His visit to the second-class dining saloon was a productive one. While he was still mystified by Lois Greenwood’s apparent rebuff, Dillman was glad that he had decided to forsake an evening meal in first class once more. At least he did not have to pose as a steward and tramp the corridors on this occasion. Instead he was extremely well fed in congenial company. Dining in second class not only gave him a chance to get to know Guljar Singh better, it enabled him to watch Sylvester Greenwood. Nothing about the man’s behaviour suggested that he was capable of committing a serious crime. To all outward appearances, Greenwood was essentially a family man, affectionate towards his wife, attentive to the needs of his daughter, and clearly taking pride in both. Dillman also noted the ease with which Greenwood was able to hold a conversation with the people around him.
Looking at him now, it seemed incredible that the Englishman had stabbed a man to death, and Dillman had to remind himself that Greenwood had lied to him earlier. He was also the same man whose eyes had burned with hatred when they fell on Dudley Nevin, inducing visible fear in the civil servant. Dillman was determined to find out the true nature of the relationship between them.
Guljar Singh broke off from his meal to lean across to his friend.
‘The other day,’ he said, ‘you asked me about Gurkhas.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Dillman. ‘Why?’
‘You are dining with some of them, Mr Dillman.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. Look at the far end of the other table.’
Guljar Singh used a bony finger to point at three men, who, like him, were eating food that met with the rules of their religion. All three of them were young men in their twenties, bearded, wearing turbans and tribal dress, and having the weathered look of mountain warriors. There were other Indians in the room, and several Arabs, but the trio stood out because of the intensity with which they were discussing something, and the way in which they were excluding everyone close to them from the debate. Their faces were serious, their gestures emphatic. The detective was bound to wonder if one of the men was missing his kukri.
‘Never pick a fight with a Gurkha,’ advised Guljar Singh.
‘I’ve no intention of doing so.’
‘They are fearsome soldiers. They fight to the death.’
‘I know of their reputation in the British Army.’
‘They are a loyal people.’
‘Loyal to whom, Mr Singh?’
‘Whoever they pledge themselves to,’ said the old man.
Dillman’s eyes flicked back to Greenwood. Unlike his daughter, he had not even glanced in Dillman’s direction and appeared to be unaware of his presence. What he did do, however, was to keep Lois under close scrutiny, showing a fatherly concern that the detective took for a means of control. Greenwood had the look of a man who would react badly if he knew that his daughter had been roller-skating at night under the stars. Dillman realised how brave Lois must be to defy her father.
When the meal was over, most people drifted off to the lounge or to the smoking room. Others went out on deck; a few returned to their cabins. Greenwood and his family were among the first to leave, making their way to the lounge for a last drink before they took to their bunks. Dillman saw no value in pursuing them. In the smaller confines of the lounge, Greenwood might become aware that he was under surveillance. The detective did not wish to put him on his guard.
Instead, therefore, Dillman decided to shift his interest briefly to the other crimes that had been committed. Since the major theft had occurred in second class, he assumed that the thief would also be travelling in that part of the ship, looking for further opportunities to steal. Accordingly, he chose to patrol the corridors for a while, ambling slowly along and checking once again to see if all the doors were locked. He was about to turn the doorknob on one cabin when a voice cried out behind him.
‘Arretez-vous!’
Dillman swung round to see Madame Roussel, brandishing a fan and bustling towards him in a beautiful cream-coloured gown of lace, velvet, and chiffon. When she recognised him, her hostile manner changed at once. The anger drained out of her face.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It is you, monsieur.’
‘Good evening, Madame Roussel. I was just keeping an eye on these cabins to make sure that they have no unwelcome visitors.’ Dillman indicated her door. ‘I’m pleased to see that it is now locked.’
‘It is too late now.’
‘What do you mean.’
‘I might as well leave the door wide open,’ she said, waving an arm. ‘There is nothing left to take.’
Madame Roussel was clearly wearing all her surviving jewellery. He had glimpsed her from a distance in the dining saloon. Close to, Dillman saw how imposing she was. The long, flowing, elaborate frock was an ideal choice for such a full-bodied woman, and she had used cosmetics very subtly to enhance an already striking face. She, in turn, was clearly impressed by his appearance. It was the first time that she had seen him in formal wear and his elegance brought a smile to her lips.
