Murder on the Lusitania (20 page)

“No chance of you going back into the family business?”

“No, Mr. Tolley. Not a hope.”

“You have to make a living somehow.”

“I’m not entirely without ideas.”

Ellen giggled. “I’ll bet you’re not.”

“But what about you, sir?” asked Dillman, reaching for his drink. “What line are you in? Ellen says that you come from New Jersey.”

Tolley nodded. “Trenton. And I can’t claim to do anything as interesting as building luxury yachts. I chose a dull profession, I fear. Dull, dutiful, but oddly lucrative.”

“And what’s that?”

“Insurance.”

When the other guests began to peel away, Genevieve Masefield knew that they were leaving Lord Carradine’s suite by prearranged signals but she pretended not to notice. Nine of them had returned there after dinner to enjoy a postprandial drink. While the men chose brandy, most of the ladies opted for hock and seltzer but none of them dallied too long. When the waiter withdrew as well, Genevieve was left alone with her host. Lord Carradine waved her to the sofa and sat beside her. He let his monocle fall from his eye and hang from its ribbon.

“I don’t really need the thing,” he confessed. “Bit of an affectation, really. I feel that it makes me look more the part.”

“What part?”

“The one out of
Burke’s Peerage
.”

“That’s not a part,” she’s said, “That’s the real you, Percy.”

“I wonder sometimes.”

“Nobody would mistake you for anything else.”

“Kind of you to say so.”

“Breeding always shows.”

“That’s what I think when I look at you,” he said, putting his glass down on the side table. “You really are the most bewitching creature, you know. When do I get a view of the real Genevieve Masefield?”

“You’re looking at her right now.”

“Am I?”

“Don’t you believe me?” she teased.

“I’m in a mood to believe anything you say, dear lady.”

“How sweet!”

“I’m a very sweet man when I take my monocle out.”

She let him kiss her hand and move in closer to her. Genevieve had grown fond of Lord Carradine. He allowed her to remain in control. He seemed content to let her set the pace, sedate as it had been until this point. Genevieve decided to accelerate it a little.

“Did you really mean what you said over dinner?” she asked.

“I said all sorts of wild things. I always do when I’m enjoying myself with friends. Which particular thing did you have in mind?”

“Your invitation, Percy.”

“Oh, that.”

“You haven’t forgotten it, have you?”

“On the contrary, I was waiting for you to put that glass down so that I could issue it again. In stronger terms.” She smiled and set her glass aside. “How would you like to stay with me for a while in New York?”

“I’d love to!”

“It will give us a chance to get better acquainted.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “What else were you hoping I’d say?” he purred, kissing her earlobe. “I’m very amenable to suggestions.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“If only I could, Genevieve!”

“You already have, believe me.”

It was a rather clammy kiss but she endured it easily and came out of it with a smile. Lord Carradine stroked the side of her cheek with a gentle finger and gazed into her eyes.

“There’s something I feel bound to tell you, though.”

“Can’t it wait, Percy?”

“Not really,” he said, restoring his monocle. “Never been much of a one for false pretences. Fact is, I happen to know Nigel Wilmshurst extremely well. I understand that he broke off his engagement to you because he had severe doubts about your motives. Is that true?” He smiled at her obvious discomfort. “The invitation still holds, of course. I just wanted you to understand the terms on which it’s based. Well?”

Covering her embarrassment with an excuse, Genevieve left.

Dillman enjoyed the chat with the Tolleys and stayed longer than he intended. When her father excused himself to leave, Ellen
hoped that she would have Dillman to herself but he, too, elected to go and she was left looking rather crestfallen. He was sorry to disappoint her, but other priorities loomed. When he reached the purser’s cabin, Dillman found him in his shirtsleeves. Fatigue and apprehension had made even deeper inroads into Halliday’s already gaunt features.

“I had a visit from your chief engineer,” said Dillman.

“So did I. Fergus was rampant.”

“I think he may be on to something, Mr. Halliday. Someone may have copied diagrams from the originals. It might be worth having a more thorough search of Henry Barcroft’s cabin.”

