Murder on the Caronia (19 page)

Taggart fumed. “Wait till I get my hands on him!”

“You’ll have to wait your turn. Mr. Dillman is first in the queue.”

Daniel Webb had drifted off into a deep sleep. Even when he rolled over and fell off his bunk, he did not rouse from his slumbers. Dillman had to shake him unmercifully before he came awake. The old man got one eye half open.

“Where am I?” he groaned.

“Where you should be, Mr. Webb,” said Dillman. “Behind bars.”

“Eh?”

“You got drunk.”

“No, not me, sir. I never get drunk.”

“I can still smell the whisky on you.”

“Oh, yes. That was good stuff. I enjoyed it.”

“Too well, it seems.”

Taking him by the scruff of his neck, Dillman hauled Webb upright then sat him on the edge of the bunk. The sudden movement set off a series of aches and pains. Clutching his head in both hands, the old man winced aloud. He then started to massage limbs that were stiff from their time on the hard floor of the cell. Dillman showed no compassion.

“You forgot your promise, didn’t you?” he said.

Webb blinked in agony. “My head is splitting.”

“What do you expect if you drink all that whisky?”

“They tried to take the bottle off me—those Yankee bastards in my cabin.”

“According to them, you swung it like a club. Mr. Miller had to have six stitches put into a head wound that you gave him. I’ve just come from him and his story is very different from yours, Mr. Webb.”

“Then he’s lying!”

“He and his friends were sober. You were drunk. I know who I believe.”

“Trust you to side with those rotten Yanks!”

Dillman knelt down close to him. “We warned you, didn’t we?” he said into the old man’s face. “The purser and I emphasized that you were not to breathe a word of what you saw to anybody.”

“And I didn’t—I swear it!”

“Then how did Mr. Heritage come to hear about it?”

“Who?”

“John Heritage. The man in the next cell to you.”

“Is that his name? He didn’t tell me.”

“You did all the talking, Mr. Webb, that’s why. You opened your big mouth and told him everything you saw on the main deck last night.”

Webb was confused. “Did I?”

“You know you did. Because of that, I’m going to recommend that we keep you locked up in here for the rest of the voyage.”

“Don’t do that!”

“You can’t be trusted,” said Dillman. “If we let you out of here, everyone on the ship will soon know what happened. We can’t take that chance.”

“I give you my word, Mr. Dillman!” the old man vowed.

“You gave it to us once before.”

“This time I’ll keep it.”

“Until you get the next drink inside you.”

“But you told me that I helped you.”

“You did, Mr. Webb. I admit that freely. You gave us valuable evidence and we’re grateful to you. But,” Dillman said firmly, “this latest escapade of yours has exhausted our gratitude.”

“Let me out, sir,” implored Webb. “I’ll behave. Honest to God.”

“Your promises are worthless.”

“I can’t spend the rest of the trip in here.”

“Oh yes you can.”

“But there’s days to go yet.”

“You should have thought of that before you guzzled all that whisky.”

“I was thirsty.”

“Well, you won’t get any alcohol in here,” warned Dillman, standing up. “You know what I think about you. I daresay the purser will want to have his say as well.”

“Hang on, sir. Don’t leave me!”

“Good-bye, Mr. Webb.”

“But I can help you again!” urged the old man.

“Only if you shut up for the rest of the voyage.”

“I’m serious, Mr. Dillman. You were good to me so I owes
you a favor. It’s about that bloke who’s locked up next door.”

“We’ve moved him.”

“I didn’t do all the talking,” explained Webb, standing up. “He had his twopenny’s worth as well. Moaning hard, he was. I could tell he’d never been locked up before. So I let him ramble on.”

Dillman was interested. “And?”

“He said all the usual things. How he’d been wrongly accused and how he’d been threatened by the coppers. Funny thing was, he never told me what they arrested him for. But I guessed, of course,” said Webb, with a cackle. “You can’t fool an old lag like me, sir. I’ve listened to a thousand hard-luck stories in prison. They’ve got him for murder, haven’t they?”

“What did Mr. Heritage tell you?”

“Am I right?”

“That’s immaterial.”

“I never makes mistakes about things like this,” boasted Webb. “That’s why I can help you, see? When you’ve spent as much time in a prison cell as I have, you learn to weigh people up. You always know when they’re lying.”

“And is that what Mr. Heritage was doing?” asked Dillman.

