The Pleasure Cruise Mystery (5 page)

Through this day Vereker went with moody resignation. He experienced at moments an exasperating sense of precious, unrecoverable time slipping away relentlessly in utterly futile idleness, and then argued himself into quiescence by reminding himself that he needed a rest. As far as his art was concerned, he knew that he was feeling jaded: he was convinced that he must leave paint and brushes alone until zest and courage and sensitive enthusiasm revived to act as merciless goads to fresh work. He spent a considerable part of the intervals between meals in strolling idly round the deck; in casual chatter; in noting the extraordinary variety of colour assumed by the sea under the ever changing light; in quietly observing his fellow passengers from some coign of vantage and furtively caricaturing them in a few forceful and illuminating pencil strokes.

Captain Partridge, Captain of the “Mars,” had been present at dinner. Ricardo, who had met the sailor before, had laughingly introduced Vereker as the well-known amateur detective and third-rate professional painter. Captain Partridge, a clean-shaven, ascetic-looking man with a penetrating eye, a square jaw and a firm mouth, showed a lively interest in Vereker's criminal investigation and clearly remembered the “Polo Ground Mystery,” as the Press had called the sensational factors surrounding the murder of Sutton Armadale, “the millionaire sportsman.” Vereker at once liked Captain Partridge, and the dinner hour was his first complete escape from the boredom which he had suffered since the start of the cruise. The ship's doctor, Macpherson, a taciturn Scot, had also been present at the meal, but had taken little part in the conversation though he had listened to it with grave concentration.

During the day Vereker had seen little of Ricardo. With his usual zest, Manuel had entered into every scheme devised by the passengers for killing time joyously. At one moment he was one of a mixed four playing deck-tennis with rope rings, or partnering an enthusiast in a game of quoits; at another he was romping with a party of children, a species of entertainment at which he was singularly adept, thereby becoming a great favourite with his playmates' parents. After dinner he joined the dancers; an hour later he was in the card room making a four at bridge; the rubber finished, he was one of a syndicate trying to scoop the pool at a diddler machine. At ten o'clock at night he sought out Vereker and joined him in a whisky and soda in his cabin.

“Our syndicate scooped the pool tonight, Algernon,” he said.

“I'm glad to hear you've made a little pocket money, Ricky. What did you win?”

“Scooping the pool is high falutin for spending seventeen shillings and winning back nineteen and threepence. The winnings were then pooled for drinks, so we are square with Chance and not too elated with our luck.”

“See any more of our new acquaintances?”

“Dias the diamantiferous delivered his riposte tonight. Carried off Rosaura from under my nose to join a party who were drinking champagne as if it were as cheap as municipal water. I was left out in the cold, but on parting she gave me a squeeze of the hand which assured me that I was nearly as dear as the fizz. I retreated to the card room and bought solace exorbitantly. Then I made a forced march on the bar. There I found Colvin had dug himself in. We exchanged drinks, but I soon discovered from the squish he talked that his back teeth were awash. I left him and came here to be comforted. Comfort me with apples.”

“Help yourself, Ricky.”

“Thanks. I'm glad you're accelerating on the uptake. On coming to your cabin I passed Mrs. Mesado in the alleyway.”

“Did you get a good look at her?”

“No; to tell the truth I was too much interested in her diamond necklace. It must be worth some thousands of pounds. Only ugly women should wear resplendent jewels. Jewels distract your attention from their wearers' faces. Besides, it's unfair to thieves; it must be difficult to rob a beauty if you're at all susceptible to feminine charms.”

For some moments Vereker was lost in reflection, and then he turned to Ricardo and asked inconsequently: “By the way, Ricky, in your conversation with Rosaura Penteado was the name Maureen mentioned?”

“No.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Absolument, mon brave. I would have noted it. Surely you haven't forgotten Maureen?”

“I can't say I remember the lady.”

“The only girl I ever became engaged to.”

“You never told me about the engagement.”

“Perhaps it was too painful. We were engaged for a week. Her parents objected to her marrying a penniless scribbler and persuaded her that it was madness to take a chance on my future royalties. Today I admire their commercial vision.”