‘I see you are no Englishman, monsieur.’
‘Do you?’
‘They are never really smart,’ she said contemptuously. ‘They do not look after their bodies and do not know how to dress. But you are different. You might almost pass for a Frenchman.’
‘I take that as a compliment.’
‘I mean it.’
‘Needless to say,’ he replied, sensing that she expected a compliment in return, ‘you put most of the other ladies in the dining saloon to shame. I could see the envy in their eyes.’
She laughed lightly. ‘Merci.’
‘French fashion always seems to be in advance of everyone else.’
‘It is not the clothes, monsieur,’ she said, striking a pose. ‘It is the way that a lady wears them.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. However,’ he went on, ‘I’m glad that our paths have crossed again. I feel that I owe you an apology.’
‘Why?’
‘When we last met, I made an unfortunate remark.’
‘Pah! No more of that,’ she said with a flick of her wrist. ‘All I wish is to get my jewellery back.’
‘Miss Masefield and I are working on the case.’
‘I spoke to her earlier,’ said the other. ‘She tells me that you always solve crimes on other ships. Is that true?’
‘Yes, Madame Roussel. We do have a good record.’
‘It is correct that you deal with murders, as well?’
‘Not too often, luckily.’
‘But such things happen on P&O ships?’
‘Regrettably, they do.’
She shuddered. ‘I hope it will not happen on the Salsette.’
‘You can rest easy on that score,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Still, I won’t delay you, madam. I can see that you wish to retire for the night.’
‘As long as you do not forget your promise.’
‘Promise?’
‘To find my jewellery before we reach Aden,’ she reminded him. Her voice softened. ‘And when you have it, I want you to return it, monsieur, not your partner. You must promise that as well.’
‘Very well.’
Their eyes locked for a moment and Dillman saw more than a flicker of interest. He thought that Madame Roussel was about to say something else, but she changed her mind. After bidding him farewell, she let herself into her cabin and locked it behind her. It was a strange encounter. Relieved to find her in such a mellow mood, he wondered what had brought it on, but unless they recovered her possessions, he knew that it would not last.
When he came to a companionway, he went down the steps and walked along another corridor. The lighting was dim and his mind was still very much on his exchange with Madame Roussel. As he walked past an alcove, therefore, he did not even glance into it. It was only when he was yards past it that he had the feeling that someone had been lurking in the shadows. The sound of hasty footsteps confirmed his instinct. He turned round but he was too late. Whoever had been hiding in the alcove had disappeared around a corner.
Dillman gave chase, covering the ground in long strides, hoping that he might at least catch sight of the person he had put to flight. But he was too late. When he reached the corner, he saw that the corridor ahead of him was completely deserted. Dillman blamed himself for his lapse in concentration. He felt certain of one thing. The thief was on the prowl again.
Paulo Morelli was on the verge of tears. Standing in the purser’s office, he was pleading for help but Max Cannadine was unable to give it.
‘This is a matter between you and the chief steward,’ he said.
‘But you are the senior man, sir.’
‘My duties are circumscribed, Paulo. They do not include sorting out the mess that you seem to have got yourself into.’
‘That is what I’ve come to tell you, Mr Cannadine. It is not my fault.’
‘It never is,’ the purser observed dryly.
‘I swear it,’ said Morelli. ‘This time, I am innocent.’
‘So you admit that you were guilty on the other occasions, do you? That’s a step forward, anyway. You’ve always denied it in the past. Look,’ he went on, adopting a more sympathetic tone. ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me what exactly happened?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Only make it quick, Paulo. It’s late.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Morelli, lowering himself onto the chair in front of the desk. ‘It is Mrs Simcoe and her daughter.’
‘I thought you were getting on well with them.’
‘So did I, Mr Cannadine. Both of them, they like what I do. Then today, when I took Mrs Simcoe out in the chair, she turned on me like the wildcat. All I did was to say that her daughter, she would be married at her age if she was an Italian girl.’
‘Are you sure that was all you said, Paulo?’
‘I got no chance to say anything else. I was told to take her back to her cabin. From then on,’ said the steward, ‘Mrs Simcoe and her daughter, they treat me badly. While they play cards, they make me fetch things but they never thank me. Then this evening, Mrs Simcoe did something very cruel.’
‘What was that?’
‘She let me push her to dinner, then she told me that she has reported me to the chief steward for insolence.’ He spread his arms. ‘I not insolent, Mr Cannadine. I like the ladies. I am always the gentleman.’
‘Too much so at times.’
‘It’s not fair. I lost my job.’
‘Then you shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.’
‘But I did not do it, sir,’ insisted Morelli. ‘I made the comment about her daughter and that was that. Now I am not even allowed to work in first class. The chief steward, he has put me in second class from now on.’
Tears began to course down his cheeks. Cannadine could see how upset he was. Working in first class was a matter of pride to someone like Morelli. Demotion was a bitter blow. It would mean a reduction in an already low wage. There had been complaints from ladies about the steward before, but never for insolence. Much as he liked the man, the purser did not see what he could do for him.
‘Will you speak up for me, please?’ begged Morelli.
‘I can’t get involved in a dispute like this.’
‘But you know that I always treat ladies with respect.’
‘I’m sorry, Paulo,’ said Cannadine. ‘If it’s a case of the passenger’s word against yours, the chief steward has to side with the passenger.’
‘Even when she tells lies?’
‘Mrs Simcoe must have had some cause for complaint.’
‘Yes,’ grumbled the other. ‘She and her daughter, they lost at the card game this morning. That make her spiky. She was in a bad mood so I was very careful what I said to her.’
‘Not careful enough, it seems.’
‘Is not right that I should work in second class.’
‘Perhaps not. But it may be the answer in the short term.’
‘The answer?’
‘It keeps you and Mrs Simcoe apart,’ explained Cannadine. ‘She and her daughter will disembark at Aden. When that happens, you may be restored to first class.’
‘No, sir. The chief steward, he says he’ll never put me back there. That’s why I need you on my side. In my country, even the worst criminal, he is allowed someone to defend him.’
‘I can’t interfere with the chief steward’s decisions, Paulo.’
‘Ask to see the note,’ implored Morelli. ‘Find out what Mrs Simcoe said about me. Please, sir. This means a lot to me.’
Cannadine sat back in his chair and scratched his head. With three thefts and a murder to worry about, he did not have time to concern himself with something as trivial as a dispute between a passenger and a steward. To Morelli, of course, it was far from trivial and his dejection was painful to watch. The purser took pity on him.
‘I’ll speak to the chief steward in the morning,’ he consented.
‘Grazie, grazie!’
‘But I make no promises,’ warned Cannadine. ‘If he’s been given good cause to demote you, then I’ll support his decision to the hilt.’
Genevieve Masefield waited so long for him to come that she began to believe he might not turn up that night. Eventually, however, she heard the familiar tap on her door and she let Dillman in. When she had kissed and hugged him, she sounded a note of reproach.
‘Why did you keep me waiting?’
‘I’m sorry. I was delayed in second class.’
‘Eating and drinking to your heart’s content, I suppose.’
‘No, Genevieve,’ he said. ‘Chasing the thief, among other things.’
Her interest was sparked. ‘You saw him?’
‘Not exactly. But I was aware of his presence.’
When he told her about his futile chase, Genevieve pondered. ‘What makes you so certain that it was our thief?’ she asked.
‘Who else would hide in the shadows like that?’
‘Someone who didn’t want to be seen. A man going off to a rendezvous in a lady’s cabin, perhaps. Yes, that might have been it,’ she decided. ‘Perhaps he was sneaking off to see Madame Roussel.’
‘I can absolve her of that charge,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her only moments before and she didn’t look like a woman who was expecting a lover to call. If she had been, she wouldn’t have talked to me for so long.’
‘Did she threaten you, as well, George?’
‘No, she was quite pleasant.’