“Oh, yes. He told me a dozen times that he was innocent.”

“Did you believe him?”

“No, sir,” declared the other. “I can tell you now. That man is guilty.”

Isadora Singleton was waiting for her outside the door of the dining room. As soon as Genevieve appeared, Isadora dashed across to meet her. Wearing a striking dress of emerald-green velvet, Isadora also had put on more jewelry than ever before. A visit to the hairdressing salon had improved her appearance as well. It was as if she had made a special effort to be at her best. Contriving to look older and more poised, she nevertheless spoke with the same girlish enthusiasm.

“I’ve been dying to see you, Genevieve,” she said.

“Have you?”

“Where have you been?”

“Mr. Openshaw invited me to join some other guests for a drink.”

“You should have told me. I could have sneaked in as well.”

“You’d have caused quite a stir, if you had done,” said Genevieve, running an eye over her. “You look gorgeous, Isadora. So grown-up.”

“Do you think so?”

“Every man in the room will be looking at you.”

“There’s only one that I’m interested in.”

Before Isadora could explain what she meant, Cecilia Robart approached with two other people. Genevieve noticed that Mrs. Robart’s gold earrings were in place. Her pearl necklace had now been replaced by a beautiful diamond pendant. Beside her were a tall man with an air of distinction about him and a stately woman with a gracious smile.

“Good evening, Miss Masefield,” said Mrs. Robart. “Allow me to introduce Sir Harry and Lady Fox-Holroyd.”

Genevieve went through the social niceties. Isadora had already met Sir Harry and his wife but she had not spoken to Cecilia Robart before. While they chatted briefly, Sir Harry gazed in approval at Isadora.

“May I say how charming you look this evening, Miss Singleton?” he said.

“Thank you, Sir Harry,” she replied.

“You will certainly make your mark in English society.”

“Isadora would make her mark anywhere,” said Genevieve.

“How true, Miss Masefield! She caught Lord Eddington’s eye, I know that. He found Miss Singleton quite enchanting.”

“Is it your first visit to England?” asked Mrs. Robart.

“Yes,” said Isadora.

“Well, I hope that you have a wonderful time.”

“I’m having one already, Mrs. Robart.”

“Good show!” said Sir Harry.

He escorted his wife into the dining room, with Cecilia Robart on his other side.

“That was the lady we saw in the lounge one day,” Isadora noted.

“That’s right,” said Genevieve.

“You couldn’t remember her name then, but she seemed to know you.”

“Don’t worry about her, Isadora,” said Genevieve, eager to keep away from the subject of Cecilia Robart. “I want to know this secret.”

“ ‘Secret’?”

“Theo Wright wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

Isadora flushed slightly. “You spoken to Theo?”

“He was in the Openshaws’ cabin this evening.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing beyond the fact that you had a secret.”

“More than one, Genevieve.” She giggled again. “Shall I tell you what they are?”

“Please.”

“Promise you won’t say anything to Mother and Father.”

Genevieve raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Those kinds of secrets, are they? You can trust me, Isadora. I won’t say a word.”

“My parents would be so
angry
with me.”

“Why? What have you done?”

“I’m learning to ride a bicycle.”

“Here on the ship?”

“Yes,” said Isadora. “Theo is teaching me.”

“I can see why your parents might not be too pleased.”

“They’re such terrible snobs. But I’m not. I think Theo is marvelous, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Genevieve said guardedly. “He’s a remarkable young man. But how can he teach you to ride without your parents’ knowing about it?”

“His bicycles are kept in a storeroom. We were in there alone together. Theo let me get used to sitting on the bicycle while he held it for me. Tomorrow he’s going to find somewhere to push me along. I’m so excited.”

“Didn’t you learn to ride as a girl?”

“No, Genevieve. Mother thought it was not ladylike.”

“Wait until she sees you hurtling past on a racing machine.”

“That’s the amazing thing,” said Isadora.

“What is?”

“I’m being taught by the best cyclist in America.”

“It’s what they call a master class.”

“Did you know that Theo designs bicycles?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s what he hopes to do when he retires from professional racing,” explained Isadora. “He told me all about it. He helped to build those two bicycles in the storeroom. Wes Odell knows how to coach him but it’s Theo who’s the expert on the machines themselves. He loves them.”

