The Pleasure Cruise Mystery (16 page)

“You promptly nosed round, I hope.”

“I spotted a writing pad of bank paper—you know the thin stuff it is—on her table. Beside it was one of those silverpoint stylos I've seen you use for sketching at times.”

“That's interesting, but a silverpoint has to be used on a specially prepared chalk paper. It's useless on ordinary paper.”

“I know, and that's what intrigued me. I was about to try the silverpoint out on her pad when I noticed that the business end was still wet with a colourless fluid.”

“Secret writing. Did you root about for the liquid?”

“Like a pig after truffles. I couldn't find any trace of a bottle anywhere.”

“Disappointing! She may have used ordinary saliva. It works fairly well and can be made visible by washing the paper with a thin wash of ink and water when the writing's dry.”

“By Jove, fancy getting one's information straight from the mare's mouth so to speak. The process explains the phrase ‘spitting it out' and makes x's a fair approximation to kisses. Anyhow, finding no bottle of fluid, I picked up the stylo to see if the paper was in any way prepared. I was at once surprised to find that the pressure of the stylo had gone through and left a perfectly legible impression on the leaf underneath.”

“Ricky, that's splendid. Did you detach the leaf?”

“Thought it was too risky, but I read the note after painful hesitation. Posterity will always be able to say of me: He was a detective and a gentleman.”

“Never mind posterity. What did the note say?”

“Very little. Simply: Dearest. Sit next me at cinema performance. Renée.”

“She used the word dearest?”

“Legitimately, I should say. The superlative implies a host of comparatives and positives.”

“You must have got a cold douche, Ricky!”

“Positively, but it didn't deter me from another scratch round. I saw nothing more of importance, unless a phial labelled ‘Nembutal' fits into our scheme of things.”

“You've surpassed yourself, Ricky. I must inquire into nembutal; it's a drug I've never heard of before.”

“The phial was empty.”

“Where was it, Ricky?”

“In an attaché case from which Renée had taken the album of photographs. On her return to the cabin after her interview with Mrs. Colvin she happened to notice the phial as she was putting back the photographs. She looked startled, picked it up and hastily threw it out of the porthole.”

“It may be vital and it may mean nothing at all. This is one of the most complicated cases I've ever dealt with. I'm simply enmeshed in a tangle of clues,” said Vereker wearily.

“After further polite conversation Renée wriggled out of her half-promise to accompany me to the cinema performance and, knowing the reason for her withdrawal, I didn't press the matter. I promptly retaliated by inviting Rosaura to take her place at dinner and the show. 'Pon my soul, Algernon, flirtation's nearly as spiteful a game as croquet.”

Ricardo, having glanced at the clock on the cabin mantelpiece, suddenly jumped from his chair.

“Hell's bells, but I'm late! So long, Algernon. See you before I turn in,” he shouted as he vanished through the door.

“Good hunting, Ricky!”

