Murder on the Mauretania (28 page)

“Did he give their names?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Wymark.”

“Can you recall what he said about them?”

“Only that he knew them well and had done business with Mr. Wymark.”

Dillman was so grateful that he wanted to embrace her. A tenuous link had been established between Max Hirsch and two passengers in first class who had aroused Genevieve’s suspicion. The information might prove critical.

“Is that helpful?” asked Mrs. Cameron.

“Extremely helpful. Thank you.”

“I was too flustered to remember it when you and Miss Masefield questioned me.”

Dillman chatted with her for a few minutes, then eased her on her way. As soon as he went into the lounge, he saw the Jarvis family ensconced in their chairs. Oliver Jarvis was talking to his wife, Alexandra was nestled against her grandmother, and Noel was gazing through the window at the rise and fall of the waves. Dillman’s appearance was welcomed. The parents smiled, the girl giggled with pleasure, and the old woman released one of her celebrated cackles. Even the boy managed to show interest. Dillman apologized for not having seen as much of them as he would have liked and explained that he had been tied up in his cabin with work.

“But I heard one piece of good news, Ally,” he announced.

“Did you?”

“Bobo has been found.”

“Wonderful!” she cried, clapping her hands. “Where had he been?”

“He hasn’t told us yet.”

She giggled again. “Thank you, Mr. Dillman. Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see you,” said Dillman, trying to compound the girl’s joy. “I know that your parents don’t want you running off on your own, but I daresay they wouldn’t mind if someone else went with you. Mrs. Pomeroy perhaps?” he suggested, looking hopefully at the old woman. “The two of you might want to go and see Bobo being fed in a little while.”

“Yes, please!” said Alexandra. “Can we go, Granny?”

“It’s not up to me, Ally,” said the other.

“You’d have no objection, Mr. Jarvis, would you?” asked Dillman persuasively, making a request that he knew would be denied if put forward by the girl herself. “That cat is very fond of Ally. It seems unfair to keep the two of them apart. Perhaps Noel would like to go along as well?”

“I don’t like cats,” said the boy.

“Then your sister can go with Mrs. Pomeroy.” He turned back to the father. “With your permission, that is, Mr. Jarvis.”

Vanessa Jarvis endorsed the request by squeezing her husband’s arm. Unable to refuse, Jarvis gave a nod of approval and collected an impromptu hug from his daughter. Alexandra was far too impatient to wait and insisted that they go off in search of the cat immediately. Dillman offered his hand to help Lily Pomeroy up from her chair. When the two of them left, he settled down opposite Oliver Jarvis.

“I hope you didn’t mind my breaking that piece of news,” he said.

“Not at all,” replied Jarvis. “Alexandra has been moping ever since the animal disappeared. You’ve cheered her up again, Mr. Dillman.”

“I have a feeling that she’ll cheer up Bobo as well.”

“Mother will enjoy a little break from us,” said Vanessa.

Jarvis almost smiled. “We all need a little break from each other at times.”

“It’s so nice to see you again, Mr. Dillman.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jarvis,” he replied. “I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to see more of each other. At least there’s been an improvement in the weather,” he went on. “It’s still too cold and miserable to tempt anyone out on deck, but we don’t have Monday’s gale that battered the
Mauretania
.”

“I’m so glad about that. We were frightened.”

“I thought we were going to sink,” said Noel mournfully.

“No chance of that,” Jarvis reassured him.

“But you were scared as well.”

“Of course I wasn’t,” said his father, flicking him a stern glance. “My only concern was to comfort you and your mother. There was no real danger of foundering, was there, Mr. Dillman?”

“None at all,” said Dillman, moving the conversation in the direction he wanted. “If there had been, they’d never have entrusted the best part of three million pounds in gold bullion to the vessel. It must impose a huge responsibility on the captain. Carrying such a cargo, I mean. But I expect that you’re used to that kind of thing, Mr. Jarvis,” he reasoned. “As a bank manager, you must have the responsibility for large amounts of money on a daily basis.”

“We don’t keep anything of that value in our vaults.”

“But the bank must have a sizable amount of cash.”

“It does, Mr. Dillman.”

“What sort of security arrangements do you have?”

“Very stringent ones.”

