Death in the Middle Watch (2 page)

“How will you do that? You're not going to call on the cruisers, are you?”

“Certainly not. I shall employ a discreet professional. By the time we all go on board at Southampton, I shall know all that can be found out in a short time about your cruisers. And, of course, your crew.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yourself. Your staff. Summertime Cruises in general.”

“I hope you're joking.”

“Certainly not. I never joke about murder.”

“Who said anything about murder? All we have had are some threatening letters.”

“
You
have. By implication. You believe that Mr Travers on that cruise last year was murdered.”

“I assure you it never occurred to me. I merely thought it was unfortunate that Dr Yaqub Ali was indisposed at the time and that the man's wife was so emphatic about burial at sea.”

“That's only another way of putting it. I must insist that you treat me with complete frankness, Mr Porteous, before and during the cruise.”

“I should not be employing you if I didn't intend to do that.”

“Thank you. I'll take charge of these letters if you don't mind, and your passengers and crew lists. I have your private telephone number if there's anything else I need to know.”

“You really anticipate trouble, don't you?”

“I'm sure
you
do, Mr Porteous. I have an open mind.”

“You don't think … I mean one hears so much about hijacking in these days. Explosions, too. You will notice that we have an Irish family aboard. From Sandycove, near Dublin.”

Carolus gave his most cryptic smile.

“Any Arab terrorists?” he asked.

“You are being facetious, Mr Deene. But there is a lady who has spent several years in Libya.”

“British?”

“Of course. We should not accept bookings from the Palestine Liberation Front. We have no objection to Jews, though.”

“That's kind of you.”

“You know what I mean. Moshe Dayan and his kind would not be welcomed, but businessmen from Tel Aviv—that's another matter.
And
we bar all coloured people.”

“Do you now? That's interesting. That may well be the key to the whole thing.”

“I never know when you're serious, Mr Deene. We're very discreet about that. We make enquiries—privately, you know. You can't tell from names, nowadays. Somebody called John Heath-Wilson, for instance, may be black as your hat.”

“Then you would not accept his booking?”

“No. But we wouldn't tell him so. We'd just say the cruise is over-booked.”

“Very tactful of you. Has it ever occurred to you that these letters might be some sort of revenge?”

“I hardly think so. We don't advertise our principles.”

“Have you ever heard of Black Power?”

“Only as a newspaper reader.”

“I advise you to go into it a little more closely than that. You have, for instance, a Pakistani doctor …”

“The only one I could obtain.”

“Any other members of your crew, from Goa for instance?”

“Only in the galley. The chief cook is British. From Yorkshire. If you are supposing anything of that kind, you can forget it. My ship's personnel are loyal. Every man of them.”

“Loyal to what? Or to whom?”

“The company, of course, Mr Deene. Have you never heard of commercial companies which inspire loyalty in their employees?”

“I have. They don't fill me with excitement. I shall study your crew list all the more closely now you've told me that.”

“Do. Do.” Mr Porteous sounded impatient. “Study it as much as you like. You won't find anything suspicious there.”

“Not even Dr Yaqub Ali?”

“Certainly not. He graduated in Britain. School at Kidderminster, I believe.”

“So that takes care of him?”

“Well, naturally. We can't go about suspecting everyone, can we?”

“Yes,” said Carolus. “I'll see you on June the second. If not before. I'm quite looking forward to it.”

“I wish
I
were. I tell you, Mr Deene, I'm scared. Thoroughly scared. And you say those letters might have been written by Jack the Ripper. What's more, you introduce the Colour Question.”

“I beg your pardon. I do nothing of the sort.”

“Well, racialism, then. But I've heard you're good at your job. I can't afford to ignore the danger. Let me say quite clearly that I shall consider the responsibility half yours if anything unpleasant happens.”

“Oh, it will,” said Carolus. “Make no mistake about that. To someone who thinks as you do, it's bound to happen. Meanwhile I'll bid you good-day, Mr Porteous.”