“I’m one step ahead of you, Mr. Dillman. I’ve just come from there. Nothing. I even unscrewed the light fixtures and took off wall panels. No sign of any copies.” He scratched his head. The killer took them. It’s the only explanation. That must have been the motive for the murder. To get the diagrams he knew were in Barcroft’s possession.”

“But he didn’t get them,” Dillman reminded him. “All he got were the copies. The originals were concealed under the desk in that envelope. That’s what’s been puzzling me all evening, Mr. Halliday.

“What?”

“Why make copies when he already had one set of diagrams?”

“You tell me.”

“Barcroft never intended that envelope to be found.”

“Perhaps he was making doubly sure of his prize,” guessed the other. “Having a second set as backup. Like spares.”

“There was no camera in the room.”

“Camera?”

“Easiest way to copy anything. Drawing them by hand would have been very laborious and he didn’t have the implements for it. Barcroft had plenty of pencils—which journalist doesn’t?—but I didn’t notice any ruler or T-square. They’d have been vital.”

Halliday sighed. “This gets more baffling by the minute.”

“Any more outbursts from Itzak Weiss?”

“No, thank heaven. He’s still festering in his cabin.”

“Word of the other thefts has spread, I’m afraid.”

“We couldn’t stop that.” He slapped his thigh. “If only we’d made
some
progress. I feel so bloody impotent.”

“Perhaps we have made progress,” said Dillman, wanting to offer some encouragment, “though it must be treated with caution.”

“Go on.”

Dillman told him about his suspicions of Jeremiah Erskine and of Cyril Weekes’s expertise with antique clocks. Mention of the name of J. P. Morgan was enough for Halliday. It set him off on a theory of conspiracy against the
Lusitania
by a rival shipping line. By the time he finished, he was ready to place Erskine under arrest and conduct a search of his cabin. Dillman calmed him down.

“Supposition is not proof, Mr. Halliday.”

“Erskine sounds like our man.”

“Why should he steal a violin or a clock or lady’s purse? Weekes is much more likely to have done that, and I still find it difficult to believe that he’s thief. No, sir, both men need watching carefully before we move in. If either or both are guilty, I’ll be the first to jump on them.”

“Do you think they could be accomplices?”

“It’s crossed my mind. But I’d need a lot more convincing.”

“You haven’t been idle, anyway, Mr. Dillman. I can see that.”

“What about those lists I asked you to get for me?”

“That’s in hand. You’ll get them tomorrow.”

“Good. They may turn out to be crucial.”

“Until then,” said Halliday, suppressing a yawn, “I suppose that we'd both better try to get some sleep. We’ll need all our strength to face tomorrow’s batch of disasters.”

“There may not be any.”

“Pigs may fly!”

“How is Captain Watt taking it all?”

“Very well, considering. He gives nothing away. On the surface, he’s behaving as if everything is fine but when he gets his hands on the culprit, there’ll be hell to pay! The captain will make him
walk the plank!” There was a tap on the door. “Not more problems, please! Who is it now?”

He opened to door to admit Roland Tomkins. Carrying a small case, the assistant surgeon moved to the center of the cabin and turned to face them. He gave a sheepish grin.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he warned.

“I’ll believe anything!” wailed the purser. “What now?”

“Lionel and I have been taking it in turns to check that everything’s in order in the freezer. Just to make sure that Mr. Barcroft is comfy, so to speak. We don’t want him turning into a human iceberg.”

“Don’t tell me he’s disappeared.”

“No, Charles. But I found this lying beside him.” He put the case on the desk. It was frosted with ice. “Brace yourselves,” he said as he opened the case. They were both agog. “Took my breath away as well.”

Inside the case was a lady’s purse, a French Empire clock, and a number of other small items. Part of the afternoon’s haul had been obligingly returned by the thief. Dillman’s mind immediately began to grapple with the implications but Charles Halliday was inconsolable.

“He’s laughing at us!” he howled. “The bastard is laughing at us!”

