by Conrad Allen
“She wants to go back to India, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, Mr. Dillman.”
“She was going to run away in Aden somehow.”
“I think that was on her mind.”
“Then she’d use some of the money she’d stolen to pay her fare.”
“Suki did not tell me that,” said Singh. “All she talked about was going home to her mother in Simla. It is wrong to take her to a country where she will have no friends of her own color and creed.”
“Her mother must have condoned the arrangement.”
“Only because she was paid, Mr. Dillman.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I have watched Suki every day being taken for a walk by Major Kinnersley. His wife is hard on the girl, but he is kind towards here when they are alone. It is easy to see why.”
“Is it?” said Dillman.
“To my eyes, it is. Of course, Suki does not know it herself, and Mrs. Kinnersley, the wife, is certainly not aware of it or she would not think of taking Suki to England with her.” He gave a philosophical smile. “It is not the first time that this kind of thing has happened.”
“What kind of thing, Mr. Singh?”
“A British soldier sleeping with one of his servants,” said the other. “Major Kinnersley is the girl’s father.”
Paulo Morelli had enjoyed the experience of helping the detectives. The steward had developed a taste for it. Even when he was told that his work was over, Morelli was ready to keep on, determined to prove his worth and earn back his former place in first class. To that end, he decided to follow Madame Roussel again. When she came out of the purser’s office, she was in a state of such high excitement that she would not have noticed if every steward on the ship were on her tail. The return of her jewelry had made her oblivious to all around her.
She surged along a corridor before going up a companionway. Morelli went after her. Without even looking over her shoulder, Madame Roussel walked along another corridor and rapped on a cabin door. When it opened, she gave a cry of delight and stepped inside. After waiting a few minutes, the steward strolled past the cabin and glanced at the door. In addition to a number, it had the name of its occupant printed on a card. Morelli goggled.
Being a detective was a job that was full of surprises.
The first-class smoking room was quite full that evening. Major Romford Kinnersley was enjoying a cigar and chatting to Wilbur Rollins. In spite of his prejudice against Americans, the major was intrigued to hear some of the stories that the man had unearthed in the course of his research.
“And you say this woman fought in the Siege of Pondicherry?”
“Apparently,” said Rollins. “Hannah Snell always made mention of it when she appeared on stage.”
“Nobody knew her gender at the time?”
“No, Major.”
“Then the British marines have gone down in my estimation,” said Kinnersley, before pulling on his cigar and exhaling the smoke. “In my regiment, we’d have sniffed out a woman in two minutes—whatever uniform she was wearing.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” warned Rollins, putting out his cigarette. “Still, I’ve talked far too much this evening. Thank you for listening, Major. I bid you good night.”
Kinnersley waved him off. As one American vanished, however, another arrived to take his place, and he was far less welcome. When he saw George Dillman approaching him, the major scowled.
“What do you want?” he grunted.
“I need to speak to you as a matter of urgency,” said Dillman.
“Really?”
“Could we find somewhere a little quieter?”
“I intend to finish my cigar.”
“It’s a rather delicate matter, I fear.”
“We’ve got nothing to say to each other, Mr. Dillman.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that we have.”
“Can’t it wait until morning, man?”
“No,” said Dillman, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m afraid that it can’t. If you’re not prepared to discuss the crime, Major, I’ll have to take the matter up with Mrs. Kinnersley.”
“Crime? What are you gibbering about?”
“Sukinder.”
“Something has happened to her?” said the other in alarm.
“It was she who committed the crime,” explained Dillman. “Before I go into detail, I should explain that I’m working for P and O as a detective aboard this ship.” Kinnersley was dumbfounded. “Given the nature of our discussion, perhaps you’ll reconsider my suggestion that this may not be the ideal place to talk.”
“Let’s go,” said Kinnersley, stubbing out his cigar in an ashtray.
Leaving the hubbub and the smell of tobacco smoke behind, they went out on deck and stood at the rail. It was a fine night and the ship was making good speed through the whitecapped waves. Dillman felt exhilarated by the keen air but his companion merely gave a shiver.
“What’s this about Sukinder?” demanded the major.
“We’ve been put in rather an awkward position,” replied Dillman. “In brief, the situation is this. A series of thefts has occurred on the Salsette. My colleague and I discovered that your servant was the thief.”
“That’s absurd! Suki is a good girl.”
“We found all of the stolen property in her possession.”
“I refuse to believe it.”
“Then you must talk to Guljar Singh. He’s an elderly Sikh who befriended Sukinder. It seems that she asked him to mind something for her until they left the ship in Aden. What Mr. Singh didn’t realize,” said Dillman, “was that the bundle she gave him contained three purses and a quantity of jewelry.”
“Jewelry! How could she possibly have got hold of that?”
“By slipping into an unlocked cabin when it was empty.”
“But she’s not allowed to roam the ship on her own.”
“You’re in first class, Major, while she has a small cabin in second. You’ve no idea what she’s doing when she’s not on duty. Sukinder has no dining privileges, does she?”
