After her argument with Dillman, Genevieve had to accept that Guljar Singh was almost certainly not the culprit, and that she therefore had to look elsewhere. The suggestion that Madame Roussel might be a thief – or at the very least that she was working in partnership with one – forced Genevieve Masefield to think very hard about her strategy for solving the crimes. It was true that the Frenchwoman had been the first to report a theft on ship, but Genevieve had encountered such a ruse before. As well as deflecting suspicion from Madame Roussel, it would also enable her to find out who the ship’s detectives might be, a crucial piece of information for any criminal.
The problem was that Genevieve could not devote all her time to watching Madame Roussel in the hope that she might give herself away. Unlike Dillman, during his days as a Pinkerton agent, she had not been trained to shadow someone without being seen, and there was the simple fact that the Frenchwoman did not like or trust her. If she became aware of Genevieve’s surveillance – and if she proved to be innocent of the crimes – Madame Roussel would report the female detective to the captain, and that would have unpleasant repercussions for her.
Genevieve had to achieve her objective by other means. Left alone in her cabin, she wrestled with her dilemma for some time until she realised that she knew exactly the right person to help her. Hurrying to the second-class area of the ship, she sought out Paulo Morelli. After commiserating at length with him over his dismissal, she asked him if he would like the opportunity to redeem himself.
‘I would do anything,’ he declared, hands together as if in prayer. ‘I belong in first class. Please tell me how I can get back there.’
‘I can offer you no firm promises,’ she said, ‘but it will advance your case a great deal if you assist me.’
‘What must I do?’
‘First of all, Paulo, you have to keep a secret.’
‘Oh, I am very good at that, signorina. I know how to seal my lips.’
‘I hope so,’ she warned. ‘Because if you divulge what I’m about to tell you, there’ll be no chance at all of you returning to first class. Do you understand that?’
‘Yes, yes.’
He nodded vigorously. They were standing outside the quarters used by second-class stewards. Morelli was now sharing a cabin with five other men, all of whom he considered to be inferior in ability and status. He was desperate to escape from the ignominy of being demoted. For that reason, Genevieve decided that she could put her faith in him.
‘I’m not simply a passenger travelling on the Salsette,’ she said. ‘I work for P&O as a detective.’ He was stunned by the news. ‘Yes, it may be difficult to believe, Paulo, but it’s true. Some thefts have taken place aboard and it’s my job to find the thief.’
‘You are a policeman?’ he said, incredulously.
‘I’m a private detective, working onboard with a partner. There’s no need for you to know his identity just yet. Like me, he’s been operating quietly behind the scenes.’
‘This is wonderful, signorina. You are not only the most beautiful lady on the ship, you catch thieves, as well.’
‘I try to catch them, Paulo.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I need your assistance.’
‘Me?’ The notion delighted him. ‘I am to help a detective?’
‘I hope so, Paulo.’
‘What must I do?’
‘Keep an eye on a second-class passenger for me.’
‘It will not be easy for me,’ he explained. ‘I have many duties.’
‘I’ll speak to the chief steward,’ she said, ‘and get him to relieve you of some of them. This investigation is more important than whether or not someone gets the towels changed in their cabin.’
‘Grazie, grazie.’
‘The main thing is that you are discreet.’
‘Oh, I always am.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’
‘Not according to Mr Cannadine.’
‘Do not believe all you hear,’ he said defensively. ‘The complaints against me are all from ladies who wish me to pay more attention to them than I am allowed to do. So they report me.’
‘If you obey my instructions, I’ll report you, as well – only my report will show you in the most favourable light.’
‘I’d like that very much. Who must I keep an eye on?’
‘A French lady named Madame Roussel.’
‘But I already know her,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I met her before. She is on the Salsette again?’
‘Yes, Paulo. Apparently, it’s her fourth trip.’
‘She always travels in first class. Madame Roussel is very lovely. Why is she sailing in second class this time?’
‘That’s something I need to look into,’ said Genevieve. ‘Since you already know who she is, it will make your job a little easier. Now, this is what 1 want you to do, Paulo.’ And she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
George Dillman was leaving the purser’s office when he saw her walking towards him down the corridor. Lois Greenwood gave a cry of surprise.
‘I was just coming in search of you, Mr Dillman,’ she said.
‘Were you?’
‘Yes, I was going to ask the purser if he could tell me which cabin you were in.’ She held up an envelope. ‘I intended to slip this note under your door.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I wanted to say sorry’
‘You’ve no need to do that, Miss Greenwood,’ he said.
‘But I feel that I do. Daddy tells me that he spoke to you.’
‘That’s true.’
‘And I can guess what he said. He’s not a man to mince his words when he’s angry. For some reason, he’s been caught on the raw. He made me repeat almost every word we’ve exchanged.’
‘Did he tell you why?’
‘No, Mr Dillman. It was like being in the Spanish Inquisition.’
‘Then I should be apologising to you. If you hadn’t talked to me on deck last night, you wouldn’t be in such hot water.’
‘Oh, yes, I would,’ she told him. ‘Daddy didn’t even know that I’d brought my roller skates on this trip. He thought that it was disgraceful of me to skate around the deck at night – disgraceful and dangerous. I might have had an accident and broken my leg.’
‘Or collided with someone,’ he reminded her gently.
‘Exactly – that’s why I wanted you to read this.’ She gave him the envelope. ‘Though now that I’m here, I might as well tell you what’s in it.’
