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What luck! Daisy thought. Chatting with Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant, she had been wishing she could overhear Alec and Gotobed. Then the music stopped. Phillip and Gloria were next to Riddman and Brenda on the dance floor, and the two girls spoke to each other. Still talking, Gloria started towards her father's table, and Brenda drifted along with her. Phillip naturally followed, after exchanging a word with Riddman.
Riddman in turn, after an indecisive moment, had reluctantly drifted along with Phillip.
Introductions took several minutes, after which Brenda announced that she was going to powder her nose.
“I'll come too, Birdie,” said Daisy, so here she was with her quarry, making for the ladies' lounge, that haven for confidences.
When Brenda emerged from the inner room, Daisy was seated at one of the long mirrors, studying her face critically.
“Freckles,” she observed as Brenda sat down on the stool next to her and took her powder-puff from her evening bag. “Five minutes of sunshine, even at this time of year, and a whole new crop appears. It's a good job Alec doesn't mind them. I was pleased to see Mr. Riddman dancing with you this evening.”
Brenda glowed. “Yes, isn't it marvellous? Chester's a frightfully good dancer and such fun when he's in a good mood.”
So much for Second Officer Harvey, whom Daisy had spotted sadly watching Brenda and Riddman dancing. “Has he turned over a new leaf?” she asked.
“I hope so. But I don't know. The men he plays poker with didn't turn up after dinner.”
“What, none of them?”
“Neither; there are just two regulars. Daisy, you said they sounded like card-sharps. Do you really think they've been cheating him?”
“I don't know. Maybe not both. Have you met them? Or has he described them to you? Tell me about them.”
“I've met them.” Brenda didn't look as if it had been an enjoyable experience. The name she next uttered was no surprise to Daisy. “Pertwee's the one who found Chester's wallet on the quay and returned it. Chester always carries loads of
cash, and it was all there so Pertwee must be honest, don't you think? He's rather common, though quite good-looking in a flashy sort of way. Actually, he's just how you might imagine a card-sharp to be.”
“I'd have thought card-sharps do their level best not to look like what they are. Did he win a lot from Chester or was it mostly the other one?”
“I think it was mostly Pertwee. In fact, yes, I remember Chester saying the other chap was a sore loser.”
“Hmm.” Daisy couldn't work out exactly what had been going on, but it sounded fishy. The Purser might be able to shed some light on the working methods of sharps. “What was the other man like?” she asked.
Brenda looked blank. “Just ordinary. Not quite top drawer but not an absolute outsider. Rather quiet, I think. He didn't make much impression actually. I can't even remember his name.”
Blast! thought Daisy. That was the one scrap of information she had wanted most, apart from Riddman's whereabouts at the time of the shot, which she must not ask after Alec's categorical prohibition. “Big or small? Young or old?” she persevered.
“Oh, just medium. I can't see what that has to do with whether he cheated at cards though, as long as he wasn't a midget who couldn't fit an ace up his sleeve. He seemed too dull to be a crook, but you just said a card-sharp would try not to look like one.”
“And you said he was losing anyway. Were he and Pertwee friends?”
“I haven't the foggiest. Daisy,
do
you think one or both of them has been cheating Chester? Should I warn him?”
“Would he take any notice if you did?” Daisy countered. She sighed as Brenda's face fell. “Sorry, Birdie! I honestly don't know, but I'll see if I can find out any more and tell
you, all right? So if you remember the second man's name, let me know. It'd help.”
“Right-oh, and thanks. It's jolly decent of you.”
“I can't promise a definite answer.” She hadn't many answers for Alec either. She could have promised Brenda that Pertwee, at least, would never play poker again, but that would lead to questions about how she knew what was not yet general knowledge. “Shall we go back?”
They returned to the Grand Salon and made their way towards the table where they had left the others. Only Alec, Gotobed, and Phillip were there.
“Where's Chester?” Brenda wondered in an apprehensive tone, scanning the room. “Oh, he's dancing with Mrs. Petrie! Gosh, maybe he's going to start being fun again.”
Because he imagined he had wiped out his gambling debts by bumping off the man who held his cheques? Daisy was sure it would not be so simple. Somewhere Pertwee must have heirs, who would receive all his effects, including the cheques.
As Riddman swung Gloria into an impressive turn, Daisy saw that his smile was strained. He did not look as if he was having funâunlike the couple nearest them. Arbuckle and Miss Oliphant were obviously having the time of their lives. Daisy recalled Wanda's snide suggestion that the witch was on the catch for a wealthy husband. Could it be true?