THIRTEEN

C
harles Halliday was so jolted by the latest development that he felt the need of a restorative whiskey. Dillman declined the offer to join him, and Roland Tomkins was needed elsewhere so the purser had to drink alone. He poured a generous measure into a glass, taking a first desperate gulp. Dillman waited until the assistant surgeon had left before he spoke.

“It proves one thing, anyway,” he said.

“Yes,” moaned Halliday, staring into his whiskey. “He’s running rings round us. It’s maddening! The sod is toying with us!”

“No, he’s just showing off a little, that’s all. That was a mistake.”

“Mistake?”

“He’s given the game away, Mr. Halliday.” He pointed to the case. “My theory was right. The murderer and the thief are one and the same man. Instead of keeping us guessing about that, he’s admitted it.”

“That gets us no nearer to catching him.”

“Perhaps not, but it gives us a little insight into the way his mind works. That will be helpful. But let’s come back to the body. I thought that it was locked away in a refrigerator.”

“It was.”

“Who had the key?”

“I did, Mr. Dillman. I took it from the kitchen staff. When we put Barcroft in there, I gave the key to Lionel Osborne in case he and Roland wanted to take another look at the body for some reason.”

“Just as well they did. Is there only one key?”

“As far as I know.”

“Then our man is something of a locksmith, obviously.”

“He seems to be able to go anywhere he wants on this ship.”

“Let’s go back to the cabins,” suggested Dillman. “The housekeeping staff must have keys to them, surely? How else could they get into the cabins to change the beds?”

“They only have keys to the cabins they service and each key is different. Only a master key will open every cabin and none of our master keys have been touched. I made sure of that.” He sipped more whiskey. “How does he do it? How could he get into Fergus Rourke’s cabin so easily? Or the Anstruthers’? Or Itzak Weiss’s?”

“We might need to put another cabin on that list, sir.”

“Another?”

“Henry Barcroft’s,” explained Dillman. “When there was no sign of forced entry, I assumed that the murderer had been a friend invited in to have a drink with him. But supposing he let himself into the cabin with a master key and took Barcroft unawares.”

Halliday pulled a face. “He’s certainly taken me unawares!”

“Look on the bright side.”

“
What
bright side?”

“Stolen property has been recovered,” said Dillman, looking at the objects in the case. “And not for the first time. You were able to give the chief engineer his diagrams back and you can now win plaudits from the lady who had her purse taken and from the Anstruthers. No harm seems to have come to their property.” He picked up the clock and held it his ear. “Still working. When you give this back to the Anstruthers, you’ll get a hero’s welcome.”

“But I didn’t find the case. It was left in the fridge to taunt us.”

“They don’t know that, Mr. Halliday. I think you should take what credit you can. It will help to calm the other passengers’ nerves if they think they’ve got Sherlock Holmes as their purser. And it’ll put a stop to all the rumors flying around.” He put the clock into the case. “This absolves Cyril Weekes of any guilt. A man who loves clocks the way he does would never subject it to severe cold in case it caused damage. We can cross him off the list of suspects.”

“What about this Jeremiah Erskine?”

“I need to check up on him.”

“Search his cabin. By force, if necessary.”

“No,” replied Dillman firmly. “By stealth. I’d like to take charge of that little operation, if I may. He could still be innocent, remember. Charge in there to accuse him and Mr. Erskine could well turn nasty. You don’t want to face litigation, do you? Erskine’s a rich man. With some very powerful friends.”

“J. P. Morgan among them!”

“I’m not sure that we should attach too much importance to that.”

“We have to, Mr. Dillman!”

“Why?”

“Because J. P. Morgan has a controlling interest in our main rivals, the White Star Line. Morgan wants a complete monopoly. He’d gobble up Cunard if they didn’t keep him at bay. The link with Morgan is the best evidence yet of Erskine’s involvement.”

“I wonder,” said Dillman reflectively. “To start with, we don’t know how close the two men are. They might just be business acquaintances. And J. P. Morgan is not just a shipping magnate. He has a vast empire to run. I don’t think a man in his position would have time to worry about the day-to-day operation of his ocean liners.”