Pleased to see her, Dillman was also worried about Lois. Red marks around her eyes showed that she had been crying, and he knew that she had been confined to her cabin as a result of her last meeting with him. Evidently, she was acting in open defiance of her father, and that showed courage on her behalf. However, Dillman did not want to get her into any more trouble.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘perhaps we shouldn’t be seen here like this.’
‘It’s all right. Daddy is in the lounge with some friends.’
‘Does he know that you’ve left your cabin?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘In other words, he gave you permission to leave on condition that you wouldn’t speak to me again.’
‘Something like that,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m not really breaking my promise, because I didn’t expect to find you. I just wanted to put that note under your door. Now that we have met, I don’t feel at all guilty. Daddy had no right to criticise you like that,’ she continued. ‘I’m to blame. If I hadn’t skated into you on that first night, none of this would have happened.’
Dillman was in a quandary. Presented with a chance to glean more information from her about Sylvester Greenwood, he was not sure whether it was right to do so. It meant talking to her under false pretences, and perhaps getting her to incriminate her father. On the other hand, he told himself, he would be foolish not to exploit such an unexpected opportunity. The chances of meeting Lois Greenwood again before the end of the voyage were extremely slim. Dillman had to strike now. When he reminded himself what was at stake – the arrest of a brutal killer – he put aside his affection for the girl. Any detail she could tell him about her father might be valuable.
‘Listen,’ he said, glancing up and down the corridor, ‘this is not the best place for a chat. Somebody else will be here any moment to bang on Mr Cannadine’s door. Let’s find a quieter spot, shall we?’
‘Lead the way’
Dillman guided her swiftly through a maze of corridors until they reached some storerooms used by the second-class stewards. Lois was duly impressed.
‘You certainly know your way around the ship, Mr Dillman.’
‘Professional interest. I like to know exactly what I’m sailing on.’
‘What’s your verdict on the Salsette?’
‘Sleek and fast, but in need of more stability’
‘That sounds like me when I first started skating,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Not that I’ll be doing any more of that for a while,’ she went on sadly. ‘Daddy has locked my skates away’
‘Is he always so strict with you?’
‘He didn’t used to be – well, he was away on assignments for a lot of the time – but he is now. As a rule, Mummy is on my side, but she can’t override his authority.’
‘Was it her brother you visited in Bombay?’
‘Yes, Uncle David. Honestly, he’s made so much money out of exporting cotton. His house is three times the size of ours. He’s a true businessman. He knows everyone of any importance in the city.’
‘How does your mother get on with him?’
‘Very well,’ she replied, ‘though it was Daddy’s idea to go to India.’
‘Was it?’
‘Yes, it was funny, really. I mean, Mummy was dying to see her brother, yet while we were there Uncle David spent far more time with Daddy.’
‘Why was that, do you think?’
‘Something to do with politics, I expect. Uncle David has a lot of contacts in Delhi,’ she said. ‘There was one occasion when he showed Daddy a message he got from Delhi by telegraph. That’s how we came to change the date we sailed.’
‘You changed it?’
‘Yes, Daddy postponed it by over a week.’
‘He must have had a good reason to do that,’ said Dillman.
‘I didn’t complain. It gave me a longer holiday in the sun. Back in England right now, they’re probably shivering from the cold.’
‘Did your father explain why he changed the departure date?’
‘No,’ she said blithely. ‘But then, I didn’t ask. According to Mummy, someone was going to be sailing on the Salsette this week – a man that Daddy was keen to meet.’
‘What was his name?’ asked Dillman, fascinated by the revelation.
‘I have no idea.’
‘Is he a friend of your father’s?’
‘I suppose that he is. My guess is that he’s another politician.’
‘So you never actually met this man?’
‘I didn’t,’ she said, ‘but I know that Daddy did.’
‘How?’
‘Because I overheard him talking to Mummy about it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That he’d spotted the man aboard, and that he was going to have it out with him.’
‘Have it out with him?’ repeated Dillman.
‘That was the phrase he used.’
‘What did it mean?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘Do you happen to know if he did go to see the man?’
‘Oh, yes. There’s no doubt about that, Mr Dillman. I heard him clearly over dinner that night. Daddy said that he’d been to the man’s cabin and told him a few home truths.’ Her face clouded. ‘Why are you so interested in all this?’ She gave a sudden giggle. ‘I say, you’re not really a spy, are you?’
‘It was humiliating, Matilda,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forgive Gerald for this.’
‘It was only a game of bridge,’ Mrs Kinnersley pointed out.
‘It was much more than that. It was a battle of wills.’
‘I can see that you’d hate to lose to people like the Simcoes.’
‘The money was incidental. It was a matter of pride to beat them. And we could have done so,’ insisted Phoebe Ackroyd, ‘if only my husband had managed to find his ear trumpet.’
‘Gerald didn’t lose it on purpose.’
‘Perhaps not, but I blame him for being so careless.’
Time had not mellowed Phoebe Ackroyd. Well into the afternoon, she was still smarting over their defeat at the hands of Constance and Tabitha Simcoe. Taking tea with her in the first-class lounge, Matilda Kinnersley was not overly sympathetic.
‘You shouldn’t have bothered with undesirables like the Simcoes.’
‘One can’t always choose one’s partners for bridge.’
