance. I sincerely hope you can resolve this very difficult matter.”
“I shall endeavor to do so,” Stephen replied. Then he addressed the Travers family. “Perhaps one of you would like to explain what has happened?”
Colonel Travers rose and glowered at the servant who was fussing with the tea tray.
“That’s enough idling. Get on with you. Mary, pour your mother some tea and make her take the powder Dr. MacDonagal gave her. Teresa, for heaven’s sake get a hold on yourself. Mr. Holmboe and Sir Neville have come to help, and they can’t learn anything with you yowling like that.”
Neville noted that Jenny had done the seeming impossible, slipping past the colonel into the library, and was now helping Mary with the tea and medication.
Colonel Travers glanced up and down the passageway. Finding it clear of everyone but their immediate group and Mr. Watkins, he made a production of clearing his throat.
“Thank you for coming, gentlemen. We have a bit of a problem. My wife’s jewel case has been stolen.”
Stephen’s eyebrows shot up. “Certainly you can’t believe I took it!”
“Not at all, not at all, Mr. Holmboe. It is simply that this ship has nothing that remotely resembles a police force. We can report the theft once the ship docks in Alexandria, but Teresa fears that the jewels will be spirited ashore long before then.”
Stephen blinked, interested, but obviously wondering what any of this had to do with him. Indeed, Neville could have understood if Colonel Travers had called on his soldiers to form a search party, but what use did he have for an eccentric linguist?
From within the library proper, Mrs. Travers swallowed her sobs enough to speak. “Mr. Holmboe, I recalled your reading from Poe, and how admiringly you spoke of the science of ratiocination. I thought that if anyone aboard this vessel could recover my jewels, it would be a man of science and learning like yourself.”
The wind and weather to which Stephen’s fair skin had been subjected of late could not hide the color rising to his cheeks.
“Madam, I am only an admirer of Dupin’s methods, not a practitioner of the science, except within the limits of my profession. I am a linguist, a translator. I fear I know little about the criminal mind.”
Mrs. Travers began to weep again uncontrollably. Jenny left Mary to comfort her mother, and came to the door, speaking in a soft, urgent voice hardly above a whisper.
“Mr. Holmboe, don’t you think you could at least try? Mrs. Travers is genuinely upset, and I fear she will do herself an injury if she continues on this way.”
Colonel Travers seconded the request. “Please, Mr. Holmboe. If you learn nothing, I will not hold the failure against you. My wife had several items of great sentimental worth in the case. She would never have brought them with her, but this posting to Egypt is to be for some years and she was reluctant to do without her treasures.”
Neville hated to see the colonel at such a loss. “What do you say, Stephen? I will gladly assist you in whatever way I can. We certainly can’t do more harm.”
Mr. Watkins, the purser, who until then had been standing against the passageway wall and looking helpless, stepped forward.
“Captain Easthill has assured us that we have his permission—indeed, his encouragement—to undertake such an investigation. He will ensure the crew’s cooperation. I firmly believe that the captain would prefer to have this matter settled before we make port in Alexandria, and the criminal has a chance to jump ship.”
“Very well.” Stephen nodded decisively. “I suppose we can do no more harm than has already been done. Mr. Watkins, ask the quartermaster, or whatever you call that officer on a ship, to make certain that nothing is handed off board when a supply ship calls. Can you make certain that those men who handle such interactions are completely trustworthy?”
“I would like to say that everyone aboard is trustworthy,” Watkins replied, a trace stiffly. “I cannot. However, I can request that only old hands be employed in such tasks. In event, we’ve already had our daily supplies.”
Stephen smiled. “Wonderful. One more question. How widely is Mrs. Travers’s loss known?”
Watkins clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Fairly widely, at least among the crew and servants. We thought at first the case had been mislaid, perhaps accidentally carried off with the laundry. That meant we had to speak with the servants, then with the officer of those departments. Then Colonel Travers insisted on speaking to a ranking officer. Then the doctor had to be called when the lady grew hysterical…”
“Then news will be all over, like fleas on a stray dog’s back,” Stephen concluded. “Very well. We must accept that the thief will have hidden the case as carefully as possible. Perhaps we can deduce where, before we do a compartment-by-compartment search.”
Mrs. Travers sniffled loudly. “If the thief knows we are closing in on him, he may throw my jewelry into the sea.”
Stephen shook his head solemnly. “Reason dictates otherwise, madam. Thieves work for profit, and there is no profit in throwing jewels into the sea, especially when there are so many admirable hiding places on the ship for the case. There would be even more if he removes the jewels from their case and hides each piece separately.”