“The same goes for that gold bullion, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” said Jarvis knowledgeably. “It would have been guarded every step of the way. I’ve been inside the Bank of England, so I know the kind of security it has in place. Even with an army, you couldn’t break in there.”

“Where is the gold refined?”

“There’s a special department for that, Mr. Dillman.”

“But who actually does the refining, and what sort of process is it?”

“I’m not really the best person to tell you that, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve had no direct experience with it,” said Jarvis. “We have no gold bullion at my branch in Camden. We deal almost exclusively in paper transactions. If you really want to know about refining, you ought to talk to someone from the Bank of England.”

“How can I do that?”

“You can’t, unfortunately. Unless you could somehow get into first class.”

“First class?”

“Yes,” explained Jarvis. “There’s a passenger I recognized when he was boarding the boat train. An old colleague of mine, actually. He moved to the Bank of England some years ago and has done very well there, by all accounts. Well,” he added with a rare laugh, “the fellow is traveling in first class, while we lesser mortals are down here.”

“What’s the man’s name?” asked Dillman.

“Fenby,” said the other. “Edgar Fenby.”

Harvey Denning was at his most trenchant. When he joined them in the lounge, he kept them amused with a series of cutting remarks about the other passengers, singling out Walter Wymark for particular scorn. Ruth sometimes added her own caustic observations, but it was Denning who was in full flow.

Genevieve let them bicker on. She was far more interested in keeping Walter Wymark under surveillance than in participating. In view of Ruth’s earlier comments about the Wymarks she would have preferred
to see husband and wife together, but Katherine Wymark had not come into the lounge at all. Walter Wymark talked briefly to Orvill Delaney, then to another man, and finally to Edgar Fenby. Taking a seat beside him, Fenby was soon locked in an intense discussion with Wymark. Genevieve was mesmerized. The two men were less like business associates than conspirators plotting a coup d’état. Incongruous as they might at first look, they were somehow harmonized by a mutual interest in something of vital interest to both.

When a suggestion was made by Wymark, the other man nodded and looked at his watch. Wymark then handed him something, and Fenby slipped it into one of the pockets of his waistcoat. Genevieve could not see what the tiny object was. Wymark soon rose, shook hands with Fenby, then went quickly out. Fenby immediately checked his watch again and sat back with controlled impatience. Harvey Denning was lampooning all and sundry, but only Ruth heard him; Genevieve was too busy watching Edgar Fenby. Ten minutes after Wymark’s departure, he consulted his watch for the third time, got up and strode slowly out of the room.

Genevieve felt impelled to follow him. She sensed that it might pay dividends. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said, standing up.

Denning was peeved to lose half his audience. “Deserting us already?”

“I’m afraid I have to, Harvey.”

“Shall we see you for dinner?” asked Ruth.

“Probably. Good-bye.”

She turned away as they waved her off. Heading for the grand staircase, she was just in time to see Fenby’s distinctive figure ascending the steps. Wherever he was going, it was not to his own cabin on the promenade deck. Instead, he went up to the deck above and followed the route he had taken on the previous night. Guessing his destination, Genevieve was able to stay well back in order to avoid discovery. When he reached the junction at the end of the passageway, he turned to the left. She scurried forward. Keeping close to the wall, she peered cautiously around the corner. Edgar Fenby did not need to search for a number this time. He reached the cabin he wanted, took a key from his waistcoat pocket and let himself in.

Genevieve was mystified. A hazy idea began to form at the back of her mind, but it had no time to take on shape or substance. She heard footsteps coming and turned around to see Patrick Skelton walking in her direction. Her mouth went dry.

“Good afternoon, Miss Masefield,” he said calmly.

“Good afternoon.”

“We haven’t seen much of you today.”

“Is that a complaint?” she asked.

“Take it as you wish.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised that you even noticed I wasn’t there.”

“Oh, I noticed, believe me.”

“I didn’t know that you had a cabin on the boat deck, Mr. Skelton.”

He gave her a cold smile. “I don’t.”

He walked past her and turned to the right. Halfway along the passageway, he paused outside her own cabin just to let her see that he knew where it was. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he continued on and turned the next corner. Genevieve shuddered.