“I’m glad you mentioned Mr. Odell,” said Genevieve. “Your parents are not the only ones who wouldn’t approve. Theo’s coach would be even more upset. Take care, Isadora. If he finds out, there could be trouble.”

“Theo warned me about that. It’s all part of the fun.’

“ ‘Fun’?”

“Keeping it from everyone else—except you, that is.”

“You said you had two secrets.”

Isadora nodded, then waited as more guests walked past them. Her eyes sparkled.

“I wouldn’t tell this to anybody but you, Genevieve.”

“Then I’m flattered.”

“It’s very early to say this, I know, but I do so want you to be pleased for me.”

“I’m pleased with anything that makes you happy, Isadora.”

“It’s so strange. I’ve known him such a short time.”

“Are we still talking about Theo?”

“Who else?” asked Isadora, face shining. “I think I’m in love.”

TWELVE

U
nder any other circumstances Dillman would have thoroughly enjoyed his dinner that evening. The meal was delicious, the service was exceptional, and the atmosphere convivial. It was more like a banquet for old friends than a gathering of people who had only met each other a few days earlier. In order to keep his head clear, he allowed himself only one half-glass of wine at the table. His dinner companions found no such need to stint themselves. Seated opposite him, Frank Openshaw noticed how abstemious he was.

“Come on, Mr. Dillman,” he urged. “Drink up. You’ve paid for it.”

Dillman tapped his glass. “This is plenty for me.”

“Get your money’s worth—that’s what I always say.”

“Frank!” chided his wife.

“It’s true, Kitty. I give good value myself and I expect it in return. I’m sure that Mr. Chase works on the same basis,” said Openshaw, nodding at Stanley Chase, who sat beside Dillman. “Am I right?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Chase. “That’s why doing business in America is always such a pleasant experience. The sort of people
I deal with never haggle or complain. If they make up their mind they want something, they pay up willingly. I don’t have to
sell
my antiques in the way that I do in England. They sell themselves.”

“We have some antique porcelain,” said Kitty.

“Who was the manufacturer?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Chase. We bought it because I liked the pattern.”

“And we paid a tidy sum for it,” Openshaw said proudly, “so we knew it was the genuine article. But you’re right about America, Mr. Chase. They have the right attitude to brass. They put it first in their calculations.”

“I’m not sure that’s altogether laudable,” opined Dillman.

“Nor am I,” said Kitty. “There’s other things in life than money.”

“But they all have a price tag on them, Mrs. Openshaw,” said Chase.

“Not necessarily,” argued Dillman. “Look around the room. The thing that strikes you most is that everyone seems so congenial. You sense a communal friendship. That’s something you can’t put a price on.”

“I disagree,” said Openshaw.

“Mr. Dillman is talking sense,” declared Kitty.

“With respect, my love, he isn’t.”

“True friendship is better than all the money in the world.”

Chase sighed. “If only that were true, Mrs. Openshaw.”

“It is where we come from,” she replied.

“Only up to a point, Kitty,” corrected her husband. “Even in Yorkshire, a bit of brass helps you to buy the right friends. It’s the same here. We all get on with each other like house on fire but only because we can afford to sail first-class. It’s like paying a subscription to an exclusive club. You’re judged by the size of your wallet.”

Kitty bridled slightly. “Don’t be so crude, Frank.”

“I’m only being honest.”

“And it does you credit, Mr. Openshaw,” Dillman said pleasantly.
“There’s some truth in what you say but I still contend that not everything is available for purchase. And I know from experience that the friends you make in business are not quite the same as those you befriend for the simple reason that you like them.”

“That’s a fair point, Mr. Dillman,” said Chase. “I keep on the closest terms with my clients but I don’t think I’d invite them into my home. My best friends are those who’ve been around for years.”

“It sounds to me,” Openshaw said contentiously, “as if Mr. Dillman is not a true American. All his fellow countrymen take the view that the dollar is king.”

“
President
maybe,” said Dillman with a smile. “We’re a republic.”

“Now, that’s one thing I do criticize.”

“So do I,” added Kitty, clicking her tongue. “We have such a lovely Royal Family in England. Don’t you agree, Mr. Chase?”

“Naturally, Mrs. Openshaw. My profession is determined by royal blood. I sell Queen Anne chairs, Georgian tallboys, Regency tables, Victorian desks, and so on. It’s left me with a deep respect for the monarchy.”

Kitty smiled fondly. “I adore King Edward.”