‘Pleasant?’ repeated Genevieve in surprise. ‘Madame Roussel?’
‘Yes.’
‘I refuse to believe it.’
‘At one point, she was almost coquettish.’
‘You’re spoken for, Mr Dillman,’ she warned.
‘And glad to be so,’ he said, kissing her gently. ‘When she caught me trying the door of her cabin, I thought she’d rant and rave, but Madame Roussel was in a more forgiving mood. She even complimented me on my appearance.’
‘I could have done that.’
‘The only awkward moment was when she said that she hoped we wouldn’t have a murder on the Salsette. Apparently you told her about some of the crimes we’d solved in the past.’
‘Only because she challenged me, George. It was time to put her in her place. Madame Roussel was treating me as if I were a complete amateur, and I wasn’t standing for that.’
‘Good for you!’
‘It didn’t stop her from threatening to report us to the captain, mind you,’ said Genevieve. ‘We must stop her doing that.’ A memory nudged her. ‘But she did come up with one interesting fact. Did you know that she sailed to Bombay on the Salsette?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Why did she go to India in the first place?’
‘When I asked her that, I was told to mind my own business.’
‘She’s a lady who likes to speak her mind.’
‘Yet Madame Roussel spared you the lash of her tongue this evening,’ Genevieve said enviously. ‘What’s your secret, George?’
‘Flattery. I told her how wonderful she looked.’
‘And did she?’
‘Yes – compared to the other women in second class. No disrespect to your nation, Genevieve, but most of the English ladies there were either too conventional or simply dowdy. In fairness, Mrs Greenwood was an exception to that,’ he recalled, ‘and so was her daughter. Lois looked quite grown-up.’
‘Did you learn anything from watching Sylvester Greenwood?’
Dillman told her what had transpired during dinner and how pleased he was to have sat with Guljar Singh. When he described the old Sikh, Genevieve identified him at once.
‘That’s the man who stole Mrs Verney’s purse,’ she said.
‘Impossible. He’s no thief.’
‘Mrs Verney thinks he is. Her purse was taken on deck while she slept in her deck chair. This friend of yours – Guljar Singh – was standing nearby at the time.’
‘That’s hardly convincing evidence,’ argued Dillman.
‘It was convincing enough for Mrs Verney. She pointed him out to me. He was sitting on deck, earning money by fortune-telling.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘He was preying on gullible people, George.’
‘Only if he was tricking them, and I don’t believe that he was. Guljar Singh has genuine powers of foresight, Genevieve. He gave me a solemn warning that something terrible would happen on board and – lo and behold – Mr Nevin was murdered.’
‘That could have been a lucky guess.’
‘It wasn’t very lucky for Dudley Nevin.’
‘None of this rules him out as a suspect for the theft.’
‘It’s a ludicrous idea,’ he said with feeling. ‘The chances are that all three crimes are the work of the same person, and it certainly wasn’t Guljar Singh. He’s a frail old man. He’d never have outrun me in the corridor like that. Besides,’ he added, ‘he has no interest in money as such. He makes enough for his own immediate needs and that’s all that concerns him. As it happens, I watched him win a bet of ten rupees from an officer who was foolish enough to mock him. Yes, and he told me that he had another unexpected sum of money today.’
‘Did he say where it came from?’
‘No, Genevieve.’
‘Then it might have been from Mrs Verney’s purse.’
Dillman was forced at least to consider the possibility. He still believed that his friend was innocent but he now wondered about the origin of Guljar Singh’s unheralded windfall.
‘Give me the details of this latest theft,’ he asked.
Genevieve did so, describing Mrs Verney and explaining how she had visited the scene of the crime with her. Dillman seized on the fact that Mrs Verney was, like Madame Roussel and Mrs Lundgrun, the other victims before her, a second-class passenger.
‘All three thefts have occurred there, so at least we know in which part of the ship we can look for our thief. He’s hidden away somewhere in the passenger list that the purser gave us.’
‘Unless he’s a member of the crew.’
‘Have you seen where the stewards sleep?’ said Dillman. ‘They don’t have individual cabins like us, Genevieve. There are at least four bunks in all of their quarters. There’s no chance of hiding jewellery in there.’
‘Then it has to be a passenger.’
‘Someone fit enough to sprint along a corridor.’
‘That must eliminate a lot of people, George.’
‘It does,’ he said. ‘But it still leaves us with a fair number of suspects. There are lots of younger people aboard the ship. You can’t watch them all simultaneously. My fear is that I may have frightened the thief off this evening. If he knows someone is after him, he may decide to go to ground.’
‘If that happens, we’ll never find him.’
‘Yes, we will,’ he asserted. ‘Somehow.’
‘Time is fast running out.’
‘Then we’ll have to redouble our efforts.’ Seeing her disconsolate expression, he gave her a reassuring hug. ‘Cheer up, Genevieve. We’ve been in more difficult situations than this and managed to pull through.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Tell me about your evening,’ he suggested.
‘It wasn’t as interesting as yours. I dined with the Simcoes.’
‘Have you made your peace with the daughter?’
‘I thought so,’ she said, ‘but I’m not quite sure. Tabby is such a creature of moods – and so is her mother. They spent most of the meal talking about their triumph at the card table or complaining about their steward. Some of Tabby’s behaviour surprised me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, she seemed so meek and mild when I first met her.’
‘And now?’
‘She really blossomed over dinner. She was full of confidence. In the past, she’s always been rather shy where the opposite sex is concerned, but not last night. Tabby was chatting away to the young man beside her as if he were an old friend.’
‘Perhaps that’s what he was.’
‘No, George,’ she said. ‘He was a complete stranger – a German by the name of Siegfried Voigt. I wouldn’t have believed it of Tabby if I hadn’t actually seen it happen. She came very close to flirting with him.’
Lois Greenwood was circumspect. When she parted from her parents that night, she waited a long time before creeping out of her cabin with her roller skates. After her father’s warning, she knew that she had to be especially careful, but she was not going to be denied her exercise. Before she put on her skates, she walked around the deck to make sure that nobody was about. It seemed to be deserted. Perched on a bench, she was reaching for the first skate when someone came out of the gloom to sit down beside her.
‘Hello, Miss Greenwood,’ said Dillman.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, hand on heart. ‘You gave me such a fright.’
‘You are speaking to me, then?’
‘Of course, Mr Dillman.’
‘I thought you’d forgotten who I was,’ he complained. ‘In the dining room earlier on, you cut me dead.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry about that. It was Daddy’s fault. He gave me a roasting for being so impetuous. Daddy said I wasn’t to befriend people like you and Guljar Singh in the way that I did. So – just to please him – I pretended to ignore you.’
‘Does he know that you once skated into me?’
‘No! He’d crucify me if he found that out.’
‘It sounds to me as if he’s rather strict with you.’
‘Too strict,’ she said. ‘It’s been far worse since he became an MP. Daddy never used to be quite so pompous before. He says that he has a position to maintain and that I mustn’t let him down.’
‘You’re a credit to him, and I told him so.’
‘Thank you, Mr Dillman.’
‘How long has he been in Parliament?’
‘Only for two years or so,’ she replied, strapping the first skate to her foot. ‘He won a by-election in Reading. The one good thing about that was that we had a party to celebrate. Daddy was in great form that night. From then on, Mummy hardly ever saw him.’
‘Did he spend all his time at the House of Commons?’
‘There or abroad. He’s always travelled a lot.’
‘Oh? What did he do before he became a politician?’
‘He worked for a newspaper as a foreign correspondent. I used to get letters from all over the place. He even went to South Africa.’
‘Why?’
‘Something he was investigating. I don’t know the details.’
‘Does he like being in Parliament?’
‘He loves it.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘She’s very proud of him but she’d like to see more of him. Mummy is anxious at the best of times. When Daddy goes abroad,’ she said, putting on the other skate, ‘she worries herself sick.’
‘Why does he have to travel so much?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Does your father have any enemies, Miss Greenwood?’
She giggled. ‘He’s a politician. Everyone hates them.’
‘Is he the sort of man who has vendettas against people?’
‘That’s a funny question. Why do you ask?’