Dillman stayed long enough in the second-class lounge to learn as much as he could about Edgar Fenby and his role at the Bank of England. Oliver Jarvis was glad to have such an attentive listener. He waxed lyrical about the joys of working in a bank and talked about his relationship over the years with Fenby. It was clear that the latter’s career had accelerated with far more speed than Jarvis’s own, a fact that drew a frown of disapproval from his loyal wife. When he had heard enough, Dillman thanked the bank manager for his help, proffered his excuses, and withdrew. He was making his way up the grand staircase when he met Genevieve descending it.

“Thank heavens!” she said. “I was coming to look for you.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

Genevieve was concise, abbreviating her suspicions into a few telling sentences. Dillman needed no time to absorb the information. Matching it with his own discovery, he decided it was time for action. They went back up the stairs together.

“There’s a clear connection between them,” he explained. “Hirsch
knew the Wymarks. Mrs. Cameron told me that. And this Edgar Fenby turns out to work at the Bank of England. Mr. Jarvis thinks the man is traveling in an unofficial capacity to hand over that gold bullion in New York. I think he may have had other designs on our cargo. Three links in the same chain—a known thief, an employee at the bank who could furnish vital details about the bullion, and Walter Wymark.”

“What’s his role?”

“We’ll soon find out.”

They retraced Genevieve’s footsteps and came to the passageway on the boat deck to which she had trailed Fenby. She pointed out the cabin he had entered.

“Leave this to me,” Dillman insisted.

“Are you sure, George?”

“Go back to your own cabin. If you leave the door slightly ajar, you’ll be able to observe this end of the passageway.” He checked his watch. “Give me five minutes. If I’m not out by then, go to the purser and raise the alarm.”

“Why not get more support first?”

“There’s no point in charging in there with a small army until we have more proof, and I think I have a better chance of getting that on my own.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “By stealth.”

“Suppose they’re armed.”

“Suppose you stop worrying and do as you’re told.”

She nodded, brushed his cheek with a kiss, then hurried off to her cabin. When she was safely inside, Dillman went to the cabin into which Edgar Fenby had let himself with the key. He knocked hard on the door. There was no response. He rapped again with his knuckles. A door opened this time, but it belonged to the cabin directly behind him. The burly figure of Walter Wymark confronted him.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to the people inside.”

“There’s nobody in there.” Wymark squinted. “Say, don’t I know you?”

“Yes, Mr. Wymark. I’m George Dillman. I was told someone was in there.”

“Then you were told wrong.”

“Let’s see, shall we?”

Dillman raised his fist to knock again, but Wymark grabbed his wrist.

“Excuse me,” said Dillman coolly, “but you seem to have hold of my wrist. Perhaps I should tell you that I’m a private detective employed by the Cunard Line. Unless you wish me to arrest you for impeding an investigation, I suggest that you release me right now. Otherwise, I might start to get annoyed.”

Wymark saw the determined look in his eye. Dillman was younger, taller, and fitter than he was. He could not be frightened away. Letting him go, Wymark forced an apologetic smile and took a step back.

“Sorry, Mr. Dillman,” he said. “I didn’t mean to get in your way. Truth is, I get a lot of guys trying to pester my wife. I thought you were one more of them.”

“I need to talk to her and Mr. Fenby.”

“Who?”

“Edgar Fenby. He’s your business associate, I understand.”

“Yeah, he’s a banker. Helped to arrange a couple of loans for me.”

“To be honest, I expected to find you in there with them.”

“Hell, no,” said Wymark, thinking fast. “You’ve got it all mixed up. Mr. Fenby did call by to pick up my wife, but only to take her off to that concert in the music room. That’s where you’ll probably find them, Mr. Dillman.” He raised his voice slightly. “If you want a word with me, step inside. We have two cabins so that I can use one as my office. Come and see for yourself.”

Dillman knew that a signal was being given, but he also knew that Genevieve was still watching the proceedings. He accepted the invitation and stepped into Wymark’s cabin. A full minute elapsed before Katherine Wymark opened the door of her own cabin and peered out. She was wearing a silk dressing gown. Believing that the coast was clear, she disappeared again. When the door opened once more, a flustered Edgar Fenby came out and walked away hurriedly. Genevieve Masefield watched it all. The idea that had earlier danced at the back of her mind now pirouetted to the forefront.