Murder on the Lusitania (14 page)

“Hold on!” said Rourke, blocking his way. “You’re not leaving until this is sorted out.” He held up the brown envelope. “These were my diagrams that were stolen. Surely that entitles me to an explanation?”

“I’ve given it to you.”

“What you’ve given me is a pack of lies that wouldn’t deceive a blind dromedary, let alone a chief engineer. Doesn’t my rank stand for anything on this ship? Now, will you tell me the truth or would you rather I referred the whole matter to Captain Watt?”

“He’ll give you the same answer as I would.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Halliday, irritable from lack of sleep, “that we’re dealing with restricted information here. You’ve been told all I’m allowed to tell you. Press me any further and you’ll have Captain Watt to answer to. I can’t put it any plainer than that, Fergus.”

The chief engineer blinked and tugged vigorously at his beard. Taking the diagrams from inside the envelope, he unfolded them and put them side by side on the desk. He shook his head in bewilderment.

“Beats me.” He sighed. “I can understand someone wanting to steal this cross section of the boiler room or even detailed layout of the whole ship.” His stubby finger pointed at another diagram. “But what use is this to them? It’s a wiring diagram. Only a trained electrician could make sense of it. Is that who you found under that linen in the cupboard in the storeroom? Some mad electrician?”

“We don’t know who stole the diagrams.”

“And you wouldn’t tell me, even if you did. Is that it?”

“Fergus—”

“I thought we were shipmates, Charlie.”

“We are.”

“Then let me in on the secret!”

“I have to go.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Who?”

“That bleeding reporter. Whatsisname? Barcroft. He stole them.”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“Bring the sod here and I’ll get the proof.”

“This is nothing to do with Henry Barcroft.”

“No?”

“No,” said Halliday with emphasis. “He doesn’t come into contention at all here. I know he got on your nerves and you won’t be surprised to learn that he’s upset half the ship one way or another, but it’s no use pointing the finger at him. Henry Barcroft
is out of this. Forget him. He won’t come anywhere near you in future. You have my word on that, Fergus.” He straightened his tie. “Now, will you let me out, please?”

“You’re a rotten liar, Charlie.”

“You’ll have to give me lessons sometime.”

Rourke shook with mirth, then stood aside from the door.

“Off you go,” he said sarcastically. “Back to that storeroom.”

Charles Halliday was relieved to escape so lightly.

Though he ate very little and relied largely on cups of black coffee, it was the most pleasurable meal Dillman had enjoyed on the
Lusitania
. An hour in Genevieve’s company seemed to fly past yet an enormous amount of useful information was dredged up in the course of it. She was an observant young woman with a keen insight into character, and her analysis of some of their fellow passengers was chillingly accurate. His admiration for her steadily increased and, by the same token, he improved his standing markedly with her. Genevieve found him relaxed and undemanding, well versed in maritime lore, entertaining on the subject of the foibles of the English, and quite unlike any of the other Americans whom she had met. Given the chance to talk properly to each other at last, they realized how much in common they had.

Dillman had no need to ply her with questions. The conversation twisted and turned naturally in the direction he would have wanted it to go. She described each meeting she had with Henry Barcroft and listed all the other passengers on whom she had seen him pouncing. Her eyes flashed when she recalled the article he had thrust at her for approval.

“The effrontery of the man!”

“Did you observe that he’d put the number of his cabin on it?”

“I chose
not
to observe it, Mr Dillman.”

“Very wise.”

“The fellow is beneath contempt!”

“Who are we talking about now, honey?” asked Abigail Hubermann, scenting a touch of scandal. “Which men are we tearing to pieces this morning, eh? Mind if we join you?”

“We want to hear how you got on last night,” said Carlotta.

“Sounds like my cue to go,” said Dillman with a grin. “Good morning, ladies. Do excuse me.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll leave the field clear for you to take out your anger on the entire male sex.” He gave Genevieve a slight bow. “Thank you, Miss Masefield. It’s been a treat.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Dillman.”

She waved him off, then turned to look into the inquistive faces of the Hubermann sisters as they settled down opposite her. Abigail was signaling disapproval of Dillman but Carlotta was beaming maternally.

“I was hoping you two might get together one day,” she said.

“Well, I wasn’t,” said Abigail with the light of contradiction on her eye. “The American gentleman is a far more dangerous animal than the English variety. Let me tell you why, Genevieve.”

Unaware that he was the subject of discussion, Dillman was heading for the exit when he saw Cyril Weekes seated alone at a table in the corner. He waved a greeting and went across.