‘I know that passions can run high in politics,’ said Dillman. ‘They certainly do in my country, anyway. What about this byelection? Do you have any idea who stood against your father?’
‘Not really. There were two other candidates, that’s all I know’
‘Can you recall either of their names?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I was away at boarding school when it happened. The only time I went home was for the party. If you want all the details, you’ll have to ask Daddy. He still has his election poster framed on the wall of his office.’
Dillman did not wish to press her any further in case he aroused her suspicion. He had learned some interesting new facts about Sylvester Greenwood and settled for those. Since women were excluded from the political process, Lois clearly had no real curiosity about her father’s work. There was little more that he could learn from her.
‘Will you tell your father that we had this conversation?’ he said.
‘Of course not.’
‘Because you’re not supposed to speak to me?’
‘That’s not the only reason, Mr Dillman,’ she said, standing up on her skates. ‘If I told him we met on deck like this, Daddy would never forgive me. He has a real temper when he’s roused.’
‘He ought to be proud of a daughter with spirit like yours.’
‘Well, he’s not, I’m afraid.’
‘A pity. Still, you get on with your practice. The deck is yours.’
‘Goodbye!’
Pushing herself off from the bench, Lois skated along the port side of the vessel with gathering speed. Dillman waited until she had done a complete circuit of the ship and clapped his hands in appreciation. She did not, however, get very far on her second circuit. A burly figure soon emerged from a doorway to block her way and she gave a little cry of alarm. Thinking that she was in danger, Dillman ran swiftly to her aid but his help wasn’t needed. When he reached her, he saw that she was gazing up in horror at her father.
Still in his white tie and tails, Sylvester Greenwood was brusque. ‘Good night, Mr Dillman,’ he said.
Max Cannadine was not enamoured of the idea at all. When it was first put to him in his office that morning, he shook his head doubtfully.
‘Will that really be necessary, Miss Masefield?’ he asked.
‘Only as a last resort.’
‘You want permission to search the cabins?’
‘A selected number of them,’ said Genevieve. ‘It may be the only way we can actually track down the jewellery that was stolen.’
‘Even so, it’s a big step.’
‘It’s always proved to be crucial in the past.’
‘That may well be,’ said the purser, ‘but that doesn’t make it any more palatable for me. Passengers trust us. They have faith in us to transport them safely from one port to another in the quickest way. When they buy a P&O ticket, they don’t expect to have their belongings searched by detectives.’
‘They won’t know anything about it, Mr Cannadine.’
‘There’d be an unholy stink, if they did.’
‘Rely on our discretion.’
‘How many cabins are we talking about, Miss Masefield?’
‘George estimates that it will be somewhere around thirty.’
‘As many as that?’ gasped the purser.
‘We don’t want to leave any stone unturned.’
‘I’ll need to think about this. It’s not something that we can undertake lightly. As you know, we have so many foreigners aboard. If one of them discovers you or Mr Dillman in his cabin, we could have an international incident.’
‘You’ll certainly have one if Madame Roussel isn’t pacified by the return of her jewellery She’s talking of suing P&O.’
‘That’s all we need!’ moaned Cannadine with a hollow laugh.
‘By the way,’ remembered Genevieve, ‘did you know that she sailed to Bombay on the Salsette?’
‘No, but then I don’t keep track of everyone who steps aboard. There are too many of them. When was this, Miss Masefield?’
‘I was going to ask you that. Do you keep old passenger lists?’
‘Naturally.’
‘When you have a moment, I’d be grateful if you could look through them to find out when Madame Roussel was on the ship before.’
‘Right,’ Cannadine agreed. ‘I will.’ He grimaced. ‘I do wish I hadn’t said that I relished the chance of seeing you and your partner at work. I had no idea you’d have your hands this full.’
‘Neither did we.’ Genevieve got up from her chair. ‘But what do you say to my request? Do we have your permission in principle?’
‘In principle, Miss Masefield. But try everything else first.’
‘We will, I assure you.’
‘Before you go,’ he said as she moved to the door, ‘I wanted a word on another matter. It appears there’s been a serious rift between Mrs Simcoe and her steward.’
