Murder on the Mauretania (12 page)

“Who is he?”

“It’s a woman called Hester Littlejohn,” said Dillman with a smile. “A lively lady, I must say. She’s a journalist with an American magazine, but she’s not content with trumpeting the virtues of the
Mauretania
. She wants to uncover the ship’s vices as well.”

“I didn’t know we had any.”

“Mrs. Littlejohn thinks that Cunard may be underpaying its employees.”

“Oh, well, I’d go along with that. We could all do with more cash,” he said with a chuckle. “But seriously, is this lady anything more than a nuisance?”

“She might be if she gets wind of this outbreak of theft,” admitted Dillman. “That’s one more reason to clear everything up. We don’t want to read an article by Hester Littlejohn about the Cunard Crime Wave. I suggested that she concentrate on the women employed on the ship and take up their cause.”

“That’ll keep her out of mischief.”

“I’m not so sure. Mrs. Littlejohn is very tenacious.”

“A troublemaker?”

“A well-intentioned woman in search of a scoop.”

“Saints preserve us!”

They chatted amiably for a few more minutes, then Dillman turned to leave.

“Hold on,” said Buxton. “I’ve saved the one bright spot until the end.”

“Bright spot?”

“Yes, you’d better pass this on to Miss Masefield because I haven’t had the opportunity to tell her. Cross one name off the list. The most important one in some ways. Mrs. Dalkeith has got her watch back. I daresay she’s wearing it in the first-class dining saloon right now.”

“That’s a relief. Where did she find it?”

“She didn’t, Mr. Dillman. It was pushed under my door in a brown envelope.”

“When?”

“Sometime this afternoon.”

“Was there no note of explanation with the watch?”

“Not a syllable,” said Buxton, picking up a brown envelope from the table. “As you can see, there’s nothing on this either. Our benefactor wishes to remain anonymous.”

“If he really is a benefactor.”

“Who else would return an expensive gold watch?”

“Someone who prefers silver.”

NINE

W
hat are we going to do when we get to New York, darling?” asked Theodora Belfrage.

“What we always do,” said her husband smugly. “Be ourselves.”

“Do you think America is ready for Donald Belfrage?” teased Harvey Denning.

“Now, now,” warned Ruth Constantine. “Remember what we agreed to, Harvey.”

“I sit corrected,” he said, putting both hands over his mouth.

“What’s going on?” asked Theodora.

“Nothing,” said Susan Faulconbridge.

“Are you making fun of Donald again?”

“On the contrary, Theodora.”

“Because I won’t have it, do you hear? My husband is a wonderful man.”

“And so say all of us!” agreed Denning, lifting his glass. “To Donald!”

Genevieve Masefield, Ruth, and Susan joined him in the toast. Donald basked in their admiration, but his wife suspected a plot. She fixed her eyes on Genevieve.

“That wasn’t a joke, was it?” she asked.

“Of course not, Theodora,” replied Genevieve softly. “Donald is a
very special person. Particularly when he’s dressed like that. Haven’t you noticed how much attention he’s been getting from the other ladies in here? You’re not only married to one of the most handsome men on board, he’s also among the most desirable.”

“Listen to that, everybody!” said a delighted Belfrage.

“It’s true, darling,” purred Theodora. “You are desirable.”

“And handsome. Genevieve said so.”

“If compliments are flying around freely,” said Denning, “are there any for me?”

“Yes,” replied Ruth. “You’re to be congratulated on getting through an entire meal without a sneer, a snipe, or a cruel innuendo. We may house-train you yet, Harvey.”

“Oh, I hope not. It would ruin my reputation.”

“You don’t have one,” said Susan with a grin.

He shot her a look of mock reproach, then the two of them shared a laugh.

The meal was drawing to a close, and Genevieve was wondering how she could escape the little group before she was lulled into a sense of belonging and surrendered to the pleasure of their company. Repartee had flown with its usual speed, but the verbal persecution of Donald Belfrage had been notably absent. It had given him an opportunity to reveal sides of his character that had hitherto been obscured from her. Belfrage not only turned out to have a gift for political anecdote, he also showed that he was capable of self-mockery. Another aspect of him was more unexpected. Although his wife was at his side throughout, he kept staring at Genevieve as if seeing her properly for the first time, and at one point, she felt a foot touch her own quite deliberately under the table. Suspecting at first that it belonged to Harvey Denning, she began to wonder if the man’s shoe that stroked her own was, in fact, worn by Donald Belfrage.

In any event, Genevieve did not have to manufacture any excuses. When they finished their coffee, the group broke up of its own accord. Theodora pleaded tiredness and took her reluctant husband off to their suite, while Denning and Susan went off to partner each other in a game of bridge against some acquaintances they had made. Genevieve was quietly delighted. Left alone with Ruth Constantine, she felt that
she had the best of both worlds: an interesting companion with whom to talk, and greater freedom to keep up her reconnaissance of the other passengers. They adjourned to the first-class lounge and found a corner where they could settle into polished-beech chairs in the shade of a potted palm. Ruth was characteristically direct.

