by Conrad Allen
“Did he say where it came from?”
“No, Genevieve.”
“Then it might have been from Mrs. Verney’s purse.”
Dillman was forced at least to consider the possibility. He still believed that his friend was innocent but he now wondered about the origin of Guljar Singh’s unheralded windfall.
“Give me the details of this latest theft,” he asked.
Genevieve did so, describing Mrs. Verney and explaining how she had visited the scene of the crime with her. Dillman seized on the fact that Mrs. Verney was, like Madame Roussel and Mrs. Lundgrun, the other victims before her, a second-class passenger.
“All three thefts have occurred there, so at least we know in which part of the ship we can look for our thief. He’s hidden away somewhere in the passenger list that the purser gave us.”
“Unless he’s a member of the crew.”
“Have you seen where the stewards sleep?” said Dillman. “They don’t have individual cabins like us, Genevieve. There are at least four bunks in all of their quarters. There’s no chance of hiding jewelry in there.”
“Then it has to be a passenger.”
“Someone fit enough to sprint along a corridor.”
“That must eliminate a lot of people, George.”
“It does,” he said. “But it still leaves us with a fair number of suspects. There are lots of younger people aboard the ship. You can’t watch them all simultaneously. My fear is that I may have frightened the thief off this evening. If he knows someone is after him, he may decide to go to ground.”
“If that happens, we’ll never find him.”
“Yes, we will,” he asserted. “Somehow.”
“Time is fast running out.”
“Then we’ll have to redouble our efforts.” Seeing her disconsolate expression, he gave her a reassuring hug. “Cheer up, Genevieve. We’ve been in more difficult situations than this and managed to pull through.”
“I suppose so.”
“Tell me about your evening,” he suggested.
“It wasn’t as interesting as yours. I dined with the Simcoes.”
“Have you made your peace with the daughter?”
“I thought so,” she said, “but I’m not quite sure. Tabby is such a creature of moods—and so is her mother. They spent most of the meal talking about their triumph at the card table or complaining about their steward. Some of Tabby’s behavior surprised me.”
“In what way?”
“Well, she seemed so meek and mild when I first met her.”
“And now?”
“She really blossomed over dinner. She was full of confidence. In the past, she’s always been rather shy where the opposite sex is concerned, but not last night. Tabby was chatting away to the young man beside her as if he were an old friend.”
“Perhaps that’s what he was.”
“No, George,” she said. “He was a complete stranger—a German by the name of Siegfried Voigt. I wouldn’t have believed it of Tabby if I hadn’t actually seen it happen. She came very close to flirting with him.”
Lois Greenwood was circumspect. When she parted from her parents that night, she waited a long time before creeping out of her cabin with her roller skates. After her father’s warning, she knew that she had to be especially careful, but she was not going to be denied her exercise. Before she put on her skates, she walked around the deck to make sure that nobody was about. It seemed to be deserted. Perched on a bench, she was reaching for the first skate when someone came out of the gloom to sit down beside her.
“Hello, Miss Greenwood,” said Dillman.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, hand on heart. “You gave me such a fright.”
“You are speaking to me, then?”
“Of course, Mr. Dillman.”
“I thought you’d forgotten who I was,” he complained. “In the dining room earlier on, you cut me dead.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. It was Daddy’s fault. He gave me a roasting for being so impetuous. Daddy said I wasn’t to befriend people like you and Guljar Singh in the way that I did. So—just to please him—I pretended to ignore you.”
“Does he know that you once skated into me?”
“No! He’d crucify me if he found that out.”
“It sounds to me as if he’s rather strict with you.”
“Too strict,” she said. “It’s been far worse since he became an M.P. Daddy never used to be quite so pompous before. He says that he has a position to maintain and that I mustn’t let him down.”
“You’re a credit to him, and I told him so.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillman.”
“How long has he been in Parliament?”
“Only for two years or so,” she replied, strapping the first skate to her foot. “He won a by-election in Reading. The one good thing about that was that we had a party to celebrate. Daddy was in great form that night. From then on, Mummy hardly ever saw him.”
“Did he spend all his time at the House of Commons?”
“There or abroad. He’s always traveled a lot.”
“Oh? What did he do before he became a politician?”
“He worked for a newspaper as a foreign correspondent. I used to get letters from all over the place. He even went to South Africa.”
“Why?”
“Something he was investigating. I don’t know the details.”
“Does he like being in Parliament?”
“He loves it.”
“What about your mother?”
“She’s very proud of him but she’d like to see more of him. Mummy is anxious at the best of times. When Daddy goes abroad,” she said, putting on the other skate, “she worries herself sick.”
“Why does he have to travel so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does your father have any enemies, Miss Greenwood?”
She giggled. “He’s a politician. Everyone hates them.”
“Is he the sort of man who has vendettas against people?”
“That’s a funny question. Why do you ask?”