“If so, good luck to her,” Daisy murmured to herself as she and Brenda reached the table.
Phillip sprang up. “Lady Brenda, would you like to dance? I know you won't mind, old thing,” he said to Daisy. “It's not your sort of dance.”
“Not at all,” Daisy heartily agreed, observing again the cavorting on the dance floor. Sitting down with Alec and Gotobed, she added, “I've been dashing up and down companion-ways all day. I'll have to beg or borrow some more of Miss Oliphant's salve, or I shan't be able to move tomorrow.”
“She's a grand dancer,” sighed Gotobed. “I didn't think it would be right, dancing when Wanda's ill abed. I ought to go down and see how she's feeling.”
“I did stop in earlier,” Daisy told him. “She said she was going to take a powder to help her sleep, so there's no point in your going down.”
He frowned. “I wish she wouldn't take those powders. There are herbs which aid sleep without any possibility of dangerous overdosing, Miss Oliphant was telling me. Camomile and valerian, I believe.”
“I expect they're safe enough,” said Alec, “like mint and ginger. But there are also many plant preparations which are dangerous if not used properly.”
“Speaking of mint,” said Gotobed, signalling to a passing steward, “can I get you a
crème de menthe
, Mrs. Fletcher? Or something else, perhaps? What will you have, Fletcher?”
“I think I'd better stick to seltzer, thanks. I might venture on a few plain biscuits.”
“Bravo, darling! I'd like to try the ginger wine tonight, Mr. Gotobed.”
Under cover of Gotobed's giving their orders to the steward, Alec asked in a low voice, “Anything from Lady Brenda?”
“Pertwee did play poker with Riddman, and he was the big winner. She can't remember the other player's name, said he was utterly unmemorable, which sounds just like Johnnie Number Two.”
“And any number of others.”
“At least it doesn't rule out Welford,” Daisy pointed out.
“No. I must go and talk to Riddman's cabin steward. I was just saying, sir,” he added as Gotobed turned back to them, “that I shall shortly have toâin official parlanceâproceed to pursue my enquiries.”
“You'll stay and eat your biscuits first,” Daisy said sternly.
“I'm actually quite looking forward to them,” Alec admitted.
The digestive biscuits and seltzer were scarcely consumed when the dance ended and the three couples returned to the table. In the bustle as the Petries, Brenda, and Riddman took over a nearby empty table, Alec gave up his seat to Miss Oliphant and slipped away. Daisy sadly abandoned half her ginger wine to follow him. If he should decide to go up to the bridge to report to the Captain, she was determined not to let him go alone. Too many people knew he was investigating the two “accidents.”
Most people aboard were still under the impression that Denton and Pertwee had fallen overboard by accident. Glancing back from the door, Daisy saw a scene of tranquil enjoyment. How that would change if everyone found out the truth!
T
urning back down the wide, first-class passageway, Alec saw Daisy waiting for him at the corner.
“Don't scowl like that,” she admonished. “I'm being discreet. I didn't ask to attend that interview, did I? What did Riddman's steward have to say?”
“That passengers get plenty of warnings about sharps aboard, and it's not his place to warn silly young chubs who think they know better. That Pertwee ordered a great deal of whisky but drank little and paid for less, the rest going down Riddman's throat and on Riddman's account. That the third chap was a quiet gentleman who lost more than he won. The others didn't pay him much mind, but in hisâthe steward'sâopinion, he was the brains of the outfit.”
“And his name?”
“He couldn't rightly remember.” Alec grinned at her disappointed face. “A name as commonplace as his appearance. Fordham, was it? Or Bidwell?”
“Welford!”
“It seems likely, doesn't it?”
Daisy did a hop and a skip to compensate for a sudden jolt from the
Talavera.
Alec caught her arm, pleased by his
own steady stride. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To see Welford?”
“No, to the Purser first, to find out whether there is a Fordham aboard or a Bidwell.” He turned towards the nearest companion-way. “If not, then it looks as if our friend Welford wasn't altogether frank when he told me he didn't fraternize with his cabin-mate.”
“In that case, they
must
have been in league for some fishy purpose. Except that, darling,” she continued with one of her lightning changes of viewpoint, “perhaps he was just too ill to understand your questions properly. You should sympathize.”
Alec thought back to the absurd interview in the dark cabin. He could not have made notes had he wanted to, and he had had no chance since to write down what he recalled, but his memory was good. “Mostly he just answered âNo' to my questions, which he could quite well have done without understanding them. But he did say something on the lines of not having to associate with Pertwee just because they were stuck in a cabin together.”