C
AROLUS LEANED OVER THE
rail of the
Summer Queen
watching while the cruisers, as he had learned to call them, came aboard. The Purser stood beside him. They were near enough to the head of the gangplank to observe the features of arrivals but not so near that their conversation could be overheard.

“Yes,” said Mr Ratchett, the Purser. “Mr Porteous asked me to give you any information you want. He says you're writing a book about one of our cruises. Not so very interesting, I should have thought, but perhaps you find people are always interesting, however ordinary they seem to others. Good heavens, here comes Mrs Travers!”

“You sound surprised.”

“She's the widow of the man who died on one of our cruises last year. Surely Mr Porteous must have told you?”

“I believe he did mention something of the sort. So this is the lady who insisted on her husband's burial at sea?”

“She certainly did. I didn't like it. A long story about his always wishing for it. How did he know he would die at sea? Funny-looking woman, isn't she?”

Carolus saw nothing funny about the squat, severe-looking person, middle-aged and smartly dressed, indicated by
Mr Ratchett, but he nodded vaguely, and noticed that Mrs Travers came straight up to the Purser.

“Here we are again,” she said giving Mr Ratchett her hand. “I'm sure you didn't expect me, did you?”

“To tell you the truth, no,” said the Purser. “I was afraid you wouldn't care to come with us again, Mrs Travers.”

“Mrs Darwin, now,” said the lady, with a harsh little smile.

“Darwin? Mr Darwin was on the cruise last year, surely? A charming fellow.”

“He was. That's how we met. After my dear Tom died, he showed me great sympathy. We've been married for six months.”

“He's not with you now.”

“He's been kept by important business. He's flying out to join the ship at Lisbon.”

“I see. We look forward to seeing him then. May I introduce Mr Deene? He's coming with us.”

“I expect we'll be seeing more of each other,” said Mrs Darwin with a rather grim smile. “Do you play Scrabble? You do? I'll take you on at that.” Then to the Purser—”I'm glad you've given me an outside cabin. Captain's table, I suppose?”

“You must see the Chief Steward about that. I rather think …”

“I shall be very upset if there's any mistake. I said when booking that I should expect it.”

Cleverly, Carolus thought, Mr Ratchett turned to greet another couple who had approached him.

“Sir Charles! Lady Spittals! Glad to see you again. You were with us last year, weren't you?”

Sir Charles was a disappointed-looking man, but his wife was an enthusiast.

“Well, well!” she cried. “What a nice surprise! You're looking ever so well, too. Remember the Gala Night? I think
Charles”—she dug her husband in the ribs—”was the only one who didn't enjoy himself! But then he never does. Do you? He's just the same old misery. I don't know why he comes on a Cruise like this, I really don't. He never participates in anything. All he does is sit there moping. Where have we been placed in the dining room? Are we really? Captain's table! I'm ever so glad. Not that I should have blamed you if you'd put us somewhere else with
him
sitting there looking like a funeral. Well, cheerio for now. Be seeing you.”

“Strange couple,” commented Mr Ratchett to Carolus. “Lord Mayor of some town up North. Knighted for his work for charities. Stinking with money. Did you notice her diamonds? They're real, I'm told. Who on earth is this?”

Mr Ratchett might well ask, for mounting the gangplank as though he was being televised, came a tall man wearing a brand-new yachting cap. Even before he saw the features, Carolus was certain that it was none other than the headmaster of the Queen's School, Newminster. It was he who introduced the Purser.

“Mr Hugh Gorringer. Mr Ratchett,” he said. “Mr Gorringer is a well-known educationist.”

“You flatter me, my dear Deene. If a little of the distinction of the school I serve has rubbed off on its headmaster, it is all I ask.”

The Purser nodded politely. He looked as though he believed he had met this kind before, which Carolus thought scarcely possible.

“An enchanting prospect you lay before us,” Mr. Gorringer continued to the Purser. “A veritable magic carpet, eh Deene? Lisbon! Tunis! Cat …”

“Mr Ratchett knows the route,” put in Carolus sharply.