“He’s very popular over here as well,” said Dillman. “Americans—on the East Coast particularly—take a keen interest in the activities of your royal family. The big difference, of course, is that our president wields enormous power. King Edward doesn’t. He’s only a constitutional monarch.”

“We still look up to him,” said Openshaw loyally, “and he’s a damn sight more use than some of those fools we send to the Houses of Parliament.”

The conversation bubbled happily throughout the meal. Dillman managed to take part in it while allowing his mind to grapple with the problems confronting him. The murder of Sergeant Mulcaster took priority but he was also very concerned about the possibility that drugs were being smuggled. Having seen the destructive effects of certain narcotics, he had a deep
loathing for those who created the addicts. Somewhere on the ship—perhaps even in this room—was a drug peddler. There was an additional worry: Though the presence of a pickpocket in second class was a minor annoyance, it had to be addressed.

When dessert was over, Dillman did not linger for cheese and biscuits. Excusing himself from the table, he headed for the exit. On the way there, he passed the table where Genevieve Masefield was dining with the Singleton family. He gave her a covert signal to indicate he wished to meet her later on in her cabin.

Dillman was not the first person to leave. When he reached the door, he caught sight of Ramsey Leach ahead of him and hurried to catch up with the undertaker.

“Another splendid meal, Mr. Leach,” he remarked, falling in beside him.

“Oh yes, Mr. Dillman,” said Leach. “Rather too splendid for me.”

“In what way?”

“A stomach ulcer. I’m not permitted to indulge.”

“Yes, I noticed how little you were eating the other day,” Dillman recalled with a grin. “I put it down to the proximity of Frank Openshaw.”

Leach smiled. “He did tend to take away my appetite on that occasion.”

“Yet you still ate twice as much as Theo Wright.”

“Who?”

“Haven’t you met our cycling champion?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Dillman.”

“Theo is a character. You’re bound to see him about. In fact, you could watch him in action if you’re still awake at midnight.”

“Oh, that’s well past my bedtime.”

“Most people have turned in by then,” said Dillman. “That’s why Theo is able to ride on the boat deck without knocking anyone over. He’s in training for a big race in France. His coach has put him on a rigid diet.”

“Poor fellow! It must be agony watching everyone else eating what they wish.”

“Being a champion involves sacrifices.”

“So it seems.”

“Theo will be in the saddle every day of the voyage.”

“Then I wish him well,” said Leach with a lugubrious smile. “All I know about cyclists is that I’ve buried too many of them. They were involved in fatal accidents with motor vehicles.”

“That won’t happen to Theo. During this race in France, apparently, they close the roads for the riders. Sounds like a sensible precaution.” They paused outside the lounge. “Are you glad to be going back to England?”

“Very much so, Mr. Dillman.”

“I hope that’s no reflection on my country.”

“Not at all. My stay there was … rather special.”

“Did you buy any souvenirs?”

“Souvenirs?”

“Things to remind you of your visit,” said Dillman. “In the past, I’ve seen English passengers boarding in New York with everything from replicas of the Statue of Liberty to huge totem poles. What about your professional interest? Did you see anything you were tempted to buy?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Dillman.”

“That’s odd. Most people want to take something back with them.”

“Then I must be the exception to the rule,” Leach said quietly.

“You’re content with happy memories, are you?”

“Those are always the best things to carry home with you.” He forced a smile. “Do excuse me. I have to go, I’m afraid.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Leach.”

Dillman watched him walk away, wondering why a man he had seen leaving his cabin at midnight claimed to retire to bed early every night. Leach had left him with another question burning into his brain. Since he was shipping an expensive funeral casket back to England, why had the undertaker claimed he had bought nothing at all during his vacation?

______

Inspector Redfern had just finished eating his dinner off a tray when the purser arrived. Paul Taggart looked down guiltily at the empty plate.

“I feel that Cunard hospitality has let you down badly, Inspector.”

“Not at all, Mr. Taggart. It was a good meal.”

“But you shouldn’t be eating it in your cabin like this. We have an excellent dining room. It seems a shame that you can’t enjoy the facilities of the vessel.”

“Somebody has to keep an eye on the prisoners.”

“They’re hardly likely to escape,” said Taggart.

“I know, but the very fact that they’re on either side of me makes me feel on duty. It was different when Ronnie—Sergeant Mulcaster—was here. We could take it in turns to stretch our legs and get some fresh air.”

