Read Murder on the Lusitania Online
Authors: Conrad Allen
It was the cue for Dillman to make his entrace. Throwing himself at the door with full force, he broke the catch and burst in to make a swift appraisal of the situation. Before Ellen could point the gun at him, he caught her by the wrist and twisted the weapon out of her hand. She was pushed forcefully back into the cabin, but she was not finished yet. Ellen pounced on the valise and pulled out the violin that was inside, holding it up in triumph.
“Stay where you are!” she cried. “This is a Stradivarius. We stole it from Itzak Weiss. It’s worth a fortune. Think of the ugly repercussions if any harm should come to it.” She held the violin close to the wall. “Now, let me have my gun back or I’ll smash it to pieces.”
“Go ahead,” encouraged Dillman. “It can be replaced.”
“A Stradivarius?”
“Take a close look at the instrument, Ellen. It belongs to a member of the orchestra. I borrowed it from him when I found the Stradivarius in your valise. The real Stradivarius is safely back in Mr. Weiss’s hands.”
Ellen stared at the violin in disbelief. As Dillman moved toward her, she threw it at him but he ducked out of the way. He got a firm grip on her. She fought hard but was soon overpowered. Charles Halliday entered with two armed men to march the captive unceremoniously out. Genevieve was so relieved that she burst into tears and fell into Dillman’s arms. He pulled her close and let his own emotions show.
Carlotta Hubermann interrupted the romantic moment. Eager for praise, she put her head around the door and beamed hopefully.
“How was I?” she asked. “Convincing?”
* * *
It took the remainder of the voyage for the full truth to emerge. Caleb and Ellen Tolley were awkward under questioning but a series of wireless messages gradually elicited information about them and their activities. Meanwhile, the
Lusitania
sailed calmly on with none of its passengers or crew any the wiser about the recurring crises that it had undergone. True to his promise, the grateful Itzak Weiss gave a recital on the eve of their arrival in New York. Dillman attended it with Genevieve Masefield on his arm. Reunited with his beloved violin, Weiss played with enormous passion and earned a standing ovation from his audience. When many of the spectators adjourned to the lounge immediately afterward, Dillman and Genevieve were among them. Cyril Weekes made a point of seeking out the former for a quiet word alone.
“I’ll say good-bye now, old chap,” said Weekes, “in case I miss you in the morning. I’m off to the smoking room now.”
“Another game of poker?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s become an addiction.”
“You’d play much better in here, Mr. Weekes,” said Dillman with a knowing smile. “Your wife might bring you luck. In the smoking room, you’ll find Mr. Collins more of a handful. They tell me that he plays like a professional gambler.”
Weekes chortled. “That’s why I had to clean him out at least once, Mr. Dillman,” he admitted. “You have sharp eyes, sir. So does my wife. When I give a signal at a critical point in a game, Ada comes to my rescue. It’s amazing how much information she conveys by squeezing my shoulder and issuing an order. I know exactly what my chief opponent is holding in his hand.” He looked defensive. “It’s not really cheating, you know. And I had to get back at Mr. Collins somehow.”
“It might teach him a lesson.”
“Most of the time, it really is luck,” said Weekes. “Meeting Ada was my first stroke of good fortune. Her father wouldn’t countenance a friendship between his daughter and a very junior member of his staff so we had to meet in secret. In a potting shed, actually. That’s where I proposed to her.” He gave another chortle.
“In the circumstances, I felt that it was the gentlemanly thing to do. I’ve been lucky ever since. In love, in my business life, at the card table. Good-bye, Mr. Dillman.” They exchanged a warm handshake. “You may have found me out but I wasn’t entirely taken in by you either. Your story about bumping into a lifeboat. That isn’t how you got those bruises on your face, is it?”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Weekes.”
“No, I think that you and old Erskine indulged in a spot of fisticuffs. The fellow is mad about boxing. He even tried to lure me into a sparring contest. Yes, that’s how you came by those injuries, isn’t it?”
Dillman did not disillusion him. He waved his friend off to another session at the card table before returning to Genevieve, who was talking to the Hubermanns. Carlotta was still preening herself over her part in the deception which had momentarily distracted Ellen Tolley. Sworn to secrecy, her sister had been told of the emergency and now viewed Dillman through much more sympathetic eyes. After chatting with them for a few minutes, the two sisters excused themselves and moved tactfully away as if giving the flowering relationship a discreet seal of approval. Genevieve watched them go.
“That was a stroke of genius,” she observed.
“What was?”
“Getting Carlotta Hubermann to knock on my cabin door.”