“Well,” she said. “What do you make of us?”

“Do I have to deliver a report?” asked Genevieve with a smile.

“Early impressions.”

“I think you’re all very nice people.”

“
Honest
impressions,” stipulated Ruth. “Don’t pull any punches. The men first.”

“Isn’t that ungallant?”

“Stop sounding like Donald.”

“As you wish,” said Genevieve. “Let’s start with him. I have to confess that when I met you all on the boat train, I thought that Donald was something of an oaf. A very friendly oaf, mark you, but one of those people who blunders well-meaningly through a conversation without noticing that he’s bumping into people. Also, he can be a prig. In fact, he’s the only man I’ve met who can be both an oaf and a prig at the same time.”

“Donald is both of those things, but he’s a lot more besides.”

“So I’m discovering. I’m told that he’s very generous.”

“He’s positively philanthropic, Genevieve. Did you know that he booked the passages for all five of us? Yes,” she said, seeing the other’s astonishment. “We each wanted to pay our own way, but Donald wouldn’t hear of it. He likes to share his good fortune. In that way, he’s very unselfish.”

“Why do you all gang up on him?”

“Because he thrives on it.”

“Theodora doesn’t seem to think so.”

“She has a lot to learn. Not least, how to make a husband want to take
you
back to your cabin instead of having to inveigle him there with that nonsense about a headache. You must have seen how unwilling he was to go.”

“Yes,” said Genevieve, remembering the foot that touched hers under the table. “Do you think that he’ll be faithful to Theodora?”

“In the short term.”

“And then?”

“He’s a man,” said Ruth bluntly. “Part of the reason he wants to go into politics is so that he can buy a townhouse in London and spend nights away from his wife. I don’t expect for a moment that he’ll be entirely celibate during his time at Westminster.” She raised a cautionary eyebrow. “Brace yourself for an invitation to visit a certain Tory member of Parliament.”

“I hardly know him, Ruth.”

“That makes no difference. Let’s move on to Harvey.”

“He’s already given me his speech about being a parasite.”

“Then he’s being unfair to himself,” said Ruth. “He has many good qualities, one of them being loyalty to his friends. But he also has his weaknesses, as you’ve probably discovered already. I heard my first tap on the door within hours of meeting him.”

“He does it with such charm.”

“Oh, yes. Lots of women fall for that charm. Susan, among them, I’m afraid. But he was wasting his time outside my bedroom. As appealing as he can be, I want more from a man than the feeling that I’m being fitted in between two games of bridge. That’s his real passion. What of Susan?”

“She’s in love with Harvey, isn’t she?”

“Is she?”

“They seem to have this secret code between them.”

“That comes from sharing a bed with a man, but it doesn’t mean you’re madly in love with him. Susan’s is a rather tragic case,” said Ruth. “She got involved with Harvey in order to stay close to Donald. Ridiculous as it may seem to us, that amiable oaf with a degree from Oxford is the love of her life. Susan Faulconbridge would give anything to be where Theodora is, but she isn’t beautiful enough or silly enough for Donald. So she just stays in his orbit. Like the rest of us.”

“What’s your interest in him?”

“You tell me, Genevieve.”

“Let me have more time to work on it,” said the other warily. “You’re more inscrutable than the rest. As for Susan and Theodora, however, you’ve summed them up perfectly. I can’t add anything to
your description of Theodora as beautiful but silly. And though I didn’t know there was some history between Donald and Susan, it doesn’t surprise me.”

“That brings us around to Genevieve Masefield.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” said Ruth, watching her carefully. “Where do you fit in?”

“I’m just a willing traveling companion who’s grateful for the way you’ve all taken me into your circle. It’s been an absolute joy to me.”

“That answer might satisfy the others, but it doesn’t persuade me. I’ve seen you looking around when you’ve been with us. It’s almost as if we’re a kind of stockade in which you can take refuge.” She leaned in closer. “Who are you hiding from, Genevieve?”

“Nobody.”

“Then what’s his name?”

“Whose name?”

“The man who’s making you behave the way you do,” argued Ruth shrewdly. “Any other single woman with your assets would make the most of them. Look at you, Genevieve. You could have almost any man aboard this ship eating out of your hand. In your position, I certainly would,” she said harshly. “I’d make them
suffer
. Yet you don’t seem to be interested in using any of the power you have. Why not?” she pressed. “Why do you use our little party as a form of protection? It can only be because you’re already committed to someone else. What’s the fellow’s name?”

“Orvill Delaney,” announced a voice.

They looked up to see him bearing down on them with another man. Genevieve recognized the person who had sat beside Delaney over dinner. The American beamed.