“I know that passions can run high in politics,” said Dillman. “They certainly do in my country, anyway. What about this by-election? Do you have any idea who stood against your father?”
“Not really. There were two other candidates, that’s all I know.”
“Can you recall either of their names?”
“No,” she said. “I was away at boarding school when it happened. The only time I went home was for the party. If you want all the details, you’ll have to ask Daddy. He still has his election poster framed on the wall of his office.”
Dillman did not wish to press her any further in case he aroused her suspicion. He had learned some interesting new facts about Sylvester Greenwood and settled for those. Since women were excluded from the political process, Lois clearly had no real curiosity about her father’s work. There was little more that he could learn from her.
“Will you tell your father that we had this conversation?” he said.
“Of course not.”
“Because you’re not supposed to speak to me?”
“That’s not the only reason, Mr. Dillman,” she said, standing up on her skates. “If I told him we met on deck like this, Daddy would never forgive me. He has a real temper when he’s roused.”
“He ought to be proud of a daughter with spirit like yours.”
“Well, he’s not, I’m afraid.”
“A pity. Still, you get on with your practice. The deck is yours.”
“Good-bye!”
Pushing herself off from the bench, Lois skated along the port side of the vessel with gathering speed. Dillman waited until she had done a complete circuit of the ship and clapped his hands in appreciation. She did not, however, get very far on her second circuit. A burly figure soon emerged from a doorway to block her way and she gave a little cry of alarm. Thinking that she was in danger, Dillman ran swiftly to her aid but his help wasn’t needed. When he r
eached her, he saw that she was gazing up in horror at her father.
Still in his white tie and tails, Sylvester Greenwood was brusque.
“Good night, Mr. Dillman,” he said.
Max Cannadine was not enamoured of the idea at all. When it was first put to him in his office that morning, he shook his head doubtfully.
“Will that really be necessary, Miss Masefield?” he asked.
“Only as a last resort.”
“You want permission to search the cabins?”
“A selected number of them,” said Genevieve. “It may be the only way we can actually track down the jewelry that was stolen.”
“Even so, it’s a big step.”
“It’s always proved to be crucial in the past.”
“That may well be,” said the purser, “but that doesn’t make it any more palatable for me. Passengers trust us. They have faith in us to transport them safely from one port to another in the quickest way. When they buy a P and O ticket, they don’t expect to have their belongings searched by detectives.”
“They won’t know anything about it, Mr. Cannadine.”
“There’d be an unholy stink, if they did.”
“Rely on our discretion.”
“How many cabins are we talking about, Miss Masefield?”
“George estimates that it will be somewhere around thirty.”
“As many as that?” gasped the purser.
“We don’t want to leave any stone unturned.”
“I’ll need to think about this. It’s not something that we can undertake lightly. As you know, we have so many foreigners aboard. If one of them discovers you or Mr. Dillman in his cabin, we could have an international incident.”
“You’ll certainly have one if Madame Roussel isn’t pacified by the return of her jewelry. She’s talking of suing P and O.”
“That’s all we need!” moaned Cannadine with a hollow laugh.
“By the way,” remembered Genevieve, “did you know that she sailed to Bombay on the Salsette?”
“No, but then I don’t keep track of everyone who steps aboard. There are too many of them. When was this, Miss Masefield?”
“I was going to ask you that. Do you keep old passenger lists?”
“Naturally.”
“When you have a moment, I’d be grateful if you could look through them to find out when Madame Roussel was on the ship before.”
“Right,” Cannadine agreed. “I will.” He grimaced. “I do wish I hadn’t said that I relished the chance of seeing you and your partner at work. I had no idea you’d have your hands this full.”
“Neither did we.” Genevieve got up from her chair. “But what do you say to my request? Do we have your permission in principle?”
“In principle, Miss Masefield. But try everything else first.”
“We will, I assure you.”
“Before you go,” he said as she moved to the door, “I wanted a word on another matter. It appears there’s been a serious rift between Mrs. Simcoe and her steward.”
“Yes,” said Genevieve. “Paulo told me all about it. He begged me to find out what he’d done wrong.”
“Did you know that he’s been downgraded to second class?”
“No, I didn’t. That will really hurt his pride.”
“I had him in here last thing at night. Paulo was weeping. It’s taken him so long to get the promotion to first class, and it suddenly vanished before his eyes. I agreed to speak to the chief steward on his behalf.”
“What did he say?”
“That there was nothing he could do. Mrs. Simcoe alleges that her steward made improper remarks to her on deck, and she has to be believed. Paulo’s behavior has been criticized before, I fear,” he confided, “but only by younger women. I can’t imagine that he tried to woo Mrs. Simcoe with that charm of his.”
“Whatever he said to her, she was deeply offended. I know that. I dined with her last night. Both she and her daughter were still angry with Paulo, though they didn’t fully explain why.”