I

The dining saloon of the “Mars” had been rapidly converted into a temporary cinema theatre, and the orchestra, seated in a gallery, were playing Strauss's march, “Radetzky”. The audience were slowly filtering into their seats, and were composed for the major part of elderly passengers; the youthful section evidently preferring to spend their time in more exciting forms of recreation. Even the title,
Passion's Dupe
, failed to appeal to the general company, the more modern of whom probably thought that passion precluded duping and was its own reward. Perhaps the very thought of “pictures” made them anxious to avoid the stale routine of their lives ashore. The attendance was surprisingly low, and here and there half a row of seats was unoccupied. Vereker was one of the first to enter the theatre, and took up his position in a secluded corner by the door in order to have a good view of the arriving audience. He had not been seated long when Renée Gautier entered alone and took a seat in the third row from the back. Shortly afterwards Manuel Ricardo appeared with Miss Penteado, the latter every now and then laughing gaily at some bright flippancy flung off by her vivacious companion. They took their seats in the centre row of the auditorium, and as they edged their way between the closely arranged rows of chairs Vereker noticed that Ricardo had observed Miss Gautier and given her an exaggerated bow. She had returned the salutation with a bright nod and smile and, seeing that Miss Penteado was exchanging greetings with a gentleman in front of her, had pursed her lips in a moue which was doubtless intended to be coquettish rather than impertinent. Close on their heels followed Ferguson, Vereker's Scots acquaintance with a penchant for theological discussion, and his appearance caused Algernon to make himself momentarily less obtrusive behind one of the support stanchions close to his own chair. Ferguson had hardly attached himself to another of his fellow passengers when Miguel Dias descended the steps into the dining saloon and posed statuesquely as he surveyed the room with his dark, flashing eyes. Renée Gautier's glance met his without a hint of recognition, and at that moment the lights were extinguished for the commencement of the performance. Vereker waited till Dias had vanished in the dusk. Then, rising from his seat, he silently and unobtrusively made his way to the rear of the auditorium, where he slipped into a chair just behind and to the right of Miss Gautier and Dias. From this coign he could easily overhear their conversation even if whispered, and was fairly safe from recognition by Miss Gautier until the close of the film and the switching on of the lights for the interval.

Passion's Dupe
was an American production, in which sentimentality made a travesty of any rational morality, and the commercial insertion of sexual suggestiveness turned natural human love into an obscenity. Vereker, however, was not interested in its illogical perversities and was sitting with ears alert and his attention fixed on the couple in front of him. For a considerable time they sat as if they were complete strangers to one another, simulating an absorption in the screen play, and then Renée Gautier, turning to Dias, whispered:

“The Colvins are going to leave the ship tomorrow.”

“At Lisbon? Why?” asked Dias, with evident surprise in his tone.

“I don't know. There's not going to be a burial at sea after all.”

“Haven't you any idea?”

“Not the vaguest. Sudden change of plan. Something unusual about the whole business.”

“Are they going to take the body back to England?”

“I don't know definitely.”

“Very strange. I can't understand their change of plan.”

“Neither can I.”

“I shouldn't worry. Did you get the stuff?”

“I have it here.”

“You'd better give it to me now. Safer.”

Some moments of silence ensued, during which Miss Gautier handed a small packet to her companion, who swiftly thrust it into an inside pocket of his dinner jacket. After this transaction both either became absorbed in the story of
Passion's Dupe
or were lost in their own thoughts. Neither spoke for about a quarter of an hour.

“You're paying a lot of attention to the young Penteado woman, Miguel,” remarked Miss Gautier in a querulous voice at length.

“What of it?”

“Oh, nothing. She's very beautiful.”

“Jealous?”

“A little. I can't help it, Miguel.”

“Don't be childish. Purely a business matter.”

Renée Gautier here made some remark which escaped Vereker's preternaturally acute hearing owing to a burst of laughter which accompanied some absurdity of the film story.

“I've managed that all right.”

“Good! I shall be glad if it comes off.”

“You deserve it, Renée. I'm indebted to you, and if anything nasty happens I'll stand the racket willingly for your sake. Who is this young fellow Ricardo?”

“Charming boy—frivolous, witty and thinks himself no end of a success. Quite an innocent flirtation; it amuses me.”

“Doubtless, but you must be very careful.”

“Don't get scared. I'm perfectly safe.”

“Fond of him?”

“Don't be ridiculous. He's very ingenuous.”

“Are you piqued?”

“He's young and good-looking. Has he money?”

“He writes stories for a living.”

“
Suffit, cela suffit!
He has a travelling companion?”

“Yes, a painter, who seems comfortably off.”

“Otherwise he wouldn't paint. I've not spoken to him, but he looks a cunning fellow. Instinctively I'm afraid of him. His eyes see everything.”

“A dreamer and a bit of a prig. Nothing to fear.”

“I'm not so sure. My judgment is not often at fault.”

Again there followed an interval of silence, which was at length broken by Renée Gautier.

“Fancy the two of us being together for the rest of the trip! Aren't you glad, Miguel?”