‘Romford and I always do.’
‘That’s why you play so infrequently,’ said Mrs Ackroyd. ‘Gerald and I play all the time – at least three or four times a week back in England. We’re not accustomed to losing.’
‘Did that obnoxious Mrs Simcoe gloat over their win?’
‘No, Matilda. In fairness to her, she was very restrained, and so was her daughter. Of course, my immediate response was to take them on again – when Gerald had found his ear trumpet, that is – but they already have other opponents lined up.’
‘You wouldn’t catch us at the same card table as them.’
‘You’re too selective.’
‘It’s a question of class, Phoebe. One must have standards.’
‘We only played bridge with them,’ countered Mrs Ackroyd. ‘It’s not as if we socialised with them. That, I agree, would be unwise.’
‘What about Gerald’s ear trumpet?’
‘That’s still missing. I sent him off in search of it.’
‘If he mislaid it somewhere, I’m surprised that nobody has handed it in. An ear trumpet is hardly an object that anyone would want to hang on to. It’s bound to turn up soon.’
‘I hope so, Matilda,’ said the other, sipping her tea. ‘Gerald is such a dear. I hate it when I have to remonstrate with him. But where’s Romford?’ she went on. ‘I thought he was going to join us in here.’
‘He’ll be along any moment. He’s been helping Sukinder with her written English. Romford has far more patience with her than I do.’
‘How do you think she’ll fit in when you get back home?’
‘To be candid, I have my doubts.’
‘I know one or two other families who’ve taken Indian servants back to England with them,’ said Mrs Ackroyd, ‘and it’s worked out quite well. I’m sure that will be the case with Sukinder.’
‘The girl is so slow – at least, that’s one explanation.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, her mother was quite intelligent – lazy, mark you, but she was quick to learn when she put her mind to it. That’s why Romford was so eager to take the daughter back with us. If we got the best out of her, he said, we’d have a first-rate servant.’
‘You don’t share that view, obviously.’
‘Not entirely,’ said Mrs Kinnersley. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if Sukinder is playing games with us. She’s only pretending to be slow to learn the language. Her mother speaks it very well, so the girl has heard English being used at home for years now. Why is the child so far behind in her lessons?’ she asked. ‘Is it because she’s struggling – or is Sukinder trying to deceive us?’
Sukinder was grateful when she found him. Relatively few people were on deck that windy afternoon, but the blustery weather had not deterred Guljar Singh. He was talking to another Sikh on the starboard side of the vessel. Sukinder waited until the other man had left before coming forward. Guljar Singh gave her a welcoming smile.
‘Hello, Suki,’ he said. ‘How are you today?’
‘Cold,’ she replied, rubbing her hands together.
‘It will be much worse than this in England.’
‘If I get there.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I do not wish to leave India,’ she confided. Head to one side, she looked at him quizzically. ‘Is it true that you can look into the future?’
‘Sometimes. Why?’
‘I would like you to tell me my fortune, please. Do I have to pay?’
‘No, no,’ he said, holding up a wrinkled hand. ‘I wouldn’t dream of taking money from a child like you. But you must be warned, Suki. I do not see everything clearly. I just sense that certain things will happen.’
‘How do you do that?’
‘I have this gift.’
Before he could put it at her disposal, he saw someone walking along the deck towards him and his manner altered. Genevieve Masefield was moving with a purposeful stride. If she had come to arrest him, Guljar Singh hoped that it would not be in front of the girl. That would be a mortifying experience for him.
‘Hello, Mr Singh,’ said Genevieve when she reached them. ‘I just wanted a brief word with you, if I may.’
‘Here?’ he asked uneasily.
‘I came to apologise.’
‘For what?’
‘Jumping to conclusions earlier on.’
Guljar Singh heaved a deep sigh of relief and introduced her to Sukinder. Delighted to be offered an apology, he was glad that it was in front of a witness, albeit only a young girl.
‘I’m certain that you were not involved,’ said Genevieve.
‘That is what I told you, Miss Masefield.’
‘I had to find out for myself.’
‘So you will be asking me no more questions?’
‘None at all.’
‘Thank you. It was good of you to come out here like this.’
‘It’s the least I came do, Mr Singh,’ said Genevieve. ‘I caused you unnecessary embarrassment. I hope that you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me.’
‘Of course, of course. I bear no ill will.’
‘I’m so pleased to hear that.’
When she offered her hand, Guljar Singh shook it warmly. It had taken an effort for her to make the apology and he appreciated it all the more as a result. He watched her walk away. Sukinder was curious.
‘What did the lady do to upset you?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, Suki. It is all forgotten now.’
‘Who is she?’
‘Someone who made an honest mistake. Now then,’ he went on, turning to her, ‘you wanted me to foretell your future, didn’t you?’
‘And to ask you a big favour, please.’
‘A favour?’
‘You are the only friend I have on this ship.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true, Suki.’
‘There is nobody else that I can trust to do it.’
‘To do what?’
She became wary. ‘Promise me that you will tell nobody.’
‘You have my word,’ he said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘So – what is this favour?’
Wanting to reflect on what Lois Greenwood had told him, Dillman went back to the place where the murder had been committed. Letting himself into Dudley Nevin’s cabin with the key, he tried to envisage where the man must have been standing when he was stabbed. The position of the discarded kukri again puzzled him. It was nowhere near where the body had fallen. Had it been thrown away on impulse after it had done its work, or had it been deliberately left behind as some kind of symbol? Dr McNeil believed that the fatal wound had either been inflicted by someone lashing out crazily at Nevin, or by a skilled assassin who was determined to make his victim suffer great pain. Dillman thought of the Gurkha, who was a friend of Sylvester Greenwood.
Lois had unwittingly given him what might turn out to be the breakthrough that was needed. She had overheard her father saying that he had been to a cabin to confront someone. Though she did not provide a name, it had to be Dudley Nevin. By virtue of his contacts in Delhi, Greenwood’s brother-in-law had discovered that Nevin was travelling to Bombay by train to embark on the Salsette. If Greenwood had altered his own plans in order to be on the same vessel, then he must have had a compulsion to see Nevin, and Dillman knew that it would not have been simply to discuss the result of a by-election in Reading. Something else must have connected the two men.
Thanks to the man’s daughter, Dillman could place Greenwood in the cabin, but he had no evidence to put a weapon into his hand, or for that matter, into the more practised hand of his Gurkha friend. He was still building on supposition. If either of the two men had been the killer, Nevin’s blood would have stained their clothing. That opened up the possibility that somebody might have seen one of them, returning to his cabin in a disheveled state. Whenever he had seen Greenwood, the man had been dressed with meticulous care. Had he suddenly changed his suit on the day of the murder?
After rehearsing all the possibilities, Dillman decided that he had to confront the member of Parliament with certain facts. He left the cabin and locked it behind him. He was about to walk away when Tabitha Simcoe came gliding along the corridor towards him.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘but isn’t that Mr Nevin’s cabin?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘We haven’t seen him for ages. Not since he played bridge with us, in fact. Is he all right?’
‘No,’ replied Dillman, inventing an excuse to explain his absence, ‘I’m afraid that he isn’t. Mr Nevin is unwell. Dr McNeil has told him to rest until we reach Aden.’
‘What a shame!’
‘My name is George Dillman, by the way,’ he said, extending a hand. ‘I’m a friend of Dudley’s.’
She shook his hand. ‘Tabitha Simcoe.’
‘I think that he must have been ill when he played bridge with you, Miss Simcoe. He told me that he gave a poor account of himself.’
‘That was certainly true. He let his partner down badly.’
‘But you and your mother are formidable opponents, I hear.’
‘We try, Mr Dillman,’ she said with a bland smile. ‘Do you, by any chance, play bridge?’
‘It’s not one of my accomplishments, I fear.’
‘That’s a pity. We might have found a partner for you.’
‘I’d have been a liability, Miss Simcoe.’
‘I’m sure that you could never be that.’
This was not the shy and restrained woman that Genevieve had described to him. Tabitha was brimming with confidence and able to pay him a frank compliment. She was looking at him with the same undisguised approval he had seen in the eyes of Madame Roussel. When she was not burdened with her mother, it seemed, Tabitha Simcoe blossomed into full womanhood.
‘Haven’t I seen you, pushing a Bath chair around?’ he said.
‘Mother needs it.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Actually, the last few times I’ve noticed her, she was being wheeled along by one of the stewards.’
‘Mother had to dispense with his services.’
‘Oh? Was he pushing her too fast?’
‘No, Mr Dillman,’ she said, ‘he was getting above himself and Mother would never countenance that. She had the fellow demoted. Paulo Morelli is where he belongs – toiling in second class.’
Morelli was thrilled with his new assignment. Overwhelmed with remorse at losing his position in first class, he had now been given the opportunity to make amends and he resolved that he would do so. Apart from Genevieve Masefield herself, there was nobody on board whom he would rather watch than Madame Berthe Roussel. On three previous voyages, she had been a conspicuous figure and he regretted that it had never fallen to him to be her steward. She had the look of a woman who revelled in flattery, and who would give generous tips. It would have been a pleasure to work for her.
Instead, he had been given the task of trailing her as unobtrusively as he could. Morelli did as he was told. Without speculating on why she was under suspicion, he watched her in the second-class lounge, then on a brisk walk around the main deck, and finally going back to her cabin. With a tray under his arm, he lurked nearby in case she came out again. It was twenty minutes before she emerged, wearing a different dress and glancing at her watch. Since she was coming in his direction, Morelli walked towards her as if on some errand, and strode past. She was not even aware of his presence.
Once round the corner, he stopped and went slowly back again. He saw Madame Roussel about to ascend a companionway and trotted along the corridor to catch her up. When she vanished from the top of the steps, he went up them, looking in both directions. He was just in time to see her furtively checking the number of a cabin before letting herself in with a key. Morelli was intrigued. Strolling past the cabin, he made a note of the number, then went around the corner at the far end of the corridor and waited. It was exciting work.
‘I am the detective!’ he said to himself. ‘I am good at it.’
Mrs Verney could not understand it. She was quivering with indignation.
‘Why haven’t you arrested him, Miss Masefield?’ she demanded.
‘Because I’m not convinced that he’s the thief,’ replied Genevieve.
‘He must be – he was there at the time.’
‘How do you know, if you fell asleep?’
‘There was something so shifty about the man.’
‘I thought he was rather dignified.’
‘Miss Masefield interviewed this fellow,’ explained Max Cannadine, ‘and she came to the conclusion that he was innocent of the charge.’
