by Conrad Allen
“Where was it kept?”
“In a valise in his cabin. When he opened it to take out some papers this morning, he realized that it had gone.”
“What else was taken?”
“Not a thing, Mr. Dillman.”
“Then the thief knew exactly what he wanted. I’ll speak to M. Fourier as soon as I can,” said Dillman. “The first thing I’ll want to know is who his dining companions are. If he’s so fanatical about clocks that he’ll pay large sums for them, the chances are that he talked about his latest purchase.”
“Then the same goes for Tom McCabe.”
“What did he lose?”
“The gold cup he won in a golf tournament,” said the purser. “He was inordinately proud of it. He insisted on telling me how he’d fought off every challenge to win. McCabe is a garrulous Irishman. My guess is that he’s told everyone on board how he secured his victory, and how he kept the cup in his cabin so that he could gloat over it.”
“Was anything else stolen?”
“Around five hundred dollars in cash.”
“Five hundred?” Dillman was impressed. “I must take up golf.”
“Just find that gold cup for him.”
“What was the third case?”
“That’s the most difficult of all,” said Rutherford. “You might wish to hand it over to Miss Masefield.”
“Why?”
“Because it concerns a fearsome lady named Griselda Nettlefold. The Frenchman is a pleasant character and McCabe is even more affable — but not Mrs. Nettlefold. She was frightening.”
“What was stolen?”
“Her diamond tiara,” explained the purser. “A family heirloom. She demanded it back instantly. I was threatened with everything short of being hanged, drawn and quartered. Mark you,” he went on, “she did have good cause to be distressed.”
“I can guess why,” said Dillman. “It was stolen when she and her husband were asleep in the cabin.”
Rutherford gaped. “How on earth do you know that?”
“Because I think I’ve seen the lady. I’ve certainly seen someone wearing a diamond tiara that looks like part of the crown jewels. Is Griselda Nettlefold a tall, stately, white-haired lady in her sixties?”
“That’s her, Mr. Dillman!”
“Her husband looks much older than she is.”
“He is, indeed,” said Rutherford, “and he also suffers from a heart condition. It wasn’t helped by a nocturnal visit from a thief. Not that he was awake at the time, however, nor was she. According to Mrs. Nettlefold she has to take sleeping pills, so she didn’t hear a thing when someone let himself into their cabin.”
“The thief was counting on that.”
“How could he possibly know they’d both be fast asleep?”
“At that age,” Dillman reasoned, “people rarely stay awake for long at night. Besides, she may have mentioned in public that she took sleeping pills. Someone with his eye on her tiara might have sat near her in the lounge to catch that sort of useful detail.”
“I don’t envy Miss Masefield having to deal with the lady.”
“She may calm down a little in time.”
“Only when she gets her tiara back, Mr. Dillman.” The purser took a deep breath and flopped into his chair. “This is starting to look like an epidemic. If you count Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, it means we’ve had six people robbed aboard the ship.”
“Then there’s the small matter of a murder.”
“That’s my biggest worry. The captain was shocked to learn about that. We’re now looking for a killer as well as a thief.”
“Are we?”
Dillman was lost in thought for a full minute, turning over in his mind the sequence of events. What struck him as significant was the timing of the various crimes. Seeing the detective’s furrowed brow, Rutherford did not interrupt him. He sat there patiently. Eventually, Dillman jerked himself out of his reverie.
“I’m sorry that I drifted off like that,” he said.
The purser grinned. “I knew that you’d come back to me.”
“An idea occurred to me, Mr. Rutherford.”
“Go on.”
“I’m wondering if the crimes are related.”
“All of them?”
“All but the theft of Sir Arthur’s book,” said Dillman. “That just doesn’t fit into the scheme of things. Also, it happened too early in the voyage. That sets it completely apart. Everything else could be the work of the same man.”
Rutherford blanched. “The thief also committed murder?”
“I’m beginning to think so.”
“But why?”
“Look at the facts,” Dillman suggested. “Mr. Lowbury returned unexpectedly to his cabin in the middle of dinner. It could well be that he disturbed the thief.”
“But nothing was stolen from his cabin.”
“Think of the cabin opposite. That’s where M. Fourier kept his carriage clock. Supposing that Mr. Lowbury was leaving his cabin when he caught someone trying to break into the one opposite?”
“The thief would have run away, surely?”
“Not if Lowbury was able to recognize him again. Where could he go, Mr. Rutherford? He’s stuck on the ship like the rest of us. It would only have been a matter of time before he was caught.”
“So he’d want to shut Lowbury up somehow.”
“That means he was armed,” said Dillman, picturing the scene. “He pulled a gun on Lowbury and forced him down to the main deck. At some point, Lowbury tried to break free and that’s how his coat was torn. But he was soon overpowered. It was too dangerous to shoot him, so his captor knocked him out with the gun.”
“Then stripped off his coat and pushed him over the side,” said the purser, continuing with the reconstruction. “I think you may be right, Mr. Dillman. It all fits.”
“Let’s not get too carried away.”
