Murder on the Salsette

by Conrad Allen

  “How do you communicate—by semaphore?”

  “We have our own system of signals, Mr. Cannadine. That’s why we always sit where we can see each other. I don’t know the details, of course, but Genevieve made one thing very clear to me. She’s dealing with another crime.”

  When luncheon was over, Genevieve accompanied May Verney to the place on the main deck where the latter’s purse had been stolen. Cursing herself for having fallen asleep, Mrs. Verney pointed to her deck chair.

  “That’s where I was sitting,” she said. “In the shade.”

  “Reading a novel?”

  “Yes. It was Moths by Ouida. I love her books.”

  “And where was the Sikh gentleman standing?”

  “Just here,” said Mrs. Verney, taking up a position. “He couldn’t help but notice when I dozed off.”

  “That gives me something to work on.”

  “Mr. Cannadine told me there was another theft on deck.”

  “Yes,” said Genevieve. “That was an opportunist’s crime, as well. So was the first theft, as a matter of fact. It was from a cabin whose door had been left unlocked.”

  “Was the same person responsible for all three crimes?”

  “I think so. In each case, a woman was the target.”

  “What does that tell you?”

  “That the thief is careful not to steal from men. If they catch him in the act, they’re likely to take him on. Most women wouldn’t do that. Also, of course, we do tend to have more valuables with us than men—jewelry, keepsakes, and so on. A thief stands to gain more from preying on female passengers.”

  “Especially if we’re stupid enough to leave our purse unguarded, as I did,” Mrs. Verney said bitterly. “No man would leave his billfold on a deck chair while he took a nap. Oh, I had such a nasty shock when I woke up, Miss Masefield.”

  Genevieve was sympathetic. “It must have been dreadful for you.”

  “It was. I don’t mind about the money—there wasn’t a great deal in my purse. It’s the photographs and the other items. Be honest with me. What are the chances of getting them back?”

  “They’re rather slim, I’m afraid.”

  “Why?”

  “Most thieves would simply take the money and throw the purse overboard. That way they destroy evidence that could lead to their arrest.”

  “So I might as well give up hope?” the other said gloomily.

  “Never do that, Mrs. Verney. We could be lucky.”

  “My husband was so angry with me.”

  “He had no right to be,” said Genevieve. “The vast majority of passengers are very honest. They wouldn’t dream of stealing anything. Nine times out of ten, you could sleep for an hour and find your purse untouched beside you.”

  “I won’t put that to the test, if you don’t mind.”

  “Once bitten?”

  “Quite, Miss Masefield.”

  “The next thing I need to see is this man who was standing so close to you,” said Genevieve. “Point him out if you will, please.”

  “I don’t see him on this side of the ship,” said Mrs. Verney, gazing up and down the deck. “Shall we go round to the port side?”

  “Yes, but let’s do it as if we’re having an afternoon stroll. We don’t want to look as if we’re searching for someone. If you do spot him, just nudge my arm.”

  “Very well.”

  They walked the length of the starboard side until they reached the stern, then made their way at a leisurely pace up the other side of the deck. Almost immediately, Mrs. Verney saw the man they were after and she gave Genevieve a nudge. Sitting cross-legged on the deck, staring ahead of him, was Guljar Singh. Two Indians stood patiently beside him. When he emerged from his trance, he held out his hand and one of the men slipped a coin into his palm. Guljar Singh spoke to him at length, using both hands expressively. Pleased with what he heard, the man pressed a second coin into his palm and went off happily with his friend.

  Having seen it all, Genevieve and her companion walked on past. May Verney waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke.

  “That was him,” she said. “I’m certain he was the thief.”

  Even in second class, dinner was a formal occasion and Lois Greenwood enjoyed dressing up for it. When she was ready that evening, she studied herself in the full-length mirror, made a final adjustment to her shoulder strap, then swept out of the cabin in her pink satin gown. As soon as she knocked on the door of the adjoining cabin, her father let her in. He and his wife were both delighted with her appearance. Daphne Greenwood, a thin, handsome, dark-haired woman, was wearing a tomato-colored frock of Liberty velveteen and Indian muslin, with an elaborate lace fichu.