“Of course not,” said Kinnersley. “She takes all her meals in her cabin. I couldn’t let a child of that age go into the dining saloon on her own—and my wife would never have accepted the notion of letting Suki eat with us. The girl is a servant.”
“She was also one of the few people who was not in a dining saloon on the evening when the jewelry was taken. That gave her an opportunity to wander around the other cabins, and she found one that was unlocked.”
“And you say there were other thefts?”
“Three purses were stolen from their owners on deck.”
“But the only time she’s allowed out here is with me.”
“It seems that she disobeyed your orders, Major,” said Dillman. “Sukinder was certainly on deck earlier today without you because she asked Guljar Singh if he would do her a favor.”
Kinnersley was baffled. Having shown the girl what he considered to be kindness and generosity, he could not understand why she had, in effect, betrayed him. Yet he was responsible for her. If she was exposed as a thief, it was he who would have to answer for the girl. It was deeply embarrassing, all the more so because George Dillman was the man who had imparted the news.
“What’s going to happen?” he growled.
“That’s what you’ll have to discuss with the purser.”
“Is Suki with him now?”
“No, Major. She’s not even aware that we’re on to her.”
“Why in God’s name did she do it?” asked the major. “It’s not as if she needed to steal. Dash it all, I provide everything for her.”
“Not quite.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve actually taken away the one thing that Sukinder really wants, Major,” said Dillman. “She’s desperate to stay in India with her family. That’s why she stole those things. She was hoping to give you the slip in Aden, then use some of the money she
’d taken to pay for the return journey.”
Kinnersley was hurt. “Suki doesn’t want to be with us?” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’d have such a better life in England. Doesn’t she understand that?”
There was a mingled bewilderment and affection in his voice. In spite of his dislike of the man, Dillman felt sympathy for him. The major was suffering the pain of rejection.
“Sukinder made her choice,” the detective said softly. “Even though she probably didn’t realize that she was choosing between her parents.” Kinnersley glared at him. “It was Guljar Singh who told me, Major. He saw you and Sukinder together. She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”
“How dare you suggest such a thing!”
“Why else would you want to take the girl home with you?”
“As a domestic servant, of course.”
“If there’s to be a prosecution,” warned Dillman, “then details of the girl’s parentage will be needed. She may not know who her father is, but I’m sure that you do.” Kinnersley’s bluster slowly gave way to a sigh of anguish. “If it’s any consolation to you, nobody else will hear about this from me—or from Mr. Singh, for that matter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dillman,” said Kinnersley, chin falling to his chest. “It’s not something that I’m proud of, I can tell you. It happened and I have no excuse to offer. I tried to make amends by taking the child to England, but I suppose that it would never have worked. I’d have had to go on deceiving my wife, and I’ve done that for far too long.” He raised his head. “I just wanted to have Suki by me,” he confessed with a nostalgic smile. “She reminds me so much of her mother.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Do you? I doubt it, Mr. Dillman.”
“Perhaps we should speak to the purser, sir.”
“Later.”
“Mr. Cannadine is expecting you.”
“Let him wait.”
“The matter must be resolved tonight.”
“It will be,” promised Kinnersley, straightening his back and thrusting out his jaw. “But in the interest of decency, there’s someone else I must speak to first—my wife.”
Max Cannadine and Genevieve Masefield were in the office when he arrived. Surveying the stolen property on the desk, Guljar Singh gasped.
“Suki stole all this?” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Singh,” replied the purser. “She has a nimble hand.”
“I thought I was looking after her meager belongings.”
“We don’t blame you at all. That’s why I asked to see you in my office. I want to make it clear that we’ll be taking no action against you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Cannadine.”
“I was wrong about you for the second time, Mr. Singh,” admitted Genevieve, stepping forward with a look of repentance. “I owe you another apology.”
“Two apologies—that must be a record.”
“I misjudged you badly.”
“That, in a sense, was a blessing,” said Cannadine. “If you hadn’t harbored a lurking suspicion of Mr. Singh, you’d never have searched his cabin.” He indicated the spoils. “And we’d still be looking for this lot.”
“I still feel that I was unkind to Mr. Singh.”
“The purser is correct,” decided the old man, sagely. “You did something wrong yet it produced the right result. A very sad result for me, however,” he said. “I am fond of Suki and do not like to see her in trouble. What will happen to her?”
“That’s something I must discuss with Major Kinnersley,” said the purser. “Mr. Dillman went off to apprise him of the situation.”
“The major will be wounded by this.”
“He’s in loco parentis, Mr. Singh.”
“Of course,” said the other with a discreet smile. “Well, I may yet be right in my prediction. Suki asked me to foretell her future.”
“What did you say?” asked Genevieve.
“That she would never reach England, but return home instead.”
“It may well turn out to be the case.”
“We shall see,” said Cannadine. He looked at Singh. “How long have you had these strange powers?”
“All my life,” returned the old man.
“And your predictions always come true?”