“It wasn't your past history, Ricky?”

“No, that would have been an exciting excavation among ruined romances. It was the economic argument, the financial purview.
Mort aux industrialistes
! Excesses of the heart are venial; an overdraft with your banker a mortal sin. Algernon, the world's growing ugly. We've built altars to mass production and smashed up the shrines to Venus. When I remember Maureen I always think of Siegfried Sassoon's lines:

“Shut up, Ricky; remember you're on a pleasure cruise.”

“I was trying to make you forget it, Algernon. But what's this about Maureen?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing at all, Ricky.”

“Very well, if you're going to be so confoundedly mysterious I'm going to turn in.”

Manuel Ricardo finished his whisky and rose slowly to his feet. At that moment the ship's siren gave a prolonged blast and the two men, listening intently, heard her engines gradually slow down almost to the point of stopping.

“Looks as if we'd run into a belt of fog, Algernon. It was getting blankety when I came down. That tootling will probably continue and keep us awake all night. If it does I'll get up and have a gambade round the deck for exercise. It's now eleven o'clock. So long.”

On Ricardo's departure Vereker picked up the bottle of whisky from the table in his cabin and, opening a small cupboard in which were neatly fitted a vacuum-flask jug of drinking water and glasses, locked the spirit up. He glanced at the electric clock on the mantelpiece above the radiator, a clock which was altered daily to agree with the chronometer on the captain's bridge, and compared it with his own. He then stood for some moments as if wondering what to do. He was debating whether he should resume his reading of Dorsey or go to bed. He was not feeling sleepy and decided to read, but before settling down in his chair he pressed a bell for the cabin steward. The wine he had drunk at dinner had made him thirsty, and he was now assailed by a sudden longing for a cup of tea. Fuller the steward appeared, took his order and a few minutes later returned with a tray.

“When would you like your tea in the morning, sir?” he asked as he was about to depart.

“About six o'clock, Fuller. No tea. A little fruit, please.”

“Very good, sir, and your bath about half an hour later?”

“That'll do nicely.”

“Good night, sir.” Fuller closed the cabin door quietly and Vereker, having poured himself out a cup of tea and lit a cigarette, picked up his book once more. He had been reading for about an hour or more when he again became conscious of voices in Mrs. Mesado's cabin, but their speech was no longer audible as it had been the night before. The occupants of No. 89 had doubtless heard Ricardo's penetrating, high-pitched voice and, aware of the possibility of being overheard, had taken the precaution to converse in more subdued tones. Again Vereker's attention strayed from his reading, and his thoughts reverted to the information Ricardo had gathered from Miss Penteado. Mrs. Mesado's husband was Guillermo Mesado, and judging from Ricardo's appraisement of the lady's diamond necklace the husband was evidently a very wealthy Argentine. Now that Vereker was certain that she was the Beryl to whom he had overheard Colvin speaking his interest in her redoubled. But who was Maureen, and what was the interpretation of Mrs. Mesado's dramatic exclamation that Maureen's necklace had disappeared? It was the necklace that Guillermo had given her and had very unpleasant associations for Beryl Mesado. What was the secret trouble it had caused? Vereker found himself becoming more intrigued in this fair traveller than he would have deemed possible. Strange that so far he had been unable to get a good look at her! Ricardo had said she was beautiful, but Ricardo's criterion of beauty was extremely elastic; it ranged from La Gioconda to any comely ballet girl, from society beauties to half the barmaids of London. As an artist, Vereker was more than discriminating; he was exacting. As he pondered on the subject he became almost annoyed with himself for his preoccupation with Mrs. Mesado; it amounted almost to an impertinence. Let Ricardo enter into the passing friendships that pleasure cruises afforded! He would keep aloof, his detached critical self, an amused spectator of this “magic shadow show.” As he mused thus he heard footsteps pass his cabin door and enter No. 89; a third person had joined Colvin and Mrs. Mesado. He came to the conclusion that the newcomer was probably Mrs. Colvin, whose voice he had not yet heard. Curiosity to confirm the correctness of his conjecture made him doubly alert. He sat patiently listening for the newcomer to cabin No. 89 to reveal her identity by speech. In this he was for the time being disappointed, for if the occupants of No. 89 were now conversing they were doing so in whispers. He could hear nothing but the dull sounds of occasional movements. Losing interest in this occupation, Vereker picked up his borrowed copy of
The Edwardians
and was about to resume reading when he heard a voice exclaim:

“Gone? But it can't be gone. If some one has stolen it all our plans must be known!”