  “Mummy!” said Lois. “You look wonderful!”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” said Greenwood.

  His wife was dubious. “I’m wondering if it’s more suitable for a younger woman,” she said, turning to the mirror again. “I’m not sure that it’s altogether right.”

  “Of course, it is, Daphne.”

  “Yes,” Lois cried enthusiastically. “It makes you look almost regal.”

  “I don’t want people staring at me,” her mother said nervously.

  “They’ll look at you, whatever you wear,” said Greenwood with a touch of gallantry. “You’ll be the most attractive woman in the room.”

  “What about me?” protested Lois.

  “You’ll have to take second place to your mother this evening.”

  “As long as I can have that frock when Mummy’s finished with it.”

  “Of course, darling,” said Mrs. Greenwood.

  Lois put a hand to her stomach. “I’m starving. Shall we go?”

  “In a moment,” replied her father. “I just want to remind you about what I said earlier. We’ll be on show in the dining saloon. Good behavior is paramount. I don’t want anyone to think that my daughter hasn’t been brought up properly. Remember my position, Lois.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” she said wearily, “you’re always chastising me about that. Ever since you became an M.P., you’ve been obsessed with keeping up appearances.”

  “Only because it’s important. I’m a public figure now.”

  “In England, maybe—not in the middle of the Arabian Sea. By the way,” she went on excitedly, “I asked Mr. Dillman about that. He’s a sailor. According to him, we are crossing the Arabian Sea, so I was right about that. Except that it’s part of the Indian Ocean, of course.”

  “Never mind that, Lois. Do as I told you. I don’t want you speaking so freely to the Mr. Dillmans of this world.”

  “But he’s such good company.”

  “Listen to your father, dear,” advised Mrs. Greenwood.

  “He’s far and away the nicest person I’ve met on this ship.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” said her father, straightening his white bow tie and brushing some dust from his lapel. “The fact is that you went up to a total stranger and engaged him in conversation. That’s not the way things are done, Lois.”

  “I’d never have got to meet him otherwise.”

  “What must he have thought of you?” asked her mother anxiously. “A young woman, approaching him in that brazen way. When I was your age, I wouldn’t have dared to do such a thing.”

  “You might if you’d met someone as good-looking as Mr. Dillman.”

  “Lois!”

  “Wait until you see him, Mummy.”

  “I’ve no wish to see him.”

  “Neither have I,” decreed Greenwood. “He does not belong to our circle and he never will. I suggest that you forget about Mr. Dillman.”

  “It’s because he’s American, isn’t it?” challenged Lois.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he was English, and lived in your constituency, it would be a very different matter. Mr. Dillman would be able to vote for you then. You’d be as nice as pie to him, Daddy. You’d go out of your way to get to know him.”

&nb
sp; “That’s not true at all.”

  “And very naughty of you even to suggest it,” said Mrs. Greenwood with uncharacteristic sharpness. “I won’t have you being so disrespectful to your father, Lois. Apologize at once.”

  “You’re both being so unfair to Mr. Dillman.”

  “Apologize.”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Unless you’d prefer to eat your dinner in your cabin.”

  “Mummy, that would be cruel!” cried Lois. She turned a penitent face to her father. “I’m sorry, Daddy. It was very rude of me. I didn’t mean that about chasing his vote.”

  “Then let’s hear no more of it,” he said peremptorily. “We’ll draw a line under the whole business and go into the dining saloon as a family. Do you understand, Lois? What you do reflects on your parents.” He crossed to open the door. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

  Since his only suspect was traveling in second class, George Dillman went to the other dining saloon that evening, arriving early so that he could choose a seat from which he could command a view of the whole room. Sitting opposite him, Guljar Singh was pleased to see his friend again.