Mrs Verney was upset. ‘You let him go?’ she said to Genevieve.
‘There was no evidence on which to apprehend him.’
‘You could have searched the man.’
‘He was hardly likely to have your purse on him, Mrs Verney.’
‘No,’ said Cannadine, ‘and we have to be careful not to make false accusations against anyone.’
The three of them were in the purser’s cabin. Mrs Verney had come to see if her property had been recovered yet, and Genevieve had been brought in to tell her how the investigation was going. Disappointed that there was no sign of her missing purse, the victim was close to tears.
‘So, in fact,’ she said morosely, ‘you’ve made no progress at all.’
‘Yes, we have,’ Genevieve told her. ‘We have another suspect who is being kept under close scrutiny.’
‘Who is it – another Indian?’
‘We’re not able to tell you that, Mrs Verney,’ said the purser, getting up from behind his desk to open the door. ‘But you can rely on one thing. As soon as we make an arrest, you’ll be told.’
Giving a resigned nod, May Verney rose to her feet, thanked them for their help, and left the cabin with an air of discontent. Cannadine closed the door behind her and pulled a face.
‘One consolation, anyway,’ he noted. ‘It wasn’t Ethan Gilbert.’
‘He’d want the pleasure of arresting the thief himself.’
‘Arresting him – or strangling him with his bare hands?’
‘In his mind,’ said Genevieve, ‘it amounts to the same thing.’
‘Are you absolutely certain that this Guljar Singh is innocent?’
‘George thinks that you’d be a more likely thief.’
Cannadine laughed. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has said about me all day.’ He became serious. ‘We are going to solve these crimes, aren’t we?’ he asked.
‘We hope so.’
‘I was banking on rather more than hope, Miss Masefield.’
‘This evening will be the critical time.’
‘When will you conduct the search?’
‘During dinner,’ she told him. ‘George and I will actually go into the cabin, but we’ll have a lookout to help us.’
‘Oh, and who’s that?’
‘Paulo Morelli.’
‘Morelli?’ he said anxiously. ‘Are you sure you can rely on him?’
‘I think so. He snatched at the chance to redeem himself.’
‘As long as he doesn’t get overzealous. What do you expect to find in the course of your search?’
‘Some or all of the property that was taken,’ she said. ‘George thinks we might stumble on some clues about the murder, as well. If someone has bloodstained clothing in his wardrobe, we’ll know where the blood came from. I have high hopes of this search, Mr Cannadine.’
‘You must, if you’re making the supreme sacrifice.’
‘Sacrifice?’
‘Missing a delicious meal in the first-class dining saloon.’
‘Oh, that doesn’t bother me at all,’ confessed Genevieve. ‘The truth is that I’m not hungry. When I spoke to Guljar Singh earlier, I had to eat rather a large helping of humble pie.’
It was early evening when Dillman was able to seize his opportunity. Seated in the second-class lounge, pretending to read a magazine, he had watched Sylvester Greenwood talking at length with two of the Gurkhas aboard. All three men were so engrossed in their discussion that they did not even realise that Dillman was there. Eventually the meeting came to an end and both of the Gurkhas shook the Englishman’s hand before leaving. When the MP tried to follow them, Dillman intercepted him.
‘Good evening, Mr Greenwood,’ he said.
The other man stiffened. ‘What do you want?’
‘A little of your time, please.’
‘I’ve none to spare, Mr Dillman. I need to dress for dinner.’ He tried to walk past but Dillman took a step sideways to block his path. ‘Will you please get out of my way, sir?’
‘Not until we’ve had a talk about Dudley Nevin,’ said Dillman with firmness. ‘I’ve just come from speaking to him.’
Greenwood glared at him. If he were the killer, then he would know that Dillman could not possibly have spoken to Nevin. The detective searched his eyes for signs of guilt but the other man’s self-control did not waiver. Greenwood shrugged.
‘Very well,’ he said reluctantly. ‘If you insist.’
‘I do. Shall we sit down for a moment?’
Dillman indicated two chairs in the corner of the lounge. Most of the passengers had gone off to prepare for dinner so the place was fairly deserted. They could converse in privacy.
‘Before we start,’ said Greenwood, ‘perhaps you’ll be kind enough to tell me why you have such an interest in Mr Nevin.’
‘He’s an acquaintance of mine.’
‘Is that enough to justify your obsession with him?’
‘Mr Nevin is unwell,’ said Dillman smoothly. ‘I feel sorry for him. He gave me the impression that you are partly to blame for his condition. I wanted to find out why you’d upset him so much.’
‘That’s a personal matter.’
‘He tells me that you went to his cabin.’
Greenwood needed a moment to compose his features. He ran his tongue over his lips before speaking. Dillman noted the way that the man’s hands tightened on the arms of the chair.
‘Do you deny it?’ pressed Dillman.
‘No,’ admitted the other. ‘We had a brief conversation.’
‘About what?’
‘A matter of mutual interest.’
‘May I know what it was?’
‘No, Mr Dillman.’
‘When I first asked you about Mr Nevin, you claimed that you hardly knew him. Now you confess that you actually went to his cabin for a private chat.’
‘So?’
‘What else have you been holding back from me, Mr Greenwood?’
‘That’s no concern of yours.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ retorted Greenwood, standing up. ‘I don’t know who you are, Mr Dillman, or why you’re poking your nose into my affairs, but I’m not staying here to answer any more of your infernal questions.’