“I suppose so. Well, I’ve just come from Daniel Webb.”

“What did he have to say for himself?”

“I didn’t give him the chance to say anything, Inspector. I gave him a real roasting for opening his mouth that way. By the time I left him, he looked well and truly contrite.”

“So he should.”

“Mr. Dillman had a go at him earlier. He shook the old man up as well.”

“How many other people did he tell about what he saw on deck last night?”

“None, he claims.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Yes, Inspector,” said Taggart. “When he left my office, all he could think of doing was to sit alone in his cabin with that bottle of whiskey. He didn’t talk to anyone until the people he’s sharing with came in.”

“That’s when he started the fight.”

“One decrepit old Englishman against three sturdy Americans.”

Redfern grinned. “Sounds like the War of Independence.”

“I’d admire his courage, if it wasn’t for the fact that it came out of a whiskey bottle. Anyway,” he went on, “we can feel safe that he told nobody but Mr. Heritage about being a key witness.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Taggart was decisive. “We will, Inspector.”

“What about the stewards?” asked Redfern. “The ones who helped in the search?”

“They were chosen for their discretion. All they were told was that a passenger had gone astray and that they were to check every cabin to make sure it was only occupied by those whose names were listed.”

“I thought you said they searched for the guns as well.”

“That was later, Inspector,” Taggart explained. “While lunch was being served. Mr. Dillman organized that. He tried to kill two birds with one stone.”

“In what way?”

“As well as looking for the missing weapons, he and his team kept an eye open for a cache of drugs we believe is being smuggled into England. We had a tip-off that cocaine and heroin were on board.”

“In what sort of quantities?”

“We’ll know that when we find them,” said Taggart. “I suspect there may be substantial amounts. That’s why we’re so keen to locate them.”

“Any luck so far?”

“None, Inspector.”

“It’s a pity Sergeant Mulcaster isn’t here.”

“Why?”

“He had a particular hatred for drug peddlers,” said Redfern. “He thought they were another species of murderer. The son of a friend of his became an addict. He was only in his twenties. The sergeant said it was horrible to see the state he was in when they found him. He’d died of an overdose.”

“It happens all too often, I fear.”

“That’s why Sergeant Mulcaster swore to hunt down every
drug peddler he could find. He had a nose for them. You could have used his help.”

“He was otherwise employed, Inspector.”

“Not anymore, alas …” Redfern gritted his teeth. “I want his killer, Mr. Taggart.”

“We all do, Inspector.”

“I want to catch the bastard and take him back to be hanged. To do that, of course, I’ll have to rely heavily on Mr. Dillman.”

“Don’t forget his assistant,” said Taggart. “In her own way, Genevieve Masefield is a very formidable lady. She and George Dillman make a good team. They’ll get him.”

Throughout dinner, Genevieve Masefield was conscious of his attention. She could not see Theodore Wright but she knew he was watching her. At the end of the meal, much to the disappointment of Isadora Singleton, she excused herself from the table on the grounds that she needed an early night. When her young friend objected, Isadora was scolded politely by her parents. Genevieve gave her a reassuring smile before making her way to the door. Wright was lurking in readiness, however.

“Hold on!” he said, intercepting her as she left the room. “What’s the rush?”

“I feel rather tired, Theo.”

“But I’m the one who has to be in the saddle at midnight.”

“I don’t know where you get the stamina,” she said.

“Watch me on deck and you may find out.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be fast asleep by then.”

“Then let’s have a chat in the lounge,” he suggested. “You never did get around to answering that question I put to you. About the flowers.”

“They were lovely, Theo. I told you that.”

He grinned amiably. “See? You’re ducking out of it again, aren’t you?”

“Maybe this is not the best time to discuss it,” said Genevieve.

“I can’t think of a better one. Why don’t we talk over a drink in the lounge?”

“Because you’re not touching a drop of alcohol, that’s why,” Wes Odell said harshly, interrupting the conversation. “You’re in training, Theo.”

“I know, I know,” he said irritably.

“You need to let your food go down before we start work again.”

“That’s not for over two hours, Wes.”

“You can rest in the cabin.”

“I’d rather be with Genevieve in the lounge.”

“Perhaps it’s better if you do as Mr. Odell advises,” said Genevieve. “It’s been a long day for me. I really would like an early night.”

Odell was blunt. “You heard the lady, Theo.”