“Most of the time. But it’s not only a question of foresight,” he explained. “First, I read the character of the person who wants me to tell them their fortune. That guides me. I can see their hopes, understand their fears, gauge their ambitions. What I have to decide is whether or not they have the courage to fulfill those ambitions. In Suki’s case,” he went on, “I felt that she was determined to get what she wanted—though I didn’t know the means that she would choose.”
“How do you read someone’s character?” wondered Genevieve.
“You look, you listen, you get vibrations from them. It was easy with Suki,” he told them. “I watched her walking around the deck many times with the major. Her face was like an open book. That’s my real secret, Miss Masefield,” he revealed. “To understand someone’s true character, you must study them when they do not know you are watching. People behave very differently when they are on view.”
“We all wear masks, Mr. Singh.”
“You did, and it was a very good one. I would never have guessed you were a detective. And those other English ladies—they wore masks, as well.”
“Who do you mean?” asked Genevieve.
“The lady who is pushed around the deck by her daughter.”
“That’s Mrs. Simcoe. She’s disabled.”
“Then she has made a remarkable recovery on this ship.”
“Why do you say that?”
Guljar Singh cackled. “If it is a clear night,” he said, “I prefer to sleep on deck. Nobody ever notices me, curled up in a corner. That way, I am able to hear and see many peculiar things.”
“Such as?” asked Cannadine.
“A young lady going around the deck on roller skates. A husband and wife exchanging blows. A man climbing into one of the lifeboats with a woman. And this person you know,” he added, turning to Genevieve.
“Constance Simcoe?”
“By day, she is an invalid in her chair,” said Singh. “At night, when she thinks nobody can see her, she walks around the deck without even needing a stick. That tells me a lot about her character.”
* * *
Reclining in a chair, Constance Simcoe sipped a liqueur and gazed around the first-class lounge with interest. The first stage of their return home was nearing its end, but several of the people there would transfer to another P & O ship for the longer voyage to England. Among them, she hoped to find others who could be drawn to play bridge against Tabitha and her. She turned to her daughter.
“Do you think that the Ackroyds could be tempted again?”
“Not after this morning,” said Tabitha.
“She got so cross with that long-suffering husband of hers.”
“Recriminations are still going on.”
Tabitha glanced in the direction of the Ackroyds, who were seated not far away. Phoebe Ackroyd was stern and implacable. Judging by his apologetic gestures, her husband was still seeking her forgiveness for his lapses at the card table, but she ignored him. At length, Gerald Ackroyd gave a weary smile and sought solace in his glass of brandy.
“We seem to have caused a rift between them,” said Constance.
“Does that worry you?”
“No, Tabby. It delights me.”
“Mrs. Ackroyd was overconfident, that was her trouble.”
“One needs a cool head for bridge. As soon as she began to lose her temper with him, I felt that we were bound to win.”
“They trounced us the day before,” Tabitha reminded her.
Constance smirked. “There’s nothing quite so sweet as revenge, is there?” she said.
“No, Mother.”
“I’ll be sorry to leave the Salsette.”
“I won’t,” said Tabitha.
/> “But it’s been such a lucky ship for us.” She saw Phoebe Ackroyd getting up from her chair. “Watch out—I think she’s coming over to us.”
“That must be a relief for her husband.”
Summoning up a cold smile, Mrs. Ackroyd walked toward them. She was wearing a frock of black taffeta that set off the pallor of her face and gave her an almost funereal air. When she stopped beside them, she tapped her thigh repeatedly with her fan.
“Good night, ladies,” she said.
“Must you leave?” asked Constance. “Can’t we persuade you to join us for one last drink?”
“No, thank you. My digestion is not what it should be this evening.”
“Did your husband find his ear trumpet?” said Tabitha.
“Not yet.”
“Where did he lose it, Mrs. Ackroyd?”
“He thinks that it may have been in here, or perhaps in the smoking room. Gerald’s mind gets rather hazy after a few brandies.”
“Somebody will find it, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” said Constance, “we hadn’t realized how much he depends on it. That’s why we’ve been feeling so guilty about what happened this morning.”
“Guilty?” said Mrs. Ackroyd.
“For having an unfair advantage over you. I’ve talked it over with Tabby, and she agrees with me. In the circumstances,” she offered, “we feel that we should reimburse you.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it, Mrs. Simcoe.”
“But you lost because your husband was distracted.”
“We lost because we played badly,” the other woman said sharply. “We have no quibble about that. Money lost at the card table is money better forgotten. We wouldn’t take a penny of it back.”
“You could always try to win it back,” suggested Constance. “We’ll be sailing to England from Aden together.”
“I think that we need a rest from bridge, Mrs. Simcoe.”
“We’ll play with your cards, if you prefer—and in your cabin.”
“No,” said Mrs. Ackroyd. “Thank you for the invitation, but my husband and I will be far too busy with other commitments to indulge you. Once again, good night.”
“Good night,” said the others in unison.
Beating her thigh with the fan, Mrs. Ackroyd moved quickly away.