“For God's sake be quiet, Constance, or you'll be overheard. There's probably some mistake, came the admonition in Colvin's deep voice.”

The words confirmed Vereker in his surmise that Mrs. Colvin had joined her husband and her sister. There followed once more the hum of lowered voices, and after a further period some one quietly left the cabin. Vereker listened, and judging by the sound of the receding footsteps and the opening and closing of another door one of the party had left cabin No. 89 and entered No. 90.

Vereker now glanced at his watch and, finding that it was nearly one o'clock, undressed, got into bed and switched off the light. He composed himself for sleep, but the regular hooting of the ship's siren now became irritatingly obtrusive. Again and again he was on the borderland of unconsciousness when its melancholy boom hauled him back to wakefulness. He was on the point of deciding to switch on his light once more and bury himself in his book when a knock sounded on his door and Ricardo entered. He had put on a thick, warm overcoat over his dress clothes, and wore a tweed cap and a muffler.

“Well, Ricky, what's your trouble?” asked Vereker after he had pressed the electric light switch above his head.

“I simply couldn't turn in with that infernal hooting going on. No sober man could unless he were dead beat. It's as bad as being on a lightship. Did you manage to doze off?”

“In spasms, but for some time I've been lying awake thinking.”

“Thinking? It sounds incredible, but in any case a reasonable being can't lie awake thinking all night; he'd disintegrate. I don't know why they want to keep up this bally row when there's not another ship within a stone's throw.”

“To avoid collisions, but evidently you believe in a miss being as good as a mile.”

“Certainly, and that a pretty Mrs. is dangerous at any distance, Algernon.”

“I'm sorry I can't ask the skipper to stop the noise on your account, so what are you going to do about it?”

“I'm going to scamper round the ship until I feel comatose and then I'll ask the nicest stewardess to put me to bye-bye. So long. I wish you brighter thinking.”

With these words Manuel Ricardo left Vereker's cabin and, passing along the alleyway and up the short companion, let himself out on D deck, which was the upper promenade deck of the ship. For some moments he glanced round at the surrounding white globe of mist lit up by the lights of the “Mars,” and then began to pace determinedly round the deck to induce physical weariness. At this hour there was not another soul on the deck, so he paced alone, but Ricardo's temperament was almost aggressively cheerful and he whistled the soldier's chorus softly to himself as he covered lap after lap of the monotonous course. Once as he passed the officers' quarters, which were situated at the bow end of his rectangular journey, an officer descended from the bridge and was about to disappear when he caught sight of Ricardo.

“Sorry we've got to keep you awake,” he remarked cheerily, “but it's pretty thick to-night.”

“How long do you expect to be wrapped up in this cotton wool?” asked Ricardo.

“No saying. Probably clear before morning. Good night.”

On Ricardo's departure Vereker once more decided to try and sleep and gradually dropped into an uneasy slumber, troubled by fantastic dreams. He was being chased across an endless desert by some hideous monster which kept bellowing like a ship's siren in his wake. His feet sank deeper and deeper into the desert sand, causing him to drag his weary legs along at a ridiculously slow pace. The monster was gaining on him relentlessly and escape seemed altogether hopeless. Its bellowing grew louder and louder. Now it seemed immediately behind him, and he awoke with a start.

“Damn this fog!” he exclaimed when he realised what had awakened him. He switched on his light and sat up in bed. He was reaching to take his book from the book rack beside his bed when he was startled by a loud scream from Mrs. Mesado's cabin. That scream was followed by the sound of stifled sobbing and the agonised exclamation: