As the meal progressed and the wine flowed, Major Romford Kinnersley became steadily more expansive and even offered a few anecdotes from his military career, but his wife remained cold and humourless. Dillman sensed a deep bitterness in the woman, concealed for the most part behind her supercilious manner, but showing itself from time to time in her gratuitous barbed remarks. Food and drink were of such high quality that Dudley Nevin had liberal quantities of both. Mellowing as dinner wore on, he forgot all about his hatred of India and started to quote Kipling’s poems. When the meal was over, Matilda Kinnersley pleaded tiredness and excused herself from the table, leaving the three men to adjourn to the lounge for a brandy. The major was apologetic.
‘You must forgive Matilda,’ he said. ‘We’ve been in India for so long now that she has grave misgivings about going back to England. It makes her tense and waspish.’
‘Do you have any reservations about going home?’ said Dillman.
‘Dozens, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the country is going to the dogs.’
‘I wouldn’t entirely agree with that, Major,’ said Nevin.
‘Then you obviously haven’t kept track of what’s going on. These past few years have been nothing short of disastrous. England now has a Liberal government with a huge majority to create what mischief they will, a confounded Labour Party pouring its poison into the ears of the lower orders, and strident women demanding the vote. Then there’s all this dangerous talk of an eight-hour day, old age pensions, health insurance, free school meals, and – God forbid – a measure of independence for Ireland. Yes,’ concluded Kinnersley, after sipping his brandy, ‘and there’s even a move to stop religion being taught to the children. It’s scandalous.’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Nevin said easily. ‘I had far too much Christianity rammed down my throat at Winchester. And we all got chilblains from sitting in that icy cathedral during winter months.’
‘That’s neither here nor there, Mr Nevin.’
‘Yes, it is. Those chilblains were painful.’
‘If you ask me,’ continued the major, darkly, ‘the rot set in when some fools elected an Indian to the House of Commons. A foreigner, for heaven’s sake! An alien in the seat of government.’
‘India has aliens in its seat of government,’ argued Dillman.
‘That’s a false comparison.’
‘I don’t think so. It has a viceroy imposed upon it.’
‘For its own good, man. Can’t you understand that?’
‘Frankly, no.’
‘I told you that he was a political agitator,’ said Nevin, amused.
‘As a matter of fact,’ returned Dillman, ‘I admire some aspects of your parliamentary system – now that we’re free from its dictates. But I think that it’s only right that India should be represented in the House of Commons. That’s where decisions are made about their country. Indians should be able to take part in those decisions.’
‘Poppycock, sir!’ snapped Kinnersley.
‘Yes,’ said Nevin. ‘Follow that specious line of argument and you’d have members of Parliament from every corner of the Empire. That would be intolerable.’
‘Indecent!’
‘You’ll be suggesting that we become a republic next.’
‘No, Mr Nevin,’ said Dillman. ‘I’d never advocate that. You have a system that’s evolved over the years and that suits you perfectly. In America, we prefer to do things differently, that’s all.’
‘Differently and ruinously,’ asserted the major.
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘You’ve heard mine.’
‘We’re a young country, Major. We’re still finding our feet.’
‘America is also a backward country,’ said Nevins, rolling his glass between his palms. ‘Let’s face it. Fifty years ago, you still had slavery.’
‘Granted,’ said Dillman sadly, ‘and it was a mark of disgrace upon us. But, unlike you, we had the sense to put an end to it. You still have slavery in India.’
‘That’s a monstrous suggestion!’ protested the major.
‘What else would you call it?’
‘A civilising process.’
‘There’s nothing very civilised about a turning a vast population into nothing more than servants. You may not keep them in chains,’ said Dillman, reasonably, ‘but you keep them in subjection. If that’s not a form of slavery, what is it?’
The major rose to his feet. ‘I’ll hear no more of this nonsense.’
‘Don’t go,’ urged Nevin, enjoying the argument. ‘Stay and fight your corner, Major. We can’t give in to all this American twaddle.’