“But you may have stumbled onto the explanation.”
“All that I’ve done is establish the size of our problem,” said Dillman. “Five thefts in one night, all carried out by someone who identifies specific targets and gets into their cabins at will.”
“He must be a professional thief.”
“He is, clever enough to wait for days before he strikes, thereby cutting down the amount of time we have to catch him. As for the murder, it’s not the first time he’s killed a man.”
Rutherford shuddered. “I think I know what you’re going to tell me,” he said. “This looks like the work of a certain person.”
“Edward Hammond.”
“We’ve got a wanted man on board, after all.”
ELEVEN
Genevieve Masefield had been pleasantly surprised over luncheon. Frank Spurrier had not intercepted her on her way there and Joshua Cleves had not taunted her about her brush with spiritualism. In fact, he had not even turned up at her table. She had been able to talk at leisure to Lady Bulstrode about the differences between England and America, and listen to Lord Bulstrode’s confident predictions about the forthcoming Derby. It was the first meal during which she felt she did not have to be on guard. For that reason it was both refreshing and restoring. She was even allowed to leave the room without being accosted by either of her unwanted admirers.
Her first task was to call on Jane Lowbury to see if she had recovered from the initial shock of her husband’s disappearance. As she approached the cabin she was heartened to see a steward coming out of the door with a tray. On it were two plates that were largely empty. Jane had at least started to eat again. Genevieve knocked on the door and was soon admitted.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Still very low,” replied Jane. “I keep thinking about David.”
“That’s understandable, Mrs. Lowbury.”
“I know it’s ridiculous but I find it better to believe that he may still be alive. He could be tied up somewhere, held prisoner in someone’s cabin. Or he’s locked away in a storeroom.”
“For what p
urpose?”
“That’s what I can’t work out.”
“Every cabin is cleaned by a steward, so it would be impossible to hold someone prisoner in one of them. As for the storerooms,” she said, “each one of them was searched last night. If your husband is still on the ship — and I sincerely hope that he is — then he’s being kept somewhere else.”
“There must be lots of hiding places on a vessel this big.”
“True.”
“And if he was moved from time to time, he’d be missed by anyone in search of him.” Jane flailed around as she tried to find a motive. “Someone may be playing a cruel trick on David. Or perhaps he’s been kidnapped and held for ransom. It may even be that he upset someone accidentally and they wanted to get their own back on him.” She paced the cabin. “There has to be a reason, Miss Masefield.”
“We’ll find it.”
Genevieve was gratified that there were some signs of a return to normality. Jane had dressed and groomed herself. She had had her first meal since dinner the previous evening. She no longer looked quite so fatigued and drawn. But she remained on edge, horrified by what had happened and unable to think of anything else. She went to the table and snatched up a sheet of paper.
“Here you are,” she said.
Genevieve took it from her. “Thank you.”
“It’s that list you asked me to draw up. Those are the names of the people we’ve met on the ship, the ones we’ve actually talked to.”
“There must be forty or fifty here.”
“I told you. David had a gift for making friends.”
“You’ve put a tick by some names,” noted Genevieve.
“Those are the people we knew best.”
“This could be very useful to us.”
“I’d hate to think that someone there knows what happened to David. They were all so friendly toward us — for the most part.”
“Who were the odd ones out, Mrs. Lowbury?”
“Philip Agnew was the main one,” said Jane. “He wasn’t exactly rude but he wasn’t well mannered either. David didn’t mind him so much because he’s so tolerant.”
“What about you?”
“I didn’t like the way that he looked at me, Miss Masefield.”
“Was he a nuisance?”
“No, there was just something about him.”
“Did you mention it to your husband?”
“There was no point,” said Jane. “David is very protective. He’d have felt the need to confront Mr. Agnew and I didn’t want him to do that. So I tried to forget about it.” Her face clouded. “You don’t think that he could be involved, do you?”
“I don’t know, Mrs. Lowbury.” She folded the list up and slipped it into her purse. “Your husband was a financier, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. He started out as a stockbroker.”
“He must have had a shrewd business brain.”
“Oh, he did, Miss Masefield,” replied Jane with a surge of pride. “David always seemed to know when and where to invest. He used to say how important it is to make money work for you.”
“He’s probably right,” said Genevieve, “though I’ve never had enough of it to test that theory. I can see why he was so at home on the Celtic. We have lots of bankers, financiers and wealthy people on board. In that sense we’re surrounded by money.”
Jane was dejected. “Until yesterday,” she said, “I thought that we were rich, but you realize how little money matters when something like this happens. I’d give every penny we have to get my husband back again.” Tears threatened but she bit them back. “Forgive me, Miss Masefield. Every so often it just overwhelms me.”
“I’ll leave you to rest.”
“But you’ll bring any news, won’t you?”
“As soon as there’s any news to bring, Mrs. Lowbury.”
“Good or bad — don’t hide anything from me.”
“I promise.”
“Thank you.”