“Of course. I'm sure he does. The voyage, not the ‘route,' Deene. We must remember we're at sea now, or soon will be.
As a writer, albeit of popular fiction, you cannot afford to make errors in maritime terminology.” He pulled Carolus aside. “By the way, my dear Deene. A small point but not a negligible one. I feel it due to the honour not of myself but of the school that I should be seated in the dining hall….”

“We're together,” said Carolus incisively. “At the Chief Engineer's table.”

“I was going to say when you interposed with that information that I felt it my due, in the position I occupy, to be invited …”

“Next to me, Chief's table.” Carolus said rather brutally.

“… to occupy no less a place than that on the left-hand side of the Captain. Doubtless some distinguished lady will sit on his right.”

“Can't be done, I'm afraid. Competition too keen.”

Mr Gorringer looked hurt.

“I accept your explanation,” he said. “But I should have thought … However.”

“See you at dinner,” promised Carolus cheerfully. “You'll be all right.”

“I make no secret of my disappointment,” said Mr Gorringer, “but I suppose I am scarcely in a position to complain since the Company, er … Summertime Cruises, Isn't it? … has been good enough to invite me as a tribute to Scholarship. Most appropriate. Very well then, we will meet at dinner, unless perhaps we might indulge in a cocktail as it is the first night on board?”

“Right. The bar then. Seven-thirty,” said Carolus, turning again to Mr Ratchett who had been approached by a tall thin girl with spectacles and loose but somewhat feeble strands of mouse-coloured hair.

“Miss Berry is going on one of our Cruises for the first time,” explained Mr Ratchett when he had introduced them.

“I've been with the Tropical people and with Round-the-World-Away Cruises,” said Miss Berry toothily. “So I thought I'd try this. They say they get a very lively crowd.”

“I feel sure they do,” said Carolus. “Mr Porteous tells me he aims for that.”

“Good-O!” said Miss Berry. “I'm all for some fun, aren't you? But I hope it's not too rough.”

“The fun or the sea?” asked Carolus.

Miss Berry laughed.

“I can see you know your way about,” she said. “The fun, of course. There were some skinheads on the
Adelphi
last year. That's a Tropical Cruises ship, but they don't go further south than Casablanca. These skinheads, quite educated they were, tried to get hold of me one night. One of them said something about a gang bang, whatever that may be.”

“I hope you managed to escape?”

“Yes I did. But only because a girl who worked in the sick bay came by and they went after her. She was blonde and wore a lot of makeup. She didn't seem to mind and of course I was delighted.”

“Of course,” said Carolus.

“Where are you sitting in the dining saloon? I expect I'm at the Captain's table—being alone on board.”

“I expect you are,” said Carolus, comfortingly but insincerely. “I shall see you there.”

“Ta ta for now,” said Miss Berry.

“I know her sort,” said the Purser sourly when she had gone. “There's a rude name for her. A something teaser. Hullo, I wonder who these are?”

Another couple, three single men, two girls and yet another couple came by and departed to search for their cabins. Then Mr Ratchett said, “This is the Dunleary family that Porteous has got such a wind up about. He's had all their
luggage searched for bombs. Windy bastard. They're just a noisy middle-class Irish family. No harm in them at all. But what about these? Pretty sinister, if you ask me.”

“These” were the Sticks, dressed for foreign travel. Mrs Stick, for some reason unknown as yet to Carolus, had exchanged her steel-rimmed glasses for ones with dark lenses, and Stick looked about him suspiciously. They gave no sign of recognition to Carolus, but as they passed him Mrs Stick whispered—or would it be more correct to say “hissed”?—”See you later, sir. Mustn't stop now.”

“I should think,” said the Purser jovially to Carolus, “I should think you'd get some pretty good copy out of this lot, one way or another. I wonder where they dig them up from?”

“Your cruises are advertised quite widely,” said Carolus, then added, “I thought you didn't take coloured people?”

A very dark African-looking man was approaching.

“Oh, you mustn't take any notice of Porteous. The girls in the office have put a stop to that sort of thing this summer. They threatened to report him to the Race Relations Board and he had to give in.”