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to do so in the purser’s office,’ suggested Dillman, remaining in his chair. ‘This may be the moment to tell you that I work for P&O as a detective, and that gives me the right to question any passengers I choose.’ Greenwood hesitated. ‘If you don’t believe me, you can ask Mr Cannadine. He’ll vouch for me.’ Dillman pointed to chair opposite. ‘Why don’t you sit down again?’
‘What’s going on?’ asked Greenwood, resuming his seat.
‘You tell me, sir.’
‘Why have you been checking up on me?’
‘Let’s just say that some of your behaviour has been questionable.’
‘I resent that accusation.’
‘Then you have the opportunity to refute it. Let’s go back to Dudley Nevin, shall we?’ Dillman said calmly. ‘You went out of your way to arrange a confrontation with him.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘So it was pure coincidence that you’re both on this vessel?’
‘Of course.’
‘I think that you’re misleading me again, sir,’ said Dillman, trying to bluff him. ‘The purser keeps passenger records of every sailing between Bombay and Aden. When I studied those earlier, I couldn’t help noticing that you and your family had booked passage on the Salsette, then changed the date at the last moment. Was that not so?’
‘We decided to stay in Bombay a little longer.’
‘Why was that?’
‘My wife wanted to spend more time with her brother.’
‘So it was nothing to do with the fact that Mr Nevin would be sailing on this ship at the later date?’
‘How could I possibly know that?’
‘There are ways of finding out these things,’ Dillman said levelly, ‘and you strike me as the sort of person who would know exactly where to look. You were a foreign correspondent for a newspaper, I hear. That means you’ll have built up a network of contacts.’
‘What are all these questions in aid of, Mr Dillman?’
‘I told you. Mr Nevin is unwell – extremely unwell.’
‘Don’t ask me for sympathy.’
‘Are you still so incensed with him over what happened during that by-election?’ said Dillman. ‘I would have thought that even your anger had cooled by now.’
‘Mr Nevin did his utmost to rig that election,’ asserted Greenwood, smacking his knee with a palm. ‘When they learned what he’d done, his party had the grace to disown him. Left to me, he’d still be rotting in a British prison.’
‘You’re a vengeful man, Mr Greenwood.’
‘He tried to cheat me out of that seat in Parliament.’
‘Is that why you were so anxious to meet up with him again?’
‘No – it was over something else.’ Realising that he had given himself away, Greenwood winced.
‘Ah,’ said Dillman with a smile. ‘So you did postpone your return in order to contrive a meeting with Mr Nevin? We’re getting somewhere at last. Have you been conducting a vendetta against him?’
‘No, Mr Dillman.’
‘But you have kept track of his movements in India.’
‘To some extent.’
‘Why – he’s only a minor civil servant.’
‘Dudley Nevin is much more than that to me.’
‘In what way, Mr Greenwood?’
‘That’s not something I’m prepared to discuss.’
‘You may be compelled to do so in time.’
‘By whom?’ demanded the other. ‘I refuse to be treated as if I’ve done something wrong. As far as I’m concerned, my relationship with Dudley Nevin is finally over. I simply refuse to answer any more questions about him.’
‘Then answer a question about someone else,’ said Dillman, taking something from his pocket. ‘Do you recognise this young lady, sir?’
It was the photograph taken outside the large house. Dressed in a ball gown, the young woman was smiling joyously at the camera, as if she were on her way to a very special event. Greenwood’s reaction was dramatic. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he let out a gasp of pain before thrusting the photograph back at Dillman. The detective was about to ask him to identify the person in the photograph when a worried Daphne Greenwood came into the lounge, searching for her husband.
‘There you are, Sylvester,’ she said.
Greenwood got up. ‘I’m just coming, my dear.’
‘We don’t want to be late for dinner.’
‘No, no, of course not.’
Dillman rose to be introduced to his wife. They shook hands. ‘I’m sorry to delay him, Mrs Greenwood,’ he said before switching his gaze to her husband. ‘Perhaps we could continue this discussion after dinner, sir?’
‘Yes,’ replied Greenwood apprehensively. ‘I suppose so.’
‘Thank you. I look forward to seeing you later on.’
‘As you wish.’
‘What’s happened?’ asked his wife, seeing his discomfort.
‘Nothing, Daphne,’ Greenwood said briskly. ‘Nothing at all.’
When she opened her wardrobe, Genevieve Masefield chose an evening gown of white silk with virtually no trimmings on it. She also wore very little jewellery. Since she would be engaged in searching cabins while their occupants were at dinner, she wanted nothing that would impede her or that might catch on a sharp edge. The gown was plain but it allowed her more freedom of movement than her other dresses. Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped out into the corridor as Tabitha Simcoe was locking her cabin door. The other woman sailed towards her, wearing a dress of cream taffeta and satin that made her look very stately.
‘Hello, Genevieve,’ she said. ‘Are you dining with us this evening?’
‘I can’t, unfortunately,’ replied the other, forced to manufacture an excuse. ‘I have a friend in second class. Because she’s unable to join me in first, I promised to go to her instead.’
‘That’s very noble of you.’
‘The cuisine in second class is very palatable, I’m told.’
‘But inferior to what we’ll be eating,’ said Tabitha. ‘Well, it’s one of the things that we pay extra for, isn’t it? Better food, better facilities, and a better class of person. Let’s be honest, I’d never have met someone like you in second class, would I?’