“My wife is having a sleep-in this morning,” explained Weekes. “We didn’t get to bed until rather late, I fear.”

“I noticed you at the card table. You seemed to be in luck again.”

“One of those things.”

“Skill must come into it as well.”

“A little, perhaps.”

“Mr. Erskine wasn’t faring quite so well.”

“No, poor chap. Jeremiah lost a bundle again. He soon got fed up with it and stalked off. He said that he was going to walk around the entire ship and give himself a good talking-to.” Weekes put on his pince-nez and reached for the menu. “Glad I didn’t bump into him out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was in such a foul mood when he charged out. It would have been a case of ill-met by moonlight! No, Mr. Dillman, when Jeremiah Erskine is angry with himself, it’s best to give him a wide berth.” He looked up. “Do you think I should risk the prunes?”

TEN

V
iolet Rymer found it difficult to contain her joy. Knowing that she would be seeing Philip Garrow that afternoon, she was in a state of continuous excitement from the moment she awoke. Over breakfast in their suite, her parents both remarked on the welcome change in her manner.

“You seem to be in a good mood today, Violet,” said Rymer.

“Do I?”

“Starting to enjoy the voyage at last?”

“It’s impossible not to enjoy it, Father.”

“That’s why we brought you with us, dear,” said Sylvia Rymer. “It’s a unique experience and we wanted you to share in it.”

“It’s one of the reasons we brought you,” added Rymer. “But not the main one, of course. We all know what that was.”

“Matthew,” murmured his wife warningly.

“There’s no point in hiding it, Sylvia.”

“But do we need to discuss it now?”

“I can’t think of a better time. Now that we’re in the privacy of our own suite.” He began to butter some toast. “Violet formed an unfortunate attachment and it was our duty to put a stop to it.
Which we did. The day will come when she’s profoundly grateful to us.”

Biting back a retort, Violet lowered her head and brooded. Sylvia Rymer gestured to her husband that he might change the topic of conversation but he ignored her advice. After chewing a piece of toast, he sipped his coffee, then returned to the attack.

“Appalling fellow!” he snapped. “God knows how a daughter of mine could get involved with a such a person. No breeding, no manners, no prospects, no nothing! Just one more Irish layabout!”

“That’s not true!” defended Violet, looking up.

“I met the rogue.”

“Philip is not a rogue, Father.”

“Don’t argue with me.”

“Need we argue at all?” said his wife with a pacifying smile. “It’s all in the past now, so why don’t we leave it there?”

“Because I’m not sure that it is in the past, Sylvia. We sent him packing but Violet clearly hasn’t forgotten him. Have you, Violet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“She will, Matthew,” said Sylvia Rymer. “In time. It was all rather sudden. Violet had strong feelings for the young man. You can’t expect those to fade away.”

“Whose side are you on here?” he demanded.

“Yours, of course.”

“We’re her parents, Sylvia. Our job is to protect our daughter.”

“And we did that.”

“Then let’s hear no more nonsense about ‘strong feelings’ for that disgraceful individual. Garrow was an absolute bounder!”

“No!” protested Violet.

“You should never have let him within a mile of you.”

“He was kind to me.”

“Well, of course, he was.” Rymer sneered with heavy sarcasm. “And we all know why. He turned that Irish charm on like a tap. But it didn’t work on me, young lady. I’ve seen too many of his type to be taken in by them for a moment. That’s why I had to step in the way I did.”

“Violet understands that,” said Sylvia Rymer, jumping in swiftly
before her daughter could reply. “Nothing can be served by bringing it all up again now. Especially as Violet is beginning to take some interest.”

“Not before time!”

“Let the matter rest, shall we?”

“As long as Violet appreciates what we’re doing for her.”

“I’m sure that she does.”

“How many girls of her age have an adventure like this? The maiden voyage of the most famous liner in the world. Any other daughter would give her eyeteeth for such an experience.”

“Violet knows that. Don’t you, dear?”

“Yes, Mother,” said the other, taking the line of least resistance.

“You didn’t mean to contradict your father, did you?”

A conscious effort was needed. “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry, Father.”

“I should think so, too!” he said.

“More coffee?” asked his wife, lifting the pot.

“I’ve finished, thank you.”

“Violet?”

“Not for me, Mother.”

“Then all we have to do is to decide how we’re going to spend the morning,” said the older woman, replacing the coffeepot on the table. “I promised to meet Janet Palgrave at ten. She’s such an extraordinary woman. Not at all what you’d expect from the wife of a clergyman.”