Seeing Teresa Travers about to begin sobbing again at this new thought, Neville hastened to interrupt. “I think he will not remove them, Stephen, for if he does so he increases the likelihood that a single piece w
ill be discovered, and so give us insight into the hiding places of the rest.”
Jenny added, “Or that someone will find a bit of the swag and keep it for himself… or turn it in and hope for the Traverses’ gratitude.”
“Good thinking, Miss Benet,” Stephen said. “Colonel, why not let it get about that you’re willing to offer a reward if the jewels are found? To anyone but myself, of course,” he added hastily, obviously eager not to be thought grasping. “The thief may decide that it is in his own best interest to pretend to find the jewels and return them.”
“I can do that,” Colonel Travers said. “However, I would prefer to wait until you have completed at least a preliminary investigation. You may make offering a reward unnecessary, and I dislike the thought of paying off a thief.”
“However you decide to handle the matter,” Stephen said breezily, “will suit me. Now, Mrs. Travers, tell me: when did you last see the jewel case? In fact, why not start by telling us what it looks like?”
Mrs. Travers seemed finally to have gotten control of herself, or perhaps the mild sedative prescribed by Dr. MacDonagal was taking effect. She sipped her tea, then answered with almost military precision.
“I saw it last this morning,” she said, “when I took out this little cameo clasp to wear with my dress. The case is a polished walnut box about six inches deep, six or eight inches long and slightly less wide. My initials are inlaid in mother-of-pearl on the lid, surrounded with scrollwork. The case itself is lined with velvet, and contains a shallow upper tray. It is locked, and I always carry the key.”
Stephen nodded. “Are you certain you didn’t see the case again at tea time?”
Mrs. Travers paused to consider. “I had no need to check for it. My dress was quite suitable for tea. I only discovered my loss when I went to select what I would wear for dinner. I opened the cabinet beneath the lower bunk where I had been keeping it, and found that it had vanished!”
She started to sob again. Stephen waited for her to continue, his expression growing faintly annoyed. Neville suspected that even having two sisters and an invalid mother had not inured Stephen to the fashion for decorous female tears.
“Colonel Travers,” Neville said hastily, lest Stephen voice his impatience, “who has access to your cabin other than yourselves and your daughter?”
The colonel frowned thoughtfully.
“My man, Atkins. He ‘does’ for both of us. Mary and her mother have been assisting each other with feminine things. We plan to hire servants once we get to Egypt. Then there is the steward who cleans up the place, fills the water bottle, makes the bunks, and suchlike.”
“That would be Timothy Hamlin,” Watkins supplied. “I have spoken with him. He claims not to have had reason to go into the Traverses’ cabin since he made up the bunks this morning. He has been with the ship since her launching, and we have had nothing more than the occasional complaint about him—laziness mostly—certainly none regarding his honesty.”
Stephen took out a sheet of paper and jotted down names. Neville wondered if Stephen had noticed, as Jenny certainly had, judging from her slight smile, that Mrs. Travers’s tears had ceased as soon as she saw that further sympathy was in short supply.
“Anyone else?” Stephen prompted.
“No one but members of the family,” Colonel Travers said. “I was in a few times, once to get a book I wanted to show Sir Neville, another time for my pipe. Atkins was busy mending some things, and I didn’t want to take him from his work.”
Stephen made a note of this. Neville had the sneaking suspicion that these notes were more to reassure Stephen’s audience that he was attending than because he needed them. Surely a young man who could keep the complexities of ancient Egyptian verb tenses in his memory could remember a few names.
“Mr. Watkins,” Stephen said, turning to the purser, “has the cabin been carefully searched?”
“As soon as Mrs. Travers reported the case missing,” Watkins replied, clearly relieved to be able to report something positive. “We thought the case might have fallen to the floor or become buried under something else in the cabinet. I assisted Colonel Travers in making a careful inspection of both these areas, but we found no sign of the missing jewels.”
“Colonel Travers, have either you or Mrs. Travers had reason to be discontent with your man Atkins?”
The colonel shook his head decisively.
“None. Atkins has been my man for years. I have even spoken to him about his remaining in my service when I retire from the Army.”
“And Mr. Watkins speaks equally well of Mr. Hamlin,” Stephen mused. “Are there any others you would add to my list of suspects?”
Clearly he expected no reply, but what he received was a stream of loquacious abuse from Mrs. Travers. The words were so incoherent that Mary had to calm her mother.
“Mother, please slow down,” Mary said soothingly. “Mr. Holmboe cannot help if he cannot understand you.”
Mrs. Travers obeyed, but her ample bosom heaved with barely suppressed passion.