‘It’s too late,’ the other man said curtly. ‘Good night, gentlemen.’ With a nod of his head, he turned on his heel and walked off.
‘I think that you upset him, Mr Dillman,’ said Nevin.
‘It was quite unintentional.’
‘Such a pity. I was really starting to enjoy his company now that his wife was no longer with us. What did you make of her?’
‘She seemed a rather unhappy woman.’
‘Unhappy? That’s putting it mildly. I thought that Mrs Kinnersley was sour to the core. No wonder her husband has doubts about going back home. With a wife like that in tow, I’d be terrified.’
‘I’m sure that the lady has her virtues.’
‘I dread to think what they might be!’ Nevin drained his glass with satisfaction. ‘Another brandy?’
‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Dillman. ‘I think I’ll turn in.’ He was about to get up when he remembered something. ‘Unless, of course, this is the right moment.’
‘For what?’
‘For you to tell me the reason you left England under a cloud.’
Nevin laughed. ‘Oh, that!’ he said. ‘No, not this evening. If you want to hear about that little peccadillo, you’ll have to share a lot more than one brandy with me.’
First to arrive, they were the last to leave the dining saloon. Constance Simcoe preferred to be helped into the Bath chair with a degree of privacy so that she did not have an audience. Genevieve Masefield waited with her friends until Morelli was summoned to wheel the older woman back to her cabin. It had been a pleasant evening. Both Tabitha and Genevieve had been enthralled by what they had been told by Wilbur Rollins, and they hoped to hear more about women at sea. Constance, on the other hand, still found it too incredible to take seriously.
After an exchange of farewells, Genevieve went off to her own cabin. When she found a letter awaiting her, she hoped that it was from Dillman but it turned out to be a summons from Max Cannadine. She went straight off to the purser’s office. He was glad to see her.
‘I’m sorry to call you so late,’ he said, indicating a seat, ‘but we have a slight problem on our hands.’
Genevieve sat down. ‘That’s what we’re here for, Mr Cannadine,’ she said. ‘Night and day, George and I are always on duty.’
‘“We Never Sleep”. Isn’t that the Pinkerton motto?’
‘It applies to us as well. Have you sent for George?’
‘No, Miss Masefield,’ he told her. ‘I thought that you were the person to handle this assignment. How good is your French?’
‘It’s passable.’
‘Excellent. I’ll need you to interview a lady called Madame Roussel in second class. She had some valuables stolen from her cabin.’
‘Why didn’t she ask you to lock them away in your safe?’
‘She didn’t think that it was necessary,’ he explained. ‘Ordinarily, she would have been right. The Salsette has a reputation for its security. As a rule, you could leave the Crown Jewels in your cabin with impunity. But not tonight, it seems.’
‘What was taken?’
‘Some money and several items of jewellery.’
‘I’ll need a full list,’ said Genevieve.
‘Yes, I told Madame Roussel that you’d call on her first thing in the morning. She was too distressed to talk any more about it this evening.’
‘What sort of woman is she?’
‘Rather theatrical, Miss Masefield. She came storming in here and gabbled at me in French. It took me some time to calm her down. With luck, she may be less hysterical tomorrow.’
‘When did she discover the theft?’
‘When she got back from dinner,’ said Cannadine. ‘She took off her necklace to put it with the rest of her jewellery and found that it wasn’t in its hiding place.’
‘Hiding place?’
‘Tucked away at the bottom of a hatbox.’
‘That narrows down the time when it must have been stolen,’ said Genevieve. ‘We’ll have to start looking at any passengers who were not in either of the dining saloons.’
‘It’s not as easy as that, I’m afraid. Madame Roussel was out of her cabin for a couple of hours before dinner. I’m not sure of the details, because she was in a highly emotional state, but what it amounts to is this. She has an admirer aboard. Madame Roussel was with him for some time. In fact,’ he went on, ‘my guess is that she may have gone back to his cabin after dinner.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘She’s a very desirable lady, and she did drop more than a few hints. Anyway, Miss Masefield,’ he said, ‘you can see why I want you to handle this case. It requires tact, diplomacy, and the feminine touch.’