“Not quite a lie,” said Daisy thoughtfully, preceding Alec up the stairs as two women came down towards them, “if that's how he worded it.”
“Something to that effect, I'm sure, but I'm not at all sure he was thinking clearly enough to work out the fine line between a lie and the truth. If he and Pertwee were in league, Pertwee's death must have rattled him.”
“Gosh, yes! Maybe he wasn't sick at all. On top of losing his colleague, he'd have to worry that Riddman might come after him next.”
They came to Timmins's office, where his assistant checked the passenger list for them: neither Fordham nor Bidwell, but a Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce and a Mr. Welbeck. Alec groaned.
“They'll have to wait till tomorrow. Will you give me their cabin numbers, please, as well as Welford's Christian name, and his and Pertwee's home addresses?”
The assistant purser obliged. “That's off their passports, sir,” he added, as Alec copied down the information, “so there's no funny business. As you know, we hold them in the safe, so that no one loses theirs and gets refused permission to land.”
“Thanks.” Both addresses in the same part of London, Alec observed, closing his notebook and turning away. Ernie Piper, his detective constable, would have known exactly how far apart they were. He had a gift for that sort of thing. Alec wished he had Piper and Tom Tring with him now. Daisy was keen and did her best, but he could not rely on her as he could on his trained team. She was too apt to follow the beat of her own drummer.
Perhaps, he thought irrelevantly, that was why she would never be the dancer Joan had been.
“Couldn't they have false passports?” Daisy asked as they left the Purser's office.
“Good copies of British passports are expensive and pretty difficult to come by. Only within reach of the highest class of crook, which I suspect our two are not.”
“Where to now?”
“The bridge.”
“I
knew
it! If I hadn't come along, you'd have gone out alone. You promised not to.”
“I'd have come to fetch you.” He meant it, not because he was afraid that the murderer might attack, but because he didn't want Daisy worrying. It warmed him to know she worried about him. On one notable occasion, her concern had saved his life.
Impulsively, he caught her to him for a kiss. She responded enthusiastically.
“No sense of decency, these modern young people,” snapped an acid voice. A large woman in too many diamonds surged past them into the Purser's office, followed by a small man with an air of permanent apology.
Daisy burst into peals of laughter. “Darling,” she gasped, “how do you like being considered a modern young person with no sense of decency?”
“I suppose it's better than being an old fogy with antiquated notions,” Alec said wryly. “Let's go. You'd better get your coat.”
“I left it in the ladies' lounge earlier, just in case. I shan't be a minute.”
She dashed off, and returned still buttoning her green tweed. The years since her father's death had made her thrifty. She had refused to buy a new coat just because she was getting married, when the old one was not so very old and perfectly good. As she had been wearing it when Alec fell in love with her, he had a fondness for it.
Hand-in-hand, heedless of decency, they walked along to the forward door. Alec inched it open. A biting wind whistled through.
Daisy held out her gloveless hand to the blast. “No rain, thank heaven. Let's hurry.”
They stepped out to the open deck. The wind slammed into them, its icy blasts veering and backing at random, never battering from the same side for more than a moment. The limitless darkness ahead accentuated the
Talavera's
irregular motion. She seemed to play hopscotch across the waves, now and then skittering sideways. Daisy clung to Alec's arm.
“They've strung a rope across to the companion-way,” he pointed out. He shouldn't let her go with him, but he didn't have the strength for the ensuing battle if he tried to make her go back. “You'll be safer hanging on to that. I'll be right behind.”
“I
feel
safer hanging on to you, but then you can't hang on.”
She moved ahead. He followed, one hand on her shoulder, the other sliding along the rope. Raising a foot to take a step seemed a venture fraught with peril, so he copied her shuffling gait. The few lamps left burning in the enclosed promenade shone through the glass to cast a wan light on her honey brown curls, tossing and tangling in every direction.
As they reached the base of the companion-way, a ship's boy came running down with infuriating ease, not even touching the rail. He glanced at Daisy, now clearly illuminated by the light at the top of the steps, then peered at Alec.
“Ma'am.” He saluted. “Mr. Fletcher, sir?”
“That's right.”
“Captain's compliments, sir, and he'd be glad to see you on the bridge at your earliest convenience. I'll tell him you're on your way, shall I?”
Effortlessly, he ran back up the ladder-like steps.
“I suppose it's just a matter of practice,” Daisy sighed, gripping the rail with both hands and plodding upwards.
“And youth,” Alec muttered to himself.
Reaching the boat-deck, Daisy turned. “What I still don't understand, darling,” she bawled through the booms and shrieks of the wind in the superstructure, “is what connection there can possibly be between Pertwee and Denton.”