“I said that I was certain that my jewel case has been stolen by that skulking Arab servant of Captain Brentworth! I’ve seen the dark-skinned rascal prowling about where he has no right to be. Those natives are all thieves, anyhow. I’m certain that the sneaking scoundrel wanted my jewels to sell so he could have money with which to indulge in his barbaric pleasures.”
Neville shot a glance at Jenny. He hadn’t missed his niece’s interest in Rashid, and he had heard her voice her displeasure with how whites treated native peoples. Jenny’s full lips were pressed into a tight line, but she said nothing.
Personally, Neville agreed with Jenny’s unspoken advocacy of the Egyptian. From what he had observed, Rashid was dully polite, if vague and rather stupid. He brought a bovine patience to his attendance upon his rather tyrannical master. However, nothing would be gained from saying so now, and Neville had no desire to make Mrs. Travers so angry that she rejected Stephen’s advice. Besides, Captain Brentworth was a stiff-necked customer, likely to take offense if someone attached to him were accused of theft.
Stephen made a note of Mrs. Travers’s accusations, ascertained whose cabins were nearest to the Traverses’ own, and then rose to his feet. “I would like to begin by examining the cabin,” he said. “If Sir Neville and Miss Benet would assist me?”
Colonel Travers stepped forward. “I don’t quite…”
Stephen gave a very urbane smile. “Quite simple, really. You and Mr. Watkins are both overly familiar with the place in question. We all know how easy it is to overlook something in a familiar place… Certainly you have mislaid a favorite pipe or some other trifle only to find it in some obvious place?”
Since Colonel Travers was already becoming legendary aboard Neptune’s Charger for how easily he mislaid his pipe, he had the grace to grin acknowledgement.
“Now,” Stephen continued, “neither Sir Neville or myself have been in your cabin. Miss Benet will make certain the proprieties regarding female attire are attended to. No shocks among the stockings, eh?”
They were excused without further delay, and when they were alone Stephen said, with a dry chuckle, “Actually, I had to get Miss Benet away before she flew to defend the young Egyptian’s honor. I quite liked Mrs. Travers before all that rot came driveling out. I’m sure if I’d asked for more suspects she would have been accusing the Africans in the boiler room next. However, since we are away, let us go and search the room.”
“Do you have any thoughts, Mr. Holmboe?” Jenny asked. “Since you rightly dismiss that accusation of Rashid?”
“A thread of a thought,” Stephen admitted. “Sir Neville, you seem to know Colonel Travers fairly well. Have you heard any rumors that he or his wife are in financial difficulty?”
“It has been years since Travers and I served together,” Neville said, “but I still have friends at the military clubs. I didn’t hear anything there, nor have I caught any such hints from the other officers aboard—a
few of them are real gossips, too, and not so fond of their commander that they would hesitate to spread scandal.”
“Jenny, anything on the ladies?”
“Nothing,” she replied promptly. “Both Mrs. Travers and Mary’s clothing is fashionable, but not beyond what would be reasonable for them. They certainly aren’t spending overmuch in the shops. Neither seems to gamble—at least Lady Cheshire hasn’t been able to get either to take a flutter when we’re playing cards.”
“Fine,” Stephen said. “There are other ways of running into debt—someone could be being blackmailed, for example.”
“Really, Stephen!” Sir Neville protested. “I hardly think that likely.”
Stephen grinned a trace sheepishly. “Very well. For now we’ll work from the assumption that no one in the Travers family pretended to steal the jewels either to claim on the insurance or in order to sell them in Egypt. Besides, they were willing to let us search their cabin. That speaks well for them.”
“And the servants?” Neville asked. “Atkins and Hamlin?”
“Both men,” Stephen said, unlocking the door to the Traverses’ cabin, “have good characters. Let us not sully them until we have exhausted other options.”
“Then what shall we do?” Jenny asked.
“Mrs. Travers appealed to Auguste Dupin, not to me. I keep thinking of one of Dupin’s adventures. Therefore, like Dupin, I shall not pursue the unlikely until I have exhausted the likely.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Jenny persisted.
Stephen leaned against the edge of one of the bunks and began speaking as if he were a lecturer before a much larger audience. “We all agree that none of the probable thieves—the Traverses themselves, their man Atkins, the steward Hamlin, and, of course, young Rashid—are likely to have taken the jewels. In most cases they have opportunity and means, but not motive. The servants especially have more to lose than to gain, for they might lose their character and position simply on the suspicion of being involved. The profit gained from selling Mrs. Travers’s jewels would not be sufficient to repay them for this—at least I have not seen Mrs. Travers wearing a rajah’s crown or wielding a diamond-tipped scepter.”
The Buried Pyramid Page 11