‘I’ll speak to her tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And I’ll talk to this admirer of hers, as well.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he may be implicated,’ said Genevieve. ‘If he lured her away for a couple of hours before dinner, he may have been distracting her so that a confederate could search her cabin.’
‘But she spoke so fondly of the man.’
‘We have to consider all the options, Mr Cannadine. He may turn out to be completely innocent – I hope that he is – but he still has to go on my list.’ She got up from the chair with a sigh. ‘Oh, dear! And there you were, saying that we’d have a quiet time of it on the Salsette.’
‘I prefer to take a more positive attitude.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I’m very upset that this has happened, naturally. It reflects badly on us. However,’ he said with a grin, ‘it will give me the chance to see you in action, so I regard that as a bonus.’
It was quite late when Dillman left the lounge, but he had no intention of going to bed yet. That was just an excuse to detach himself from Dudley Nevin’s company. What the detective really wanted to do was to explore the ship when almost nobody was about, so that he could familiarise himself with its layout. To that end, he began with the orlop deck and worked his way slowly upward, checking the accommodations, looking into all the public rooms, establishing where the kitchens were, and generally getting his bearings.
Dillman was on the promenade deck when the accident happened. It was a fine night but the place seemed deserted. There were no couples enjoying a romantic moment under the moon, and no members of the crew visible. Standing at the rail, Dillman gazed out across the water, picking out the lights of another vessel in the distance. A rumbling sound then came into his ears, getting closer and louder all the time. Before he could work out what had produced the noise, he was too late. Someone came hurtling around the angle of a bulkhead on roller skates and collided with him.
Thrown backward against the rail, Dillman put out both arms instinctively and found that he was holding a vivacious young woman. Torn between amusement and dismay, Lois Greenwood gave an apology that was punctuated with loud giggles.
‘Look,’ she said, disentangling herself from Dillman, ‘I’m awfully sorry to ram into you like that. I didn’t expect anyone to be here at this time of night. I thought the coast was clear.’
‘It was my fault,’ said Dillman. ‘I should have got out of the way.’
‘I didn’t give you much chance.’
‘No, I suppose that you didn’t.’
‘Are you all right?’ she asked. ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you.’
‘I think I’ll survive.’
They introduced themselves. Lois was tickled by the fact that the person she had inadvertently hit was a courteous American, and for his part, Dillman was pleased to meet such a friendly and open young woman. After spending dinner sitting opposite the Kinnersleys, he found Lois an absolute delight. She was so exuberant. Sixteen years old, she came from London and was travelling with her parents.
‘What were you doing, Miss Greenwood?’ he asked.
‘Practising.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought that roller-skating was quite the thing for a young lady to take up. Isn’t it rather hazardous?’
‘Only when someone gets in the way,’ she said, bringing a hand up to stifle a giggle. ‘I don’t simply skate, Mr Dillman. I play for a team.’
‘What sort of team?’
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Yes, I would. You have an honest face.’
‘Are you teasing me?’
‘Of course not,’ he assured her. ‘I’m genuinely interested. Now tell me what sort of team it is.’
‘We play football on roller skates.’
Dillman was taken aback. ‘Are you serious, Miss Greenwood?’
‘Never more so. We have a league. You’d be surprised how many teams there are. The standard is really quite high.’
‘Where on earth do you play?’
‘On a roller-skating rink,’ she explained. ‘Having to kick a football makes it much more difficult. It’s a wonderful sport. The only trouble is that we have a few cheats in it.’
‘Cheats?’
‘Girls who skate into you on purpose, or trip you up when you go for the ball. If you take a tumble, it can be very painful.’
Dillman rubbed his back. ‘You don’t need to tell me that.’
‘Of course, Mummy and Daddy think that I’m mad even wanting to play. They’ve done everything they can to stop me but it’s what I want to do. It’s so much more fun than just skating around.’