“This is not the place to discuss it,” Alec bawled back, as though he had ideas on the subject. He hadn't. Denton had no place in any of his theories about Pertwee's murder. In fact, unless the poor old fellow recovered consciousness and claimed to have been tipped over, his fall was bound to be written off as an accident, Lady Brenda's story notwithstanding.
Another rope led them to the bridge. Captain Dane came
eagerly to meet themâto meet Alec, at least. He utterly ignored Daisy.
“Glad to see you on your feet, Fletcher. I hoped you'd be up and about now we're past that bit of rough weather.”
“Past it, sir? You wouldn't call this rough?”
“Rough?” The Captain laughed heartily. “There's a bit of a chop, but nothing to signify. So you've come to report that spot of bother's all cleared up, eh?”
“I'm afraid not, sir. I was on my way to request the use of your wireless facilities. I want to ask Scotland Yard for information about a couple of men. I would not have disturbed you, but since you are here I'll report the results of my investigations so far.”
“Pshaw! All I want to hear is that there's a perfectly innocent explanation for both accidents, with no blame accruing to ship, crew, or company.” Gloomily, Dane turned away, with a backwards wave which Alec took as permission to make use of the wireless.
The three doors off the bridge led respectively to the Captain's quarters, the chart-room, and the wireless room. The last, Alec found, was little more than a cupboard, filled almost to bursting with equipment and the operator's chair, now unoccupied. Alec assumed the narrow door on the other side led to the operator's quarters.
Daisy was at his elbow. “Sorry, love,” he said, “no room.”
“You mean you're going to abandon me to Captain Dane's tender mercies?” she hissed.
“I have no doubt whatever of your ability to survive.” He stepped in and firmly shut the door.
He had to push the chair under the desk to get past. A knock on the far door brought a sleepy “Coming!” A rumpled young man in crimson-striped silk pyjamas appeared, fumbling with his spectacles. The cabin behind him was no wider than his work-room and scarcely long enough for his bunk.
Settling his wire-rimmed glasses on his nose, he looked at Alec in surprise. Presumably he was usually called to duty by a ship's boy.
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher,” said Alec. “I'm investigating the men overboard for Captain Dane. I need to send a message.”
“Oh, right-oh. Just let me get a jersey on.” He ducked back into his closet.
Alec took out his notepad and started to write down his message. The operator returned a moment later, his head stuck inside a navy blue jersey which appeared to have caught on his glasses. “Damn,” he said in a muffled voice.
When Alec had helped him untangle himself, he saluted and said shyly, “Kitchener, sir. I don't usually tie myself in knots like that, sir, only I'd just got to sleep. I was up all night last night trying to find out the extent of that storm.”
“Sorry to wake you. I want my sergeant at Scotland Yard to get onto this first thing in the morning, and we're several hours behind by now.”
“Scotland Yard! Aye, sir!” On hearing the magic words, Kitchener became not merely ready but eager to please. “Do you want it sent in cipher, sir?”
“I hadn't thought about it.”
“If it's just in Morse, sir, anyone who picks it up can decode it.”
“I don't want that.” Alec frowned. “Unfortunately, as I didn't expect to be involved in an investigation on board, I didn't arrange a cipher before I left.”
“That's all right, sir,” said Kitchener earnestly. “We'll use the company cipher. It goes straight to a confidential clerk at the head office in London. I'll put in a couple of lines telling him what to do with it, and he'll see it gets to Scotland Yard. You can trust him, sir.”
Not having much choice, Alec agreed. He finished writing his message to Sergeant Tringâas an afterthought adding Mrs. Gotobed's name to Pertwee's, Welford's, and Denton's to be investigatedâand handed it to Kitchener to encode. “I suppose I'd better let the Super know what I'm doing,” he muttered to himself. Knowing Daisy was aboard, Crane would be more resigned than surprised.
Alec scribbled a second, briefer message. The young operator was poring over his code book, slowly and painstakingly turning the first message into a mess of gibberish. The contrast when he turned to his apparatus was amazing. His finger flickered on the key, sending out the dots and dashes much too fast for Alec to follow, though he had learnt Morse code in the War.
When Kitchener began to encode Superintendent Crane's message, Alec said, “I'll leave you to it. Thanks. Let me know when there's an answer, will you?”
“Aye, sir. Uh, sir, if it comes at four in the morning? The day after tomorrow, that'll be nine o'clock in London.”
“Then it can wait until breakfast. The only good thing about being on board ship is that my suspects have nowhere to go.”