  “Are you enjoying this stage of your journey?” he asked.

  “Very much,” replied Dillman.

  “Where do you go next?”

  “Back to England, Mr. Singh.”

  “Then home to America, I think.”

  “Everywhere is home to a sailor,” said Dillman. “What about you?”

  “I am going to Aden to see my son. He works there. When I have spent some time with his family, I must go back to Bombay. There is too much work for me to do.”

  “At your age? I thought that you’d retired.”

  “Mystics never retire, my friend. We are at the mercy of our gifts.”

  “Those gifts have certainly found an audience on the Salsette,” noted Dillman. “Whenever I’ve seen you on deck, you have a small audience around you.”

  “Everyone likes to have their fortune told.”

  “I prefer not to know what lies ahead.”

  “Then how can you prepare for bad things?” asked Singh. “What is that saying the English have?”

  “Forewarned is forearmed.”

  “I use my powers to forewarn people.”

  “But you pass on good news to them, as well, don’t you?” said Dillman, remembering Lois Greenwood. “Your prophecies are not always laden with doom.”

  The old man shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “Sometimes I bring happy tidings. This afternoon, I was able to tell a man that his wife would soon bear them a lovely daughter. He was so pleased that he gave me another rupee.”

  “It’s been a profitable voyage for you, then?”

  “Very profitable, Mr. Dillman. I do not do it only for the money, of course, but bills have to be paid. The Salsette has been kind to me. Well, you saw the way that I won that bet with the officer.”

  “It served him right for taking you on.”

  “I had some more unexpected money, as well.”

  “Wait a moment,” said Dillman. “How could it be unexpected when you always know exactly what to expect?” Guljar Singh let out a cackle. “Come on. How do you explain that?”

  “Easily, Mr. Dillman. My gift only works for others. I could foretell your future, but I cannot foresee my own. It is my blind spot.”

  “Do you remember a pretty English girl called Lois Greenwood?”

  “Was that her name? She did not tell me.”

  “She was thrilled with what you told her.”

  “Yes,” recalled the other. “She has a pleasant surprise waiting for her at school. Before that, on this ship, she will do something very good. Something that will be special.”

  “Do you have any idea what it is?”

  “I only see outlines, Mr. Dillman. Not clear shapes.”

  “You saw enough to put a smile on her face. Lois was ecstatic.”

  “She may still suffer along with the rest of us.”

  “Suffer?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dillman,” explained the mystic. “Bear in mind what I said about this ship. I believe there will be a terrible event aboard.”

  “You could be right,” agreed Dillman, thinking of the murder of Dudley Nevin. “Is there no way that we can avert this disaster?”

  “No, my friend. It may already have happened, you see. We just do not know about it yet.”

  “I hope that you’re wrong about that.”

  “I am never wrong about such things.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for that,” said Dillman, concealing the fact that Guljar Singh’s prediction had been remarkably accurate.

  “There is evil on the Salsette,” warned the other. “And it will affect all of us, including that young lady we spoke of just now.”

  At that moment, Lois Greenwood came into the saloon with her parents. In white tie and tails, her father cut quite a dash and her mother gained many admiring glances, as well. Lois herself was basking in the attention that she was getting. What puzzled Dillman was that she never even acknowledged his smile of welcome. Though she definitely saw him there, Lois deliberately ignored him.

  ______

  Dining in first class that evening, Genevieve Masefield had selected a dress of ivory-colored taffeta that displayed her figure at its best, and she carried an ivory fan. Tortoiseshell slides kept her hair in place. As she stepped out of her cabin, she was startled to see Paulo Morelli waiting for her. For once, his face was not split into an ingratiating grin. The Italian heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I pray that you come out first, Miss Masefield,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “I need to ask you the favor.”

  “What kind of favor, Paulo?”

  “Is Mrs. Simcoe. She no like me anymore.”