‘Wouldn’t it be safer to play football on grass?’
‘Yes, but not nearly as exciting,’ she said scornfully. ‘I tried ice hockey, but the rink is miles away and I was never really good enough. I’m much better on wheels. I scored two goals in the last match I played.’
‘I’d like to hear more about this new sport,’ decided Dillman, ‘only not now. I think I’ll take my bruises off to bed and leave the field clear for you, Miss Greenwood.’
‘Thank you. I’m so glad it was you that I hit.’
‘Why?’
‘There are so many stuffy people aboard. They wouldn’t have been as nice about it as you are, Mr Dillman.’ She looked worried. ‘You won’t tell my parents about this, will you?’
‘I’ve no reason to do so.’
‘That’s a relief. It would give Daddy just the excuse he needs to confiscate my skates. He doesn’t even realise that I’m out on deck. He and Mummy went to bed early.’ She grinned up at him. ‘It was lovely to meet you. I don’t know any Americans. I do hope we’ll bump into each other again.’
‘Not if you’re wearing those roller skates. It hurts too much.’ Lois Greenwood went off into another series of giggles. As he made his way up the steps to the boat deck, Dillman could hear her girlish laughter echoing in the half-dark behind him.
After an early breakfast, Genevieve went into the second-class area of the ship to call on Madame Berthe Roussel. Though she had been warned that the lady was inclined to histrionics, she found her very subdued that morning. Madame Roussel was a buxom woman in her thirties who wore a flamboyant silk dressing gown, and whose lustrous brown hair was brushed back neatly into a chignon. Her face was disfigured by a morose expression but Genevieve could see why the purser had found her desirable. The Frenchwoman had a mature beauty that, allied to her poise, would turn most male heads.
Madame Roussel was surprised that her visitor was a detective.
‘But you do not look like the policeman,’ she said.
‘That’s the idea, Madame Roussel. My appearance is my disguise. By the way,’ offered Genevieve, ‘I can try to talk in French, if you prefer.’
‘No, no. My English, it is good, I think. It is only when I get excited that I need to speak in my own language. Last night, with the purser, I could not get all the English words out. You understand me now, though. Yes?’
‘Perfectly.’
Her accent was thick but her speech intelligible. As they sat opposite each other in the cabin, Genevieve observed how much jewellery the other woman was wearing. Apart from half a dozen rings, she had a gold watch, a gold bracelet on each wrist, a gold necklace, and a large gold brooch in the shape of a cockerel pinned on her dressing gown. An elaborate gold slide glistened in her hair.
‘This is all I have left,’ explained Madame Roussel, touching the brooch and the necklace. ‘I wear them for safety.’
‘And you had them on last night, presumably?’
‘Yes, Miss Masefield.’
‘When did you last see the items that you kept in your hatbox?’
‘Maybe, I think, yesterday at five o’clock.’
‘And you left your cabin soon after?’
‘I met with a friend to share the drink before dinner.’
‘May I have the friend’s name?’ asked Genevieve, taking a pencil and pad from her purse. The Frenchwoman hesitated. ‘Well?’
‘Is it necessary?’
‘I think so, madame.’
‘But this theft, it is nothing to do with him, no?’
‘Perhaps not,’ said Genevieve, ‘but he might be able to confirm the time when you actually met.’
‘I will ask him.’
‘Why not let me do that?’
‘Just find my jewellery for me, mademoiselle.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ promised Genevieve, wondering why she was so unwilling to give the man’s name. ‘What I simply must have, however, is a list of the items stolen and the amount of money taken.’
‘I have this here,’ said Madame Roussel, picking up a sheet of paper from the table and handing it over. ‘As you see, for some things, I did a little drawing for you.’
‘That will be very helpful.’
‘Is the diamond pendant I miss most, you see. My husband, he gave it to me for my birthday. Six weeks later, he died.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Madame Roussel.’
‘This pendant, it is very special to me.’
‘Sentimental value.’
‘Right.’