“He’s one of our chief enemies. That’s enough for me.”

“You’d know more about that than I do, Mr. Halliday.”

“I feel it it in my gut.”

“That may just be fatigue. You look very tired.”

“I’m exhausted, Mr. Dillman. It’s no fun trying to keep the lid on murder, theft, espionage, and who knows what else? I won’t sleep a wink until this devil is caught.”

“Then we’d better catch him soon or you'll drop in your tracks.”

“Easier said than done.”

“We get closer all the time.”

“Do we?”

“Of course,” Dillman reassured him. “Have you forgotten what you said when Mr. Barcroft was murdered? You told me that almost everyone on the ship was a suspect.”

“Well over two thousand people.”

“We’ve narrowed it right down now. We know he’s male, strong and fit, and registered as a first-class passenger or he wouldn’t be able to monitor the movements of people like Mr. Weiss and the Anstruthers. We also know,” he added, tapping the suitcase, “that he has a weird sense of humor. I'd say that we had a pretty accurate profile of him. All we need now is to find his name.”

“Jeremiah Erskine.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“When will you search his cabin?”

“At the opportune moment. Can you get me a master key?”

“Leave it to me.”

“Make it soon, please.” He watched Halliday drain his glass. “Now, why don’t you cheer yourself up, sir?”

“I’m just about to—with another drop of scotch.”

“There’s a better way than that. I think you should restore this property to its rightful owners and bask in their gratitude. They needn’t know where it was found.”

“You’re right,” agreed Halliday, putting the bottle away. “This will solve nothing. And it will cheer me up to be able to give some good news for once. I just wish we’d found the Stradivarius in this case as well.”

“No chance of that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“He’d never hand back anything that valuable or risk leaving it in a refrigerator where it could suffer untold damage. No, Mr. Halliday, I’m fairly sure that our man has other plans for the Stradivarius.”

Itzak Weiss was slumped in a chair with his head in his hands. Unable to console him, his wife busied herself in the cabin, tidying things that had no need to be tidied, opening and shutting drawers and cupboards that could just as easily have been left closed. Ruth Weiss was a woman who devoted herself to her husband and to his career. She had shared triumphs with him all over the world and been there to revive him during the odd moments of setback and disappointment. But she had never seen him so close to utter despair before. Nothing she could do or say could lift his spirits. While he brooded, she tried to keep busy in the vain hope that activity might take her mind off the tragedy they faced.

The violinist eventually looked up at her.

“Stop it, Ruth!” he complained.

“Stop what?”

“Pacing around, making noises.”

“I have to do something, Itzak.”

“It’s getting on my nerves!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sit down!”

“Yes, Itzak.”

“And just be quiet. Please!”

She touched his shoulder apologetically and brushed the top of his head with a kiss. Then she sat opposite him. Weiss heaved a sigh, sat back in his chair, and closed his eyes. His wife watched him with growing concern. She knew better than anyone what he was suffering. Having his beloved violin stolen was like losing a child. He was bereft.

A faint noise roused her and she turned round. Something had just been pushed under the door of the cabin. When she rose from her seat, she saw a small white envelope lying on the carpet.
She went over to snatch it up then opened the door to see who had delivered it. Nobody was in sight. Closing the door, she rushed out to her husband.

“Itzak! Itzak!” she said. “It’s for you!”

He opened his eyes. “What? Why are you shouting, Ruth?”

“This letter was just pushed under the door. It may be good news. It may be something to do with your violin.” She thrust it at him. “Here.”

His gloom suddenly vanished and he tore open the envelope but the relief was only temporary. When he read the note, his face crumpled and tears began to stream down his face.

“What is it, Itzak?” asked his wife anxiously. “What does it say?”

Dillman needed thinking time. Instead of returning to the lounge, he went out on to the promenade deck where he found the stiff breeze stimulating. He walked slowly toward the stern, turning over in his mind everything that had happened since the theft from the chief engineer’s cabin. Convinced that all the crimes were related, he sought to establish the connecting motive behind them. His contemplation was short-lived. As he walked past a pillar, he caught sight of a huddled figure on a bench in the shadows. She looked vaguely familiar.