“No,” said Rymer. “Clergymen’s wives are usually mousy little women with buck teeth and that awful stink of poverty. Makes a change to find one who actually dresses with some taste. Well,” he continued, putting his napkin aside. “You go off with Mrs. Palgrave. I need to spend some time with Mackintosh. From what I hear, I don’t think he’s getting value for money from that land agent of his.”

“What about you, Violet?” asked her mother.

“I’m going to explore the ship a little more,” said the other. “I still haven’t been up on the boat deck yet. And it’s such a nice day.”

Her parents traded glances and had a silent conversation.

“You need some company,” decided Rymer at length.

“I made a sort of tentative arrangement with the Latimers,” lied Violet, fearing supervision. “I liked them enormously.”

“There’s only room for two people in a honeymoon, dear,” said her mother. “I think it might be more tactful to let them be on their own.”

“Violet can take Mildred with her,” decreed Rymer.

“Mildred!” gasped the girl.

“She’s been cooped up down here ever since we embarked. Unfair on her. We must give the woman some freedom. Can’t ask a maidservant to be on duty twenty-four hours a day. No,” he said with finality. “Explore the ship with Mildred. It will be a little bonus for her. Something to tell the rest of the staff about when we get back to London.”

Violet quaked. She knew why she was being told to take the maidservant with her. Mildred was her chaperon. Her parents still wanted to keep their daughter under close surveillance.

“What did the postmortem reveal?” asked Dillman.

“Little more than we already knew,” said Halliday. “Especially as they were having to hurry. It wasn’t a full postmortem, but Roland Tomkins was able to make some useful comments.”

“Oh?”

“From the nature of the injuries, he’s certain that Barcroft was struck from behind by a right-handed man. As for the weapon, he thinks it must have been made of wood. Metal would have done even more damage, if that’s possible, ripping the skin open. Lionel Osborne agreed. A metal implement would have left different lacerations.”

“What else did they find?”

“That the killer took no chances. Belt-and-braces man.”

“Belt and braces?”

“He wanted to make absolutely sure that his victim was dead. When he battered him senseless, he turned him over and stabbed him through the heart. There was a puncture wound in his chest.”
The purser heaved a sign. “We only saw him lying facedown so we didn’t know there was a second wound.”

“No,” said Dillman. “And there was so much blood about, it never occurred to me that some of it was coming from a stab wound. I don’t suppose the killer was obliging enough to leave a weapon behind?”

“Not a hope of that!”

“What did Mr. Tomkins think?”

“That the wound was inflicted by a long, narrow-bladed knife. He was surprised how neat and precise the incision was.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “Roland said that any surgeon would have been proud of it.”

“It gives us something to go on, anyway.”

“Yes, Mr. Dillman, but it also reinforces what we already knew. This man is highly dangerous. He carries a knife. I think you should consider Captain Watt’s offer of a firearm.”

“At a later stage, perhaps. I certainly don’t want to walk around with a loaded pistol on me just yet.” He indicated his suit. “Can’t have that bulging under my jacket. It would spoil my appearance.”

“I know that you like to be something of a dandy but safety must come first. You need a means of defense, Mr. Dillman.”

“Only when I close in on the killer.”

“Did you ever carry a gun when you were a Pinkerton man?”

“Occasionally, Mr. Halliday. Like most operatives, I had to know how to use a firearm. When I was in pursuit of desperate criminals, I knew they’d be armed.”

“So is this man.”

“Only with a knife.”

“He knows how to use it.”

“I know how to take it off him,” said Dillman calmly. “What about the body? Has that been safely stowed away?”

“It’s in cold storage. Under lock and key.”

“And the cabin?”

“Cleaned up and sealed off.”

“What about the steward responsible for it?”

“I told him there were problems with the plumbing and that we’d had to move Mr. Barcroft to another cabin. He didn’t complain. One less passenger to worry about.”

“Did he remember delivering that Champagne to the cabin?”

“Yes, Mr. Dillman. Not long after ten last night, he reckons.”

“And he saw Mr. Barcroft alive?”

“Alive and alone.”

“That gives us a more accurate of idea of time, anyway.”

Dillman was talking to the purser in the latter’s cabin and he could see that the events of the night had taken their toll on his companion. He also knew how busy Charles Halliday was going to be.

“I won’t hold you up much longer,” he said. “And I have several lines of inquiry I need to pursue but I wondered if I might make a suggestion?”