‘What time did you return to your cabin?’
‘It was late,’ said the other. ‘Maybe eleven o’clock.’
‘And were you alone?’
Madame Roussel flashed her eyes. ‘Bien entendu,’ she said with a touch of annoyance. ‘I would not let anyone else in, mademoiselle. I always travel in first class, but it was full up when I booked the cabin, so they put me in here. Ha!’ she snapped with a dismissive gesture of her hand. ‘It’s not good enough for me.’
‘You’ll have to take that up with Mr Cannadine.’
‘I told him last night. I blame P&O. In first class, my jewellery would have been very safe, no?’
‘Not if you kept it in your hatbox, Madame Roussel. It’s standard practise for passengers to leave their valuables under lock and key. They should have been in the ship’s safe.’
‘I sail many times with P&O and nothing is ever stolen.’
‘Then you’ve been fortunate. As you know, it’s company policy to advise passengers about the safety of their personal belongings. They can be insured, of course, but you really should have handed them over to the purser for safekeeping.’
‘Do not tell me what to do!’ said the other, rising to her feet in anger. ‘What are you saying – that this crime is my fault?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I think you’ve come to help me, not to insult me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Genevieve. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I am the victim, mademoiselle. Remember that.’
‘I will. Thanks to this list of yours, I now know what we’re looking for, and I’m fairly certain that we’ll be able to recover the items. One way or another, we usually do.’
‘We?’
‘I have a partner, Madame Roussel.’
‘Next time, I think, I prefer to talk to this other lady.’
‘It’s a man, actually’
‘Then you can send him, please. Maybe he will be on my side.’
‘We’re all on your side,’ said Genevieve, earnestly, ‘and we’ll do our utmost to solve this crime quickly.’ She got up from her chair. ‘I’ll make sure that you’re kept in touch with any developments – and I apologise again for upsetting you.’
Madame Roussel folded her arms defiantly to show that she was not appeased. Sunlight slanted through the porthole and made her jewellery gleam even more brightly.
‘Goodbye, mademoiselle,’ she said flatly.
‘One last question.’
‘Do not ask for any names. I will not give them.’
‘I just need to be certain of one thing,’ said Genevieve softly. ‘What puzzles me is that the thief was able to get into your cabin so easily. There’s no sign of forced entry – so how did he open the door?’ She took a deep breath before speaking again. ‘I take it that you did lock the cabin?’
Madame Roussel glared at her for a moment and seemed to be on the point of exploding. Genevieve braced herself for an attack that never came. Instead, the Frenchwoman swung round abruptly and went off into her bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Genevieve had her answer.
George Dillman listened to the details of the crime with interest. He had been on the point of leaving his cabin when his partner called on him. Like Genevieve, he wanted to know the name of the friend with whom Madame Roussel had spent time the previous evening.
‘I’ll speak to the head waiter in the second-class dining saloon,’ he said. ‘This lady sounds as if she’d attract attention. One of the catering staff may have noticed the man with whom she dined.’
‘Thank you, George.’
‘It’s the least I can do. Mind you, if 1 do track him down, Madame Roussel is going to be angry with you when she hears about it.’
‘That depends on how you put it to her.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ Genevieve said sweetly. ‘She and I got off on the wrong foot, I’m afraid. I’ll leave the diplomacy to you from now on.’
‘As you wish,’ he said obligingly. ‘At least, I’ll be involved in helping to solve the crime. When you told me that the case had fallen into your lap, I must admit that I was envious. The only drama that I’ve found on the Salsette came in the shape of a pretty girl on roller skates.’
He told her about his meeting with Lois Greenwood, expecting her to be astonished by the news that women played football on roller skates. Genevieve showed no surprise at all.
‘It’s been happening for years,’ she said. ‘The last time we were in England, I saw a photograph in the Illustrated London News that showed women playing football on a roller-skating rink. When we put our minds to it, there’s very little we can’t do, you know’
‘You’ve proved that,’ he said, slipping his arms around her. ‘Shall I see if Miss Greenwood has room for you on her team?’