‘Yes,’ said Genevieve. ‘Paulo told me all about it. He begged me to find out what he’d done wrong.’
‘Did you know that he’s been downgraded to second class?’
‘No, I didn’t. That will really hurt his pride.’
‘I had him in here last thing at night. Paulo was weeping. It’s taken him so long to get the promotion to first class, and it suddenly vanished before his eyes. I agreed to speak to the chief steward on his behalf.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That there was nothing he could do. Mrs Simcoe alleges that her steward made improper remarks to her on deck, and she has to be believed. Paulo’s behaviour has been criticised before, I fear,’ he confided, ‘but only by younger women. I can’t imagine that he tried to woo Mrs Simcoe with that charm of his.’
‘Whatever he said to her, she was deeply offended. I know that. I dined with her last night. Both she and her daughter were still angry with Paulo, though they didn’t fully explain why.’
‘He wondered if it might be to do with a card game.’
‘Oh?’
‘Apparently the Simcoes lost at bridge that morning.’
‘I heard all about it from Mr and Mrs Ackroyd. They beat them.’
‘Paulo’s story is that it put Mrs Simcoe in a foul mood,’ said the purser. ‘He made the mistake of mentioning the loss at cards to her while they were on deck. Mrs Simcoe rounded on him.’
‘She and Tabitha do take the game seriously.’
‘Seriously enough to play for money, I gather.’
‘Yes,’ said Genevieve, ‘but they met their match in the Ackroyds.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because Mrs Ackroyd was boasting about it over luncheon. The Simcoes won the first session and the Ackroyds, the second. They’re meeting to play the deciding game this morning.’
‘Really?’ said Cannadine with a grin. ‘I’d love to be a fly on the wall of the cabin when that happens.’
‘They can’t possibly have a run of luck like that again,’ said Constance Simcoe, seated at the table as she played patience. ‘I wouldn’t have minded so much if Phoebe Ackroyd hadn’t bragged about it to other people.’
‘What time did you tell them to come?’ asked Tabitha.
‘Ten o’clock. I thought we’d start earlier today.’
‘And this afternoon?’
‘We’re playing the Kingtons again.’
‘That will be a lot easier. They’re relatively new to the game.’ She heard a tap on the door. ‘That can’t be the Ackroyds already.’
‘Find out, please.’
Tabitha opened the door to admit Phoebe Ackroyd, who waddled into the cabin with an apologetic smile. She went over to Constance.
‘We may have to disappoint you, I’m afraid,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘My husband has mislaid his ear trumpet.’
‘That won’t stop him playing bridge, will it?’ said Constance.
‘Gerald feels at a disadvantage without it.’
‘I feel at a disadvantage without my legs, Mrs Ackroyd, but I’ve learned to live with my problem. Your husband is only partially deaf, after all. That’s not a major handicap.’
‘When did he lose the ear trumpet?’ said Tabitha.
‘He thinks it must have been in the lounge last night,’ explained Mrs Ackroyd, ‘though he’s not certain. Gerald is a little forgetful in his old age. He had the ear trumpet with him at dinner, I know that. Then I went to bed early and left him to have a brandy in the lounge.’
‘I’m sorry about this,’ said Constance, ‘but I really don’t think it’s fair of you to let us down at the last moment.’
‘Yes,’ added Tabitha. ‘It’s too late to rustle up someone else now.’
‘There are the Kinnersleys. They play bridge.’
‘Unfortunately,’ Constance said coldly, ‘we don’t get on all that well with the major and his wife, so that wouldn’t be an option. It’s you and your husband or nobody’
Phoebe Ackroyd was in two minds. Eager to play, she was worried that her husband would not be at his best without his ear trumpet. When she looked down at the cards, however, she felt very tempted.
‘We don’t want to disappoint you,’ she said. ‘And we did promise to give you the chance to recoup your losses.’
‘Or to increase them,’ observed Constance with a smile as she collected the cards. ‘You and your husband are worthy opponents.’
‘That makes such a difference,’ said Tabitha.
‘If you wish, we could always forget money altogether and simply enjoy the game for its own sake.’