“He wondered if it might be to do with a card game.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently the Simcoes lost at bridge that morning.”
“I heard all about it from Mr. and Mrs. Ackroyd. They beat them.”
“Paulo’s story is that it put Mrs. Simcoe in a foul mood,” said the purser. “He made the mistake of mentioning the loss at cards to her while they were on deck. Mrs. Simcoe rounded on him.”
“She and Tabitha do take the game seriously.”
“Seriously enough to play for money, I gather.”
“Yes,” said Genevieve, “but they met their match in the Ackroyds.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Mrs. Ackroyd was boasting about it over luncheon. The Simcoes won the first session and the Ackroyds, the second. They’re meeting to play the deciding game this morning.”
“Really?” said Cannadine with a grin. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall of the cabin when that happens.”
______
“They can’t possibly have a run of luck like that again,” said Constance Simcoe, seated at the table as she played patience. “I wouldn’t have minded so much if Phoebe Ackroyd hadn’t bragged about it to other people.”
“What time did you tell them to come?” asked Tabitha.
“Ten o’clock. I thought we’d start earlier today.”
“And this afternoon?”
“We’re playing the Kingtons again.”
“That will be a lot easier. They’re relatively new to the game.” She heard a tap on the door. “That can’t be the Ackroyds already.”
“Find out, please.”
Tabitha opened the door to admit Phoebe Ackroyd, who waddled into the cabin with an apologetic smile. She went over to Constance.
“We may have to disappoint you, I’m afraid,” she said.
“Why?”
“My husband has mislaid his ear trumpet.”
“That won’t stop him playing bridge, will it?” said Constance.
“Gerald feels at a disadvantage without it.”
“I feel at a disadvantage without my legs, Mrs. Ackroyd, but I’ve learned to live with my problem. Your husband is only partially deaf, after all. That’s not a major handicap.”
“When did he lose the ear trumpet?” said Tabitha.
“He thinks it must have been in the lounge last night,” explained Mrs. Ackroyd, “though he’s not certain. Gerald is a little forgetful in his old age. He had the ear trumpet with him at dinner, I know that. Then I went to bed early and left him to have a brandy in the lounge.”
“I’m sorry about this,” said Constance, “but I really don’t think it’s fair of you to let us down at the last moment.”
“Yes,” added Tabitha. “It’s too late to rustle up someone else now.”
“There are the Kinnersleys. They play bridge.”
“Unfortunately,” Constance said coldly, “we don’t get on all that well with the major and his wife, so that wouldn’t be an option. It’s you and your husband or nobody.”
Phoebe Ackroyd was in two minds. Eager to play, she was worried that her husband would not be at his best without his ear trumpet. When she looked down at the cards, however, she felt very tempted.
“We don’t want to disappoint you,” she said. “And we did promise to give you the chance to recoup your losses.”
“Or to increase them,” observed Constance with a smile as she collected the cards. “You and your husband are worthy opponents.”
“That makes such a difference,” said Tabitha.
“If you wish, we could always forget money altogether and simply enjoy the game for its own sake.”
“No, no,” protested Mrs. Ackroyd. “There must be a financial inducement. That’s what makes bridge so thrilling.”
“We’ll play on any terms that you prefer,” offered Constance. “With or without your husband’s ear trumpet.”
Phoebe Ackroyd needed onl
y a few moments to reach her decision.
“We’ll play,” she announced. “Gerald and I can’t possibly miss an opportunity like this.”
The sky was overcast that morning and the wind was gusting. Most of the passengers were discouraged from spending much time on deck. It meant that the second-class lounge was quite full. When Dillman arrived there, however, he saw that Archibald Sinclair had found himself a quiet corner in which to study Cicero.
“May I join you for a short while?” Dillman asked politely.
Sinclair looked up. “Oh, yes. Please do, Mr. Dillman.”
The detective sat down. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few more things about Mr. Nevin.”
“Fire away.”
“Do you happen to know if he was ever married?”
“Not married, I’m certain of that. But he was engaged at one time.”
“Do you happen to know to whom?”
“I don’t keep that close a watch on my former pupils, Mr. Dillman.”
“Of course not.” Dillman took out the two photographs that he had found in the dead man’s billfold. “Do you by any chance recognize either of these ladies?”
Sinclair studied the photograph of the young woman sitting in the car and shook his head. When he looked at the second photograph, however, his eyebrows shot up.
“I may have seen this young lady before,” he said.
“Where?”
“In Dudley’s apartment. My wife and I called there before he took us out to dinner. I’m fairly certain that there was a large photograph of this pretty young creature on a shelf.”
“Did he tell you her name?”
“We didn’t ask. We were only in the room for a few minutes.”
Dillman put the photographs away. “You mentioned that he stood for Parliament and that the candidate who beat him in the by-election was aboard this ship.”
“That’s right—a Sylvester Greenwood.”