  “I’m sure that you’re imagining things,” said Genevieve. “Only yesterday, she told me what an accommodating steward you’ve been.”

  “That was yesterday. Today, is different.”

  “In what way?”

  “I take her on deck in the chair with wheels, and all is well at first. Then I say something nice about her daughter and—poof!” he said, smacking his palms together. “Mrs. Simcoe, she turn on me.”

  “Why? What did you say?”

  “I tell the truth, that is all. Miss Simcoe, she is a lovely young lady. In Italy, she would be married by now with bambinos. Is true. All women of that age have a husband.”

  “And Mrs. Simcoe took exception to your comments?”

  “She did. She warn me she will get another steward.”

  “In that case, she must have taken umbrage.”

  Morelli blinked. “Umbrage? I no hear that word before.”

  “It means that she took offense. She was resentful.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “Is a lot of resentment. While they play the cards this afternoon, she send for me twice to bring refreshment but she speak very unkindly to me. Her daughter, she is the same. She not say anything, but she look at me as if I am not wanted anymore.” Morelli was obviously distressed. “Please, Miss Masefield. I like my job. I love to serve you and your friends. I need your help.”

  “What can I do, Paulo?” asked Genevieve.

  “Talk to them. Find out what I did wrong. Do not tell them that I ask you to do this,” he added quickly. “I just want everything to be like it was before. I am a good steward.”

  Genevieve felt sorry for him. She could see his anguish. Morelli had a tendency to be overfamiliar with the passengers he looked after, but she did not condemn him for that. Without knowing why, he had somehow alienated Constance and Tabitha Simcoe.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she promised.

  “Thank you, Miss Masefield. Thank you very much.”

  Before he could say anything else, a door opened farther down the corridor and Tabitha Simcoe put her head out. When she saw Morelli, she snapped her fingers.

  “Mother is ready now,” she said curtly.

/>   “You see what I mean,” he murmured to Genevieve.

  Morelli hurried along to the cabin, went inside, and reappeared almost at once, pushing the Bath chair. Resplendent in a dress of burgundy-colored silk, Constance Simcoe waved to Genevieve as she was wheeled past. She then ordered Morelli to push her faster. Afraid of saying the wrong thing, the steward remained silent. Tabitha fell in beside her friend as they followed the Bath chair.

  “We’re a little late this evening,” she said. “The bridge game went on much longer than we anticipated.”

  “Who were you playing, Tabby?”

  “The Kingtons. Have you met Mr. and Mrs. Kington yet?”

  “I don’t believe that I have,” said Genevieve.

  “Arthur Kington is a retired businessman of some sort,” explained Tabitha. “He promised his wife that he’d take her to see the Taj Mahal one day, and he was finally in a position to keep that promise.”

  “How nice!”

  “Yes, they’re a pleasant couple. Mother met them yesterday when she was being wheeled around the deck. Before they knew it, she’d persuaded them to join us for a game of bridge.”

  “How did you get on?”

  “Oh,” Tabitha said briskly, “we won, of course.”

  “Were you playing for money?”

  “Mr. Kington insisted. He said that it gave him incentive.”

  “I gather that you had a slightly harder time against the Ackroyds.”

  Tabitha bridled slightly. “Why do you ask?” she said. “Has Phoebe Ackroyd been boasting about it?”

  “She was a trifle expansive over luncheon,” admitted Genevieve.

  “They had a good run,” conceded the other. “That sort of thing happens in cards. It may be a different story when we play them again tomorrow. Especially as Gerald Ackroyd wants to raise the stakes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, that mild-mannered man is something of a gambler. Mother can always pick them out. She has this sixth sense.”

  “Talking of your mother,” said Genevieve, looking at the Bath chair as it turned a corner ahead of them, “I couldn’t help noticing that her manner towards Paulo has altered. The same goes for you, Tabby. Both of you seemed rather annoyed with him.”

  “We are, Genevieve. Very annoyed.”

  “Why—what has the man done?”

  “He overstepped the mark.”