‘Perhaps not.’
‘I’ve learned so much from you just by watching.’
‘Have you?’
‘It’s been an education.’
Tabitha was in a buoyant mood, not at all dismayed by the fact that Genevieve would not be sitting beside her at dinner that evening. During her time at sea, she had obviously grown in confidence. Success at the card table had also contributed towards her self-possession.
‘How did you get on this afternoon?’ asked Genevieve.
‘The Kingtons played well, but Mother and I came out on top. Two victories in one day,’ she noted. ‘Mother was thrilled.’
‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘Our new steward wheeled her into the dining saloon some time ago so that she could settle in before everyone else arrived. She’ll be disappointed that you’ve abandoned us, Genevieve.’
‘Not deliberately.’
‘Perhaps we’ll see you in the lounge later on.’
Genevieve was noncommittal. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.
‘You must be there. Mother will expect it of you.’
‘I’ll do my best, Tabby.’
‘I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to lure you to the card table,’ said Tabitha. ‘I met the most interesting man today – tall, debonair, and very good-looking. He’d have been the ideal partner for you, Genevieve.’
‘Oh?’
‘He’s an American – a Mr George Dillman. You must have seen him around in the last few days.’
‘No,’ said Genevieve, taking care to show no reaction to the name. ‘I don’t believe that I have. And you say that he plays bridge?’
‘Not at the moment,’ Tabitha said skittishly, ‘but it would be a pleasure to teach him the game. He really is so handsome.’
‘You’ve spoken to him, then?’
‘Only briefly. I just wish that I’d discovered him sooner.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, I’ve started to take your advice, Genevieve. There’s no need for me to be tied to Mother all the time. In fact, she’s encouraged me to make friends of my own.’ She gave a quiet smile. ‘Mr Dillman is my notion of the perfect friend.’
‘I thought that you were interested in Herr Voigt,’ said Genevieve. ‘You seemed to be rather taken with him last night.’
‘I was – for a time.’
‘Did he bore you so quickly?’
‘No. Siegfried was diverting company until I found out his secret.’
‘And what was that?’
‘He’s married, Genevieve.’
‘But travelling without his wife.’
‘Oh, she was there, in the metaphorical sense.’
‘How do you know that Mr Dillman isn’t married?’
‘Instinct.’
‘You could be mistaken, Tabby.’
‘I’m never mistaken about things like that,’ said Tabitha proudly. ‘It’s true that I only met him for a few moments, but they were enough for me. I could see at a glance that Mr Dillman was one of them.’
‘Them?’
‘A permanent bachelor. One of those dashing men who go through life breaking women’s hearts without even knowing it. Take my word for it,’ she insisted, ‘George Dillman will never marry.’
Genevieve had some difficulty retaining her composure.
Sukinder stood patiently beside the door as Matilda Kinnersley, in a dress of black taffeta and muslin, made the final adjustments to her hair in the mirror. The major handed the girl a clothes brush so that she could dust off the back, shoulders, and sleeves of his tailcoat. Sukinder brushed away assiduously.
‘Thank you,’ he said when she finished.
His wife snapped her fingers and held out her hand. Putting the clothes brush aside, Sukinder collected the fan from the table and gave it to Mrs Kinnersley, receiving no thanks.
‘That will be all,’ decided Kinnersley.
‘Yes, sahib.’
‘Get off and have your own meal now.’
‘Thank you.’
‘And be sure to read the next chapter of that book before you go to bed,’ said Mrs Kinnersley. ‘I’ll expect to hear it tomorrow.’
‘Yes, memsahib’
‘Run along, then.’
‘Good night, Sukinder,’ said Kinnersley.
She gave him a smile of farewell and let herself out of the cabin.
‘What’s got into her, Romford?’ asked his wife.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sukinder seemed happy for once. Why was that?’
‘I think that she’s resolved to make the best of the situation.’
‘She ought to be down on her knees, thanking us,’ said Matilda Kinnersley, taking a last look at herself in the mirror. ‘It’s a privilege to work for our family It’s about time that she understood that.’
‘I’m sure that she does, my dear.’
‘At one point, she had a kind of secret smile on her face. You don’t suppose that she’s been sneaking up on deck again, do you?’
‘No, Matilda. She wouldn’t dare to disobey us.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because you put the fear of death into her,’ said Kinnersley. ‘In any case, she’s had her exercise for the day. I took her for a walk around the deck earlier. It was chilly out there, even for Sukinder.’ She turned to face him and he managed a token smile. ‘You look wonderful this evening, my dear.’
‘One has to make the effort.’
‘It was well worth it.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, reaching for her purse. ‘By the way, we’re dining with the Ackroyds tonight.’
‘Oh, dear!’
‘Why do say that?’
‘Gerald tells me that they’re not really speaking to each other.’
‘I’m not surprised. He upset Phoebe by turning up to play bridge without the aid of his ear trumpet. She was furious with him.’
‘It’s not a hanging offence, is it?’
‘In Phoebe’s eyes, it is. They lost heavily.’
‘We all take a beating at the card table occasionally.’
‘Yes,’ his wife said superciliously, ‘but not to someone like Mrs Simcoe and her daughter. That is adding insult to injury. I mean, the Simcoes are such unbearable people. To lose to them is not merely an upset. It’s a crushing humiliation.’