“She was the only person I could think of,” said Dillman. “Ellen Tolley would hardly have opened up if I’d come calling.”
“She was caught off guard by Carlotta. That gave me my chance.”
“Thank goodness!”
“I was so angry at the thought you’d been injured. I lashed out.”
“And all because of Miss Hubermann’s talents as an actress.” He squeezed her hand affectionately. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Caleb Tolley was so determined to prevent the
Lusitania
from claiming the Blue Riband on her maiden voyage that he was prepared
to commit murder and slow the vessel down by destroying part of its electrical system. And yet, ironically, there’s no chance that we will break the record now. Tolley needn’t have bothered.”
“I thought that was a false name, George.”
“It was. Their real name was Blauner. Carl and Ellen Blauner.”
“So he had no insurance company in New Jersey?”
“Yes, he did. That was their cover, Genevieve. But most of their money came from the German government. I don’t know much about European politics but what I do know is that the Germans are spoiling for a fight.”
“There have been articles to that effect in all our papers.”
“The British won’t run away,” he said seriously. “In launching a ship like this one, they’re waving a huge Union Jack at the Germans. The Blauners were paid to tear that flag down and steal vital information about the
Lusitania
at the same time.”
“What about Henry Barcroft?”
“An innocent bystander.”
“Did they have to murder him?”
“It was curiosity that really killed him, Genevieve,” he explained. “He wanted to know everything about the ship even if it meant poking around without official permission. The night that I followed him, he saw Caleb behaving suspiciously in a part of the vessel where no passengers were allowed. Caleb got out fast, not knowing if he’d been recognized or not. Ellen was his lookout and she made sure that I didn’t see anything untoward by blocking my path. Barcroft was a potential danger, but he was also the ideal person on whom they could plant the stolen diagrams.” He gave a shrug. “The rest, you know.”
“Not quite,” she told him. “There was a time when you believed that Mr. Barcoft had taken those plans from the chief engineer. Why?”
“Because he was so nosy. I was wrong about him and even more wrong about Jeremiah Erskine. It took me ages to unravel the true relationship between the two of them. No wonder Barcroft was so keen to butter him up.”
“Mr. Erskine? The ugly man with the beard?”
“He owned something very beautiful,” said Dillman. “As far as an aspiring author like Barcroft was concerned, anyway. Among his many other American assets, Erskine owns a publishing company. Quite a large one, I understand. It has close links with George Newnes Limited, the British publishing house.”
“So?”
“Barcroft wanted to elevate himself out of journalism and into the realms of literature. He’d already got a British publisher interested in his idea. That’s what he was doing on this maiden voyage,” he said quietly. “Researching a novel. Collecting situations and characters.”
“Characters?”
“Look around you, Genevieve. This ship is full of them. Who could resist the Hubermanns, for instance, or the Rymers, or our aristocratic travelers?” He gave a chuckle. “It’s even possible that a certain Genevieve Masefield and George Porter Dillman may have featured in the novel, albeit under different names.”
“I’m not sure that I like the sound of that,” she said with a shiver. “Have you any idea what the book was going to be called?”
“Yes—Erskine told me.”
“Well?”
“
Murder on the Lusitania
.”
The
Lusitania
reached Sandy Hook Bar at 9:05
A.M.
on Friday, September 13, 1907. Though she had failed to beat the record time for an Atlantic crossing, she was given a tremendous welcome in New York, comparable to the scenes in Liverpool at her departure.
In Germany, there was great jubilation that the
Lusitania
had not captured the Blue Riband on its maiden voyage, which had been carefully monitored by their press and by their maritime companies. Albert Ballin, chairman of the Hamburg Amerika Line, used the occasion to make some disparaging remarks about the help that the British government had given to their rivals, the Cunard Line.
On her second voyage from Liverpool, the
Lusitania
did take the Blue Riband from German hands. She left the Mersey at 7:00
P.M.
on Saturday, October 5, 1907. Leaving Queenstown at 10:25
A.M.
on the following day, she maintained good speed and reached Sandy Hook on Friday, October 11, in a record time of four days, nineteen hours, and fifty-two minutes.
On Friday, May 7, 1915, the
Lusitania
was making her 202nd Atlantic crossing when she was sunk by a German torpedo with
the loss of 1,195 civilian lives, including those of over a hundred American passengers. The tragedy represented a turning point in the First World War as it mobilized opinion against Germany and led indirectly to the involvement of the United States in the war.
Conrad Allen is better known as Edward Marston, the Edgar-nominated author of the Nicholas Bracewell series and of several other historical mysteries. He lives in England.
Find out more about him at
www.edwardmarston.com