“Please do, Mr. Dillman.”

“We’re all anxious that none of this will get out.”

“That would be fatal.”

“Then you might employ some diversionary tactics. The best way to ensure that none of the passengers start asking questions about Henry Barcroft is to keep them fully occupied. Lay on some special events to focus their minds.”

“Special events?”

“The obvious one is a dog show. Dozens of first- and second-class passengers seem to have brought dogs with them. Organize a contest of some sort and I’m sure it will arouse enormous interest. Dog owners are fiercely competitive and there must be somebody on board competent enough to act as a judge.”

“There may be something in that.”

“It’s only one of many ideas. You can probably come up with a dozen better ones yourself. But don’t forget the third-class passengers. They’re entitled to some entertainment as well.”

“There are precious few dogs in third class, Mr. Dillman.”

“But a large number of children. What about a fancy-dress contest for them? I know that most of their parents have little money and only few belongings with them but it’s amazing what they
can achieve with a some imagination.” He saw Halliday’s deep frown. “Am I making sense?”

“Oh, yes. Great sense. Vital to keep a happy ship and we could lay on plenty of extra attractions. Problem is finding the time to do it.” He forced a grin. “But we’ll manage it somehow, Mr. Dillman. And thanks.”

“I know what would be the best attraction of all.”

“What’s that?”

“A recital by Itzak Weiss. How often do most people get a chance to hear someone as distinguished as him? The music room would be bursting to the seams. I don’t suppose you could persuade Mr. Weiss to honor us, could you?”

“I wouldn’t even try. Itzak Weiss is traveling as a passenger. We can’t impose on him. Besides, we have our own orchestra. They don’t include any virtuosos, maybe, but they provide excellent music.”

“Just a thought.” Dillman paused at the door. “I almost forgot.”

“Yes?”

“Have you spoken to the chief engineer yet?” Halliday let out a long groan. “I take it that he didn’t believe your story.”

“Called me a rotten liar to my face.”

“But he must have been glad to get his property back.”

“He was, Mr. Dillman. Only one thing puzzled him.”

“What was that, sir?”

“Well, the thief had been very selective. When he broke into Fergus Rourke’s cabin, he took some drawings and left others. Yet one of them was an elaborate wiring diagram of the whole vessel. It would have been incomprehensible to anyone but a trained electrician.”

“I don’t think Henry Barcroft could claim to be that.”

“So why did he steal that particular diagram?”

Dillman shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s too late to ask him.”

* * *

The
Lusitania
maintained its impressive speed, cleaving through the water with ease and leaving it churned up into white foam by its four massive screw propellers. It was a bright day though an
occasional cloud drifted across the sun to block out its rays and deprive it of some of its warmth. Most passengers wore hats and long coats as they promenaded. Those who reclined in deck chairs also took the precaution of wrapping themselves up. Some of the novelty of the voyage had worn off and the buzz of enjoyment had mellowed into a quiet satisfaction as people settled into routines, punctuated at regular intervals by their meals.

Ellen Tolley was only one of a number of artists on deck. With her back against the rail, she used a pencil to draw a sketch of the bridge and upper section of the vessel. As she checked another detail, her head went down to her sketch pad again. When she looked up, the smiling face of Dillman loomed over her.

“Good morning!” he said.

“Hello, there!”

“I didn’t know you were an artist, Ellen.”

“I’m not really. It’s just something to pass the time, George. Main thing is, it gets me out in the fresh air.”

“May I see?”

“Sure,” she said, offering him the sketch pad. “Not that there’s much to see as yet. I’ve only been out here for a short while.”

“Then you must work fast,” he said, studying the drawing and noting its clear indication of talent. “This is terrific. You’ve got a great sense of perspective.”

“Is that what it’s called? I just draw what I see.”

“Do you do portraits as well?” he asked, returning the pad.

“Why?” she teased. “Would you like to sit for me?”

“Anytime, Ellen.”

She laughed. “It’s a nice offer but I guess you’ll be too busy sitting for someone else, so I’ll defer to her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw the pair of you at the breakfast table this morning. You were so engrossed in each other, you didn’t notice anyone else. Who is she?”

“Miss Masefield?”

“Is that her name? Beautiful lady!”

“Very beautiful.”

“Trouble is, you’re not the only guy to spot that. Miss Masefield has quite a following. She dined at the captain’s table last night, seated between Itzak Weiss and that English lord with the monocle.”