“Do forgive the interruption,” he said with an apologetic smile, “but I couldn’t resist a cue like that. I’m Orvill Delaney, by the way,” he said to Ruth. “Miss Masefield and I are already acquainted.”

“Genevieve speaks very well of you, Mr. Delaney,” said Ruth, weighing him up. “I’m Ruth Constantine and I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise, Miss Constantine. Oh, and this is a colleague of mine,” he continued, easing the other man forward. “Patrick Skelton. A fellow countryman of yours.”

“How do you do?” said Skelton with a polite bow. “Are you enjoying the voyage?”

“Very much,” replied Genevieve.

“So are we. It’s a unique experience.”

“Well,” said Delaney, adjusting his bow tie, “we won’t intrude any longer. I could see that you were deep in an important conversation.”

“Not at all, Mr. Delaney,” said Ruth, taking charge of the situation. “You and Mr. Skelton are most welcome to join us, if you wish.”

“That sounds like an invitation too good to resist. What do you think, Patrick?”

“I agree,” said Skelton. “Thank you, ladies. It’s an honor.”

Ruth smiled. “That remains to be seen, Mr. Skelton,” she said.

George Porter Dillman wasted no time in talking to the latest victims of the ubiquitous thief. They were still smarting at the outrage. The silver jewelry box had been taken from a cabin belonging to an American doctor and his wife, a robust couple who were threatening to sue the Cunard Line if their property was not recovered. The other victim was a nervous Englishwoman, a widow in her fifties, who was less upset by the theft of her jewelry than by the fact that someone had gained entry to her cabin so easily. Dillman managed to placate all three of them. One significant fact emerged. During luncheon that day, the doctor and his wife had been at the same table as Max Hirsch. It could just be another coincidence, but Dillman somehow doubted it.

He decided to speak to the two Welshmen. Dillman had caught them wandering about in a part of the vessel that was out-of-bounds to steerage passengers, but he did not believe that they would venture into second class during the day, when there were far more stewards cruising about to enforce the rules. Since both of the recent thefts had occurred during the afternoon, the two former miners could be absolved of any blame. Notwithstanding that, Dillman was anxious to interview the pair of them. The detective’s immaculate appearance would make him an incongruous figure in steerage, but he did not worry about that. Solving crimes took precedence over sartorial considerations.

When he finally traced them, Mansell Price and Glyn Bowen were
in the smoking room. They had each cadged a cigarette off a garrulous old man from Birkenhead, who was telling them his life story in a meandering voice. Surprised to see Dillman, the Welshmen warmed to him slightly when he bought each a drink and detached them from the maudlin reminiscences of the old man. Price sipped his beer and eyed the newcomer.

“Not exactly dressed for steerage, are you?” he observed.

“There’s a more relaxed atmosphere down here,” said Dillman. “I like it.”

“You wouldn’t like it if you had to share a pokey cabin with a couple of strangers and listen to one of them playing the mouth organ.”

“Mouth organ?”

“He never stops.”

“It gets on Mansell’s nerves,” explained Bowen. “But what brought you here, Mr. Dillman? Nobody would be in steerage unless he had to.”

“I wanted to have a chat with you,” said Dillman. “About last night.”

“Last night?” echoed Price, going on the defensive.

“We got lost, that’s all,” said Bowen. “It’s the truth.”

“I’m sure it is,” said Dillman. “It’s very easy to lose your way in a ship as big as this. But you might just be able to help. It’s a bit of a long shot, I know, but I wondered if you saw anybody behaving strangely when you were in second class.” They traded a glance with each other. “Let me explain,” he went on. “I have a friend who was playing cards in the smoking room until it was quite late. When he got back to his cabin, he found that someone had broken in and stolen something.”

“It wasn’t us!” denied Price aggressively.

“I’m not saying it was.”

“We never went near any cabins. Did we, Glyn?”

“No, Mansell,” chimed the other.

“You’d better watch who you’re accusing, mister.”

“It’s not an accusation,” said Dillman calmly. “I’m certain that neither of you is involved in any way. All I’m hoping is that you might be able to provide us with a clue.”

“What sort of clue?” asked Price.

“Any sort would be valuable. Now, did you see anyone last night?”

“Loads of people. We kept dodging them.”

“Were any of them behaving suspiciously?”

“We didn’t hang around to find out.”

“How long had you been in second class before I bumped into you?”

“Not long,” lied Price, taking a swig of his beer. “And we didn’t see anyone suspicious. Did we, Glyn?”

“No, Mansell.” Bowen pondered. “Except for that little bloke.”

“Who?”

“You remember. We met him two or three times.”

“When was this?” asked Dillman.

“Just before you turned up,” said Bowen. “Well, no, a bit earlier, probably.”

“So you did spend some time roaming around?”

“No,” said Price, sticking to his story. “Five minutes at most.”

“Tell me about this man,” coaxed Dillman. “What was he like?”

“Short,” said Bowen, indicating the man’s height with his hand. “And stocky.”