‘What exactly did you say to Tabitha Simcoe?’ asked Genevieve.
‘Very little,’ recalled Dillman. ‘We bumped into each other in the corridor and exchanged a few words, that’s all. What did she tell you?’
‘That you were not married.’ He laughed. ‘It’s not funny, George.’
‘Would you rather that she’d told you I was?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Then it proves that my disguise works,’ he said. ‘And so does yours, Genevieve. She may claim to have sharp instincts, but Tabitha clearly hasn’t worked out that you’re married, as well. Did she say anything nice about me?’
‘Stop fishing for compliments.’
‘There were favourable comments, then?’
‘Let’s forget about Tabby,’ she said, bringing the discussion to a close. ‘She’s beginning to annoy me.’
Meeting outside the second-class lounge, they were waiting for Paulo Morelli to join them before the search began. The steward was punctual. He came bounding along the corridor with a broad grin on his face. It suggested that he had something to report. After being introduced to Dillman, he told his tale.
‘I followed Madame Roussel, as you asked me.’
‘Where did she go?’ asked Genevieve.
‘Here, there, and everywhere. At four o’clock, she left her cabin in a beautiful red dress and went up to the next deck. Madame Roussel looked for a number, found it, and used a key to let herself into a cabin. She was in there for almost half an hour,’ he went on, taking a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘I made a note of the time.’
‘Do you know the cabin number?’ asked Dillman.
‘Yes, sir.’ He handed the paper to Dillman. ‘It’s on here.’
‘Good.’
‘What happened when she came out, Paulo?’ said Genevieve.
‘She was very cautious,’ replied the steward. ‘First, she put her head out of the cabin to make sure that nobody could see her, then she hurried off. Under her arm, she was carrying something that she did not take into the cabin. I could not see what it was, but it was valuable to her. Madame Roussel, she was hugging it to her.’
‘Then what?’
‘She went back to her own cabin and stayed there until it was time to leave for dinner. When I saw her sit down in the saloon, I came here.’
‘Well done, Paulo!’
‘This is good – no?’
‘Very good.’
‘I can go back to first class?’
‘Not yet,’ said Genevieve. ‘There’s a lot more to do before that, and we need your help. George will explain.’
Dillman told him about the search and what his role would be. He stressed the importance of an early warning if anyone should return to a cabin unexpectedly Morelli tried to revise his plans.
‘You keep lookout,’ he said, ‘and I search the cabins.’
‘No,’ replied Dillman. ‘I know what we’re after, Paulo.’
‘But I am in and out of cabins all day long. It is my job. I will be quicker than you. I know where people hide things.’
‘So do we,’ said Genevieve. ‘You just do as George tells you.’
Dillman took control. ‘Let’s get started, shall we?’
They were methodical. Since only certain cabins were being searched, Dillman had listed them so that he took those occupied by men or by married couples, while Genevieve concentrated on those with exclusively female passengers in them. Morelli was stationed at a strategic point in order to keep watch. Using a master key, Genevieve first let herself into the cabin of their prime suspect, Madame Roussel. She could smell the perfume in the air. Having been there before, she knew exactly where to look, but she found no clues to indicate that the Frenchwoman was the thief. Nothing of value was kept in the cabin. She abandoned the search.
It was the same with the next two cabins that she went into. While her search was extremely thorough, she came out empty-handed on both occasions. Morelli trotted along the corridor to whisper to her.
‘What is it you are looking for?’ he asked. ‘I will find it.’
‘You stay on guard, Paulo.’
‘But I have the skills, signorina. Let me use them.’
‘You’re holding me up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, retreating to his position.
Consulting her list, Genevieve checked the number of the next cabin that she was due to search, then noticed something. It was next door to the cabin occupied by Guljar Singh. Though that was not down to be searched, she had a sudden urge to go into it, to satisfy herself once and for all that the old man was not involved in the thefts. Knowing that Dillman would strongly disapprove, she waited until he vanished into a cabin himself before crossing to the one in question.
She let herself in and looked around. Guljar Singh had brought very little luggage with him. There was only one battered old case in his wardrobe. It contained a few items of clothing and some books. Tucked away on the shelf in the wardrobe was what looked like a bundle of washing. Genevieve took it down to find that it was a cotton sheet that had been tied into a ball. She could feel something jiggling around inside it. Setting it down on the bed, she was about to untie it when she heard the sound of a key in the lock. Genevieve’s heart pounded. There was nowhere to hide. She would be caught red-handed by the very man to whom she’d been forced to give her abject apology earlier on. How could she explain herself?
But it was not Guljar Singh who entered. It was Dillman.
‘What are you doing in here?’ he demanded.
‘I thought I’d check it out, just in case.’
‘This is Guljar Singh’s cabin, Genevieve. It’s not on the list.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Then why bother with it? I couldn’t believe it when Paulo told me that you’d come in here. The man is innocent, Genevieve.’
‘Is he?’ she countered, shaking the bundle. ‘Then what is Mr Singh hiding in here?’
She undid the knot and opened the sheet. Expecting to find some personal items inside, Dillman was astonished to see instead three purses and a quantity of jewellery. From the description that Madame Roussel had given her of the stolen items, Genevieve recognised them as having come from the Frenchwoman’s cabin. Controlling her own amazement, she looked at Dillman.
‘What do you say now, George?’ she asked.