Jane embraced her impulsively, then drew back. She pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve and Genevieve suspected that it would be used as soon as she left. Her compassion was roused but so was her determination to hunt down the man who had killed David Lowbury. After an exchange of farewells she opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. She had gone no more than a dozen steps when she saw Dillman coming toward her.
“There’s no point in disturbing Mrs. Lowbury again,” she said, raising a hand. “I’ve just seen her.”
“How is she bearing up?”
“She had some food at last.”
“Good.”
“And she was able to give me a list of all the people whom they got to know on the voyage. There are some very familiar names on it.”
“I’ll look forward to going through it with you,” said Dillman. “Meanwhile, I have to talk to Jean-Paul Fourier.”
“Who is he?”
“Another victim of our thief. It seems that he was ubiquitous last night, Genevieve. Three more thefts have been reported. Of the three, M. Fourier’s is the most interesting.”
“Why?”
“He has the cabin directly opposite Mr. and Mrs. Lowbury.”
“Who are the others?”
“One is an Irish golfer and the other is a lady whom you will have to interview. Mr. Rutherford will give you the details. I don’t envy you. She sounds like a battle-ax.”
“Why do I always get the difficult people?” she complained.
He smiled impishly. “Because you handle them so well.”
“I’m not sure that I handled Mrs. Lowbury all that well, George. I can’t seem to say the right thing to cheer her up.”
“There is no right thing, I’m afraid.”
“She’s in despair and I can’t reach her.”
“You’ve done your best, Genevieve,” he said, “and nobody can ask more of you than that. Mrs. Lowbury is bound to be dejected. She’s missing her husband dreadfully.”
It was her turn to smile. “I know the feeling.”
Sophie Trouncer arrived early for the concert so that she and her mother could get a seat near the front. Both women felt that they had made a good impression on George Dillman.
“He’s so tall and manly,” said May Hoyland.
“But he’s quite a bit younger than me, Mother.”
“That doesn’t matter. Your father was younger than me. Besides, there’s no reason why he should learn your true age.”
“I couldn’t be dishonest with him,” said Sophie.
“The question may not come up. The crucial thing is that you look years younger than you really are and you have so much vitality. I’m sure that Mr. Dillman appreciates that.”
“Do you think that he’ll come to tea, Mother?”
“By the time I’ve finished working on him,” said May with a muted cackle, “he’ll be staying the night with us.”
The idea coursed through Sophie Trouncer like a charge of electricity. She sat up, tingled all over and glowed. It was a fleeting happiness. Thoda Burbridge suddenly waddled into view and hailed her with a wave. Sophie cringed inwardly.
“Do you mind if I join you?” asked Thoda.
“Please do,” said Sophie uneasily.
“Thank you.”
“You’ve not met my mother properly, have you?”
“No,” said Thoda, taking her seat and reaching across Sophie to shake hands with May, “but I’ve heard a lot about you, Mrs. Hoyland.”
“I’ve heard about you,” said May with forced politeness. “I don’t know what happened at the séance last night, Mrs. Burbridge, but my daughter came back in a state of high excitement.”
“I was pleased about that.”
“What exactly happened?”
“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Trouncer. I never divulge information about what happens in the privacy of a séance.”
Sophie writhed in embarrassment. She was seated between a mother she loved and a medium she respected, but the two women had
no common ground. Knowing her mother’s antipathy to the whole concept of spiritualism, she had not confided details of the contact she believed she had made with her late husband, or disclosed the advice that he had given her about searching for his successor. May Hoyland had been offering her the identical counsel for months. Given the medium’s heightened awareness, Sophie knew that Thoda Burbridge was certain to sense her mother’s hostility. It took only a matter of seconds.
“I’m sorry that you disapprove of me, Mrs. Hoyland,” said Thoda graciously. “Perhaps you’d prefer it if I sat elsewhere?”
“Not at all,” replied May sweetly. “And I don’t disapprove of you at all. What I object to is this absurd subject you’ve taken up.”
“It was the other way round — spiritualism took me up.”
“Either way, you have my sympathy.”
“Mother!” said Sophie, jabbing her with an elbow. “Please forgive her, Mrs. Burbridge. She doesn’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly well,” said May defiantly.
“I beg leave to doubt that,” countered Thoda.
“Fraud is fraud.”
“And a closed mind is a closed mind. It’s a terrible handicap to carry with you through life, Mrs. Hoyland. It means that you’ll forever be mired in your own prejudices.”
“They’re not prejudices. They’re decent Christian principles.”
“This is not the time for an argument, Mother,” said Sophie.
“I quite agree,” said Thoda benevolently, “and I’ll make allowances for Mrs. Hoyland’s bad temper. I know how upset she must be after the theft of her necklace.”
May was bewildered. “That’s a secret,” she said hotly. “How in God’s name do you know about that?”
“Mrs. Burbridge has a sixth sense,” Sophie told her.
“I call it witchcraft.”
“Mother!”
“Somebody must have told her.”
“You did,” explained Thoda. “As soon as I sat down.”
“There’s something very strange going on here,” said May.
“The world is full of strange and inexplicable things.”