‘No, thank you. The only team I want to be on is yours.’
‘In that case,’ he said, kissing her, ‘let’s get out there and play.’
Leaving the cabin, they went off in different directions. Dillman made his way to the second-class dining saloon where the catering staff was cleaning everything away after breakfast. The waiter was a short, squat Welshman in his forties, with a bald pate and a walrus moustache so thick and luxuriant that it looked as if his hair had migrated from his head to take refuge on his upper lip. He was very helpful.
‘I remember the lady well,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘There’s something about the French that sets them apart – and I don’t mean that strange lingo they speak. No, Madame Roussel had style. I always notice that kind of thing.’
‘Do you happen to remember where she sat?’ asked Dillman. The waiter pointed. ‘On that table over there,’ he said. ‘Directly under the chandelier so that the light fell on her. She knew how be the centre of attention.’
‘What about the man who was sitting next to her?’
‘There wasn’t one, Mr Dillman.’
‘Then he must have been seated opposite.’
‘No,’ said the Welshman, ‘that was the funny thing. Madame Roussel was the most handsome woman in the room, yet she was surrounded by other ladies.’
Dillman was disappointed. The anonymous friend might be a little more difficult to track down. He wondered why she had not dined with the man. Did she not wish to be seen in public with him? Had the two of them fallen out? Was he, perhaps, travelling in first class? Or had he deliberately missed dinner in order to plunder her cabin? There was another possible explanation. The man was married and wished to keep his liaison with Madame Roussel secret from his wife. Dillman’s visit to the dining saloon gave him food for thought.
Still pondering, he came out on to the main deck and felt a welcome breeze coming off the sea. There were several passengers about, walking, reclining in deck chairs, or playing various games, but the two who caught his eye were no more than five yards away. Guljar Singh, the old Sikh, was listening to a small, waiflike Indian girl and nodding in sympathy. At first glance, Dillman took him to be her grandfather, but the only Sikh women he had seen in Bombay had worn a sari, and this child had on salwar kameez, baggy trousers, and a loose tunic. The girl’s oval face had a kind of sad beauty and her large, brown eyes were filled with gratitude that someone was taking her seriously.
Guljar Singh became aware that Dillman was watching them. He broke off and turned to the American with a welcoming smile. The girl was more cautious, stepping back and lowering her head deferentially.
‘Come and meet my new friend,’ said the old man. ‘This is Suki, who is going all the way to England. Isn’t she a brave girl, Mr Dillman?’
‘Very brave,’ agreed Dillman. ‘Hello, Suki.’
She gave him a nod but said nothing. Guljar Singh chuckled.
‘In Hindi, she can talk all day,’ he explained, ‘but she is still shy of speaking in English. That will soon change when she gets to London.’
‘Are you looking forward to it, Suki?’ asked Dillman. She shook her head. ‘Why not?’
‘She would rather stay in her own country,’ said Singh.
‘Then why is she going?’
‘Her mother thinks that she will have a better life there.’
‘Is she being sent against her will?’
‘I am not sure, Mr Dillman. Her story is a little confusing. I have not heard all of it yet. My only worry for her is the English climate. I think it will be too cold for her in winter.’
‘Where does she come from?’
‘Suki was born in the Punjab.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Twelve.’
‘That’s very young to make such a long journey’
‘I know, Mr Dillman.’
‘Who is she travelling with?’
It was Matilda Kinnersley who provided the answer. Appearing on cue, she looked around, saw the girl, then pointed an accusing finger at her. Dillman saw the look of fear in the child’s eyes.
‘Sukinder!’ cried Mrs Kinnersley. ‘What on earth are you doing out here when I need you? Get back to our cabin at once.’
‘Yes, memsahib,’ the girl mumbled before running off obediently.
Mrs Kinnersley turned on Dillman. ‘Don’t believe a word she told you,’ she said, ignoring Singh as if he were not there. ‘The girl is a congenital liar.’