“Miss Masefield?” he asked tentatively.

She came out of her reverie. “Oh, hello, Mr. Dillman.”

“Isn’t it rather cold to be sitting out here with no coat?”

“I have my stole.”

“That won’t keep out this wind.” He began to take off his coat. “Why not put this around your shoulders?”

“No, no,” she protested, getting up. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She gave a sudden shiver. “It is rather chilly, now that you mention it. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t noticed it before. I was miles away.”

“Could I tempt you into a drink in the lounge?”

“Yes, please,” she said, her teeth chattering slightly. “I think I need something to warm me up. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“What were you doing out here on your own?”

“Escaping.”

“From what?”

Genevieve gave a rueful smile. “Let’s have that drink.”

Dillman took her to the lounge and found two chairs in a corner. Drinks were ordered, brought, and sipped. Genevieve kept both hands closed around her glass.

“I needed that. Thank you.”

“What’s all this about escape?”

“A personal matter. Forget all about it. Well,” she said, making an effort to compose herself, “If anyone had to find me, I’m so glad that it was you. If it had been someone like that odious journalist, I think I’d probably have turned tail and run. By the way, what’s happened to Henry Barcroft? I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Probably working his way through the second-class passengers.”

“The female ones, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems that I wasn’t the only one he favored with the number of his cabin. He tried to lure Lady Carlyle’s seventeen-year-old daughter there as well, apparently. And two other women complained about his attentions. Mr. Barcroft obviously worked on the principle that, if he asked us all, he would eventually find a volunteer. Well, he failed in first-class. I daresay he’s issuing invitations left, right, and center to the young ladies elsewhere. Who knows? He might be in his cabin with one of them right now. It’s on the shelter deck, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Dillman, thinking about two glasses beside an unopened bottle of Champagne. “You were very wise to reject his overtures.”

“I never want to see the man again.” She studied him quizzically. “But I’m surprised to see you on your own, Mr. Dillman. I thought you might have been spoken for by now.”

“Spoken for?”

“Yes,” she said, wondering if it was possible to embarrass him.
“You’ve been setting someone’s heart alight. I had the most extraordinary conversation with her earlier. She wanted to make sure that I had no predatory intentions with regard to you so that she could have what she called a clear field.”

Dillman sighed. “Miss Ellen Tolley, by any chance?”

“Attractive girl. I liked her.”

“I like her myself, Miss Masefield. I had a drink with Ellen and her father after dinner. Nice people. Ellen is a little excitable, that’s all.”

“I blame you for that. You're the one who excited her.”

“Not deliberately.”

“No?” She gave him a shrewd look. “Ellen Tolley is not the only young lady aboard this ship who wants to solve the riddle.”

“What riddle?”

“The one called George Porter Dillman.”

“Am I such an enigma?” he said with a laugh.

“You trade on it.”

“That goes for both of us. There’s no more teasing riddle aboard this ship than Miss Genevieve Masefield. She goes out of her way to mystify and enthrall.”

“Not with unqualified success,” she muttered.

“So why were you sitting up there on deck like that?”

“For the same reason that you were strolling along it, Mr. Dillman. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to preserve my mystery. Just like you. Ellen Tolley tried to make me believe that she and I were soul mates but the truth is that we are worlds apart.” She gave a half smile. “The only person aboard this ship with whom I have a real affinity is you.”

“What about the Hubermann sisters?”

“Please!” she protested.

“They adore you.”

“And I love them. In small doses.”

“That leaves Lord Carradine.”

Dillman thought he detected a slight wince. She took a second drink, then scrutinised him with interest. He felt a prickle of excitement.

“Why did you really do it?” she aked. “Why did you walk out on your family and the profession that went with it? You told me that you'd had enough of building yachts in Boston Harbor but I’m not sure that I believe that. You’ve got too much sense of purpose about you.”

“Is that what you think?”

“My guess is that you didn’t run
from
something, Mr. Dillman, you ran
to
it. You left Boston to go after something. Or somebody.”