‘No, no,’ protested Mrs Ackroyd. ‘There must be a financial inducement. That’s what makes bridge so thrilling.’
‘We’ll play on any terms that you prefer,’ offered Constance. ‘With or without your husband’s ear trumpet.’
Phoebe Ackroyd needed only a few moments to reach her decision.
‘We’ll play,’ she announced. ‘Gerald and I can’t possibly miss an opportunity like this.’
The sky was overcast that morning and the wind was gusting. Most of the passengers were discouraged from spending much time on deck. It meant that the second-class lounge was quite full. When Dillman arrived there, however, he saw that Archibald Sinclair had found himself a quiet corner in which to study Cicero.
‘May I join you for a short while?’ Dillman asked politely.
Sinclair looked up. ‘Oh, yes. Please do, Mr Dillman.’
The detective sat down. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few more things about Mr Nevin.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Do you happen to know if he was ever married?’
‘Not married, I’m certain of that. But he was engaged at one time.’
‘Do you happen to know to whom?’
‘I don’t keep that close a watch on my former pupils, Mr Dillman.’
‘Of course not.’ Dillman took out the two photographs that he had found in the dead man’s billfold. ‘Do you by any chance recognise either of these ladies?’
Sinclair studied the photograph of the young woman sitting in the car and shook his head. When he looked at the second photograph, however, his eyebrows shot up.
‘I may have seen this young lady before,’ he said.
‘Where?’
‘In Dudley’s flat. My wife and I called there before he took us out to dinner. I’m fairly certain that there was a large photograph of this pretty young creature on a shelf.’
‘Did he tell you her name?’
‘We didn’t ask. We were only in the room for a few minutes.’
Dillman put the photographs away. ‘You mentioned that he stood for Parliament and that the candidate who beat him in the by-election was aboard this ship.’
‘That’s right – a Sylvester Greenwood.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘Because his picture was in all the newspapers at the time. Mr Greenwood is quite memorable. He’s a stocky fellow with a black beard and a sense of purpose about him. He and Dudley were pictured together in the Times.’ He sucked in his breath. ‘An unsavoury business.’
‘What was?’
‘The allegations that were flying about, Mr Dillman.’
‘Allegations?’
‘Of electoral impropriety,’ explained Sinclair. ‘Dudley always was one for sailing close to the wind. It seems that he was so desperate to win the seat that he may have bent a few rules.’
‘Was there a court case?’
‘No, thankfully. The charges were dropped in the end. But not before we’d had to endure the sight of a Wykehamist being blackened in public. Dudley denied the allegations, naturally,’ he went on, ‘but the speed with which he fled to India suggested that they might have some foundation to them.’
‘In other words, Mr Greenwood had good reason to dislike him.’
‘To detest him, probably. Nobody likes to lose a parliamentary election because of illegal practices. In the event, Sylvester Greenwood did actually win but I suspect that the affair still rankles.’
‘So do I,’ said Dillman to himself.
‘Dudley made no mention of any of this to me, I have to say.’
‘I can understand why, Mr Sinclair.’
‘Politics is such a dangerous game,’ said the old man. ‘Look at my good friend, Marcus Tullius Cicero,’ he went on, tapping his book. ‘After he helped to suppress the Cataline conspiracy, he was made consul. Then he supported the senatorial party against Julius Caesar and, after the emperor had been assassinated, he attacked Mark Antony in a series of speeches. Cicero was executed for sincerely held beliefs. The odd thing is this. After his death, his influence became stronger and stronger. Well, I’m still under his spell over two thousand years later.’ He took off his eyeglasses as he laughed shrilly. ‘Who knows? Maybe that will happen to Dudley. When he dies, we may come to respect his finer qualities.’
Dillman had severe doubts about that but he said nothing. The second interview with Archibald Sinclair had brought important new facts to light, and the detective was grateful that he had taken the trouble to visit the second-class lounge. He was soon given an even stronger reason for gratitude. When he glanced up, he saw Sylvester Greenwood standing in the doorway, deep in conversation with one of the Gurkhas onboard.