“I'm not going further than Lisbon, Renée.”

“What do you mean?”

The question was asked in a sharp tone in which surprise was mingled with anger, and could be heard distinctly by other people some seats distant.

“Shut up, you fool. You're attracting attention. I mean what I say.”

“But, Miguel, you promised me…”

“I know, but this is business, not amusement. Do you want the whole affair to end in disaster?”

“But why are you leaving at Lisbon?”

“Don't ask silly questions. Can't you see that I must get clear of this ship at the first opportunity? The Colvins are getting dangerous.”

“But we have them safely in our hands.”

“I'm not so sure. Nothing is ever absolutely safe.”

“Then I am to travel alone?”

“You must go on. I shall cross Spain later and meet you at Barcelona. Then we can run up to Paris and get married.”

“What are the Penteados doing?”

“Why ask me?”

“I want to know.”

“I believe they are thinking of landing at Lisbon and catching a Blue Star liner to B.A. in a couple of days. The old lady is sick of the trip already. Nothing has been definitely settled.”

“You are not altering you plans to suit Miss Penteado, are you?”

“Look here, Renée, if you're going to be stupidly jealous like this we had better part now for good.”

“Don't be angry with me, Miguel. I'll try hard not to be jealous, but I wouldn't be jealous if I didn't love you madly.”

“That's better. Now everything is settled. We mustn't be seen together again on the ‘Mars'. It's too risky. You understand?”

“I shall be glad when we reach Paris…”

Shortly after this the film story concluded and the lights were switched on. Vereker was about to move away discreetly and leave the theatre when Dias turned and flung an inquisitive glance round him. Vereker looked in his direction to see if he had been recognised, and noticed an expression of alarm and suspicion cross Dias's features. The next moment Renée Gautier swung quickly round in her seat, but Vereker was gazing blankly at the cinema screen in front of him as if he were eagerly awaiting the second item on the programme. He sat thus for some minutes and noticed that the pair were evidently uneasy that he had been so close to them during their conversation. The lights were once more lowered, and the second film had not proceeded far in its story before Dias rose from his seat and quietly left the theatre. Vereker sat patiently till the end of the performance. The orchestra played the National Anthem and the company began to disperse. Renée Gautier turned, looked directly at him and smiled. Vereker simulated surprise with complete success.

“Good evening, Miss Gautier,” he said. “I didn't know you were sitting so close to me. When did you come in?”

“I have been here all the time. I didn't see you.”

“What do you think of the show?”

“Very good… so remarkable to be able to go to the cinema on board ship. What a pity they were silent films!”

“I prefer them myself. I believe there are so many Board of Trade restrictions with regard to fire that the company can't give us a really up-to-date film.”

“I didn't know that. Where is your friend Mr. Ricardo?”

“I'm sure I don't know. He said something about attending the performance with you, and I was surprised to find that you were unaccompanied. I had arranged to come with him, but we altered our plans. I only decided to put in an appearance at the last minute because I was at a loose end.”

On reaching the vestibule outside the dining saloon Miss Gautier, saying she was going to retire, bade Vereker good night and disappeared down one of the alleyways running off that antechamber. Vereker made his way up to the smoking room on the next deck and passed out of it on to the promenade, which was deserted. He was about to patrol the deck when Doctor Macpherson turned round a corner walking at a brisk pace.

“Good evening, doctor. Taking a little exercise before turning in?” said Vereker, joining him.

“My sleeping draught I call it,” replied Macpherson.

For some time they marched along together, chatting generally, when the doctor, glancing at his watch, came to a halt.

“Will you come to my cabin and join me in a peg before you get into your hammock?” he asked.

Vereker accepted the invitation with alacrity, and together they made their way to the doctor's cabin. When seated over their drinks the doctor became confidential and asked:

“You managed your point all right with the Colvins?”

“Certainly.”

“Because we've made all arrangements for putting the body ashore at Lisbon to-morrow.”