WHEN CHERRY FLUNG OPEN THE DOOR OF HER CABIN she was not at all surprised to see Waidler standing there.
But she was surprised when he simply handed her a cable and started off again back to the main corridor.
Cherry could not stand the suspense another second. She called out, “Please, Waidler. I’d like to talk to you. Have you a minute?”
“No, I haven’t,” he flung back over one stooped shoulder, but he stopped in the narrow passageway. Cherry hurried after him.
“Waidler,” she sputtered. “I just want to say … I just want to know … well, I mean, you did see me last night, didn’t you?”
His eyes were blank under the heavy, beetling brows. “Last night? I guess I did if you were around. I don’t remember. Haven’t time to notice what the ship’s nurse does or doesn’t do.”
Cherry’s knees went wobbly with relief. Then he wasn’t going to report her after all! “W-Waidler,” she stammered, “I-I only did it for Timmy. He cried and cried for his panda. Then when I brought it back I felt it would be nicer if he thought his mother had gotten it for him.” She went on in a rush of words as he listened stolidly:
“Timmy has a nurse, you see. His mother has never had the fun of taking care of him. He hadn’t any confidence in her. But he has now that he thinks she dove into the deep part of the pool for his Fuzzy-Wuzzy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Waidler interrupted brusquely. “Tim told me his mother rescued his panda from the pool. As far as I’m concerned the passenger is always right.”
Cherry impulsively grabbed his hand and shook it hard. “You’re just about the nicest man I ever knew. And to think when I first came on board I thought you were horrid. Why were you so mean to me, Waidler?”
Waidler’s dark brows were inverted V’s of surprise. “Me mean? I’ve never said a cross word to anybody in my whole life. You must be crazy!”
Cherry laughed, almost hysterically. “I guess you didn’t realize it then. But I was on the verge of tears that first day when you were so—well, abrupt with me.”
Waidler thoughtfully stroked his chin with a stubby thumb. “Well, now, that’s what the other nurse said to me. Said I hurt her feelings. Guess you nurses are awful sensitive. I’ve got two daughters just about your age. Why would I want to hurt a nice young lady’s feelings?”
The steward shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “Guess I’ll have to mind my manners after this. I’m always in such a hurry I don’t know what I’m doing or saying half the time. Like at Willemstad last trip—” He stopped, and like Ziggy, clamped his mouth shut.
“I can imagine things were pretty hectic for you,” Cherry put in quickly. “Getting a dying passenger ashore amid all the confusion of docking. I should think you might easily have overlooked something when you were packing Mr. Paulding’s effects. A small package, for instance, away back in one of his drawers?”
Two red spots appeared on Waidler’s prominent cheekbones. He scowled darkly, muttering, “Nothing of the kind. Emptied his drawers myself. And it seems to me if I can mind my own business, you can mind yours.”
He darted away and Cherry thought: “Well, that’s that. I’ve only succeeded in making him mad at me again. And I can’t say I blame him. One good turn deserves another, but, instead, I insulted the nice old sea dog.”
Sea dog! That started another train of thought. A seasoned sailor would know ambergris when he saw it—or smelled it. Had the temptation been too much for Waidler? Had he figured that finders were keepers, especially in the case of a dying man?
Jan’s uncle, an old sea dog himself, might not have tipped the steward lavishly, and with good reason, too. Until he sold his share of the ambergris he would have had to live on the few hundred dollars in his money belt.
Kirk Monroe had told Cherry the evening before that passengers’ tips averaged about ten dollars a day. That was a lot of money unless you had a lot to throw around.
Cherry, remembering her embarrassed offering of a quarter that first day, felt sure that undertipping was the reason Waidler hadn’t gotten on with old Mr. Paulding. Perhaps that had served as a sop to his conscience if he had pocketed the ambergris. To Waidler, not knowing that it was priceless ambre blanc, it might have represented only his just due. A less perfect type of ambergris, Jan had said, sold for only a few dollars an ounce.
Cherry, of course, didn’t know exactly how many ounces had been Mr. Paulding’s share. All she knew was that his partner had sold his portion for around five thousand dollars. But Waidler couldn’t have known that.
Cherry shrugged. “I’m letting my imagination run away with me. Waidler is probably perfectly innocent. The thing to do is to try to find out from Kirk Monroe if the old gentleman said anything before he died that might be a clue to where he kept the ambergris. But first I think I’ll have a talk with Ziggy.”
Cherry had a perfectly good excuse to visit the purser’s office. She had not yet had time to take a written inventory of the medical refrigerator. Ziggy was sitting at his desk when she came in.
“Hello,” he said mournfully. “I suppose you’ve heard what happened last night?”
Cherry nodded. “Are we allowed to discuss the mystery, or is that scuttlebutt?”
“Scuttlebutt!” The wiry little steward pounded the desk with his calloused hands. “It’s gone beyond scuttlebutt, Miss Cherry. The Old Man’s on the rampage. Had me up there all morning.”
“Thank goodness I escaped that,” Cherry said inwardly. “If the captain’s already on the rampage I wouldn’t have had a prayer.” Aloud, she said:
“Was anything taken this time?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. At least,” Ziggy finished evasively, “nothing of any importance. A carbon copy of such an unimportant letter that I didn’t even mention it to the Old Man.”
Cherry couldn’t help wondering about that. Ziggy should have reported even the most minor loss to the captain. Why had he failed to do so? She asked him quietly:
“Can you remember what the letter was all about? It might be a clue, you know.”
Ziggy snorted. “Nothing of the sort. I mean, I do remember the letter word for word. But there’s not a clue in it, Miss Cherry. And don’t you go asking me to repeat it to you. Because I won’t. If you’re smart you’ll keep out of this. There are only four keys to this room. And you have one of them!”
Cherry’s red cheeks burned under the implication that it was she who had taken the letter. For the second time that morning she was under suspicion. She said coolly, “If I had wanted to take anything I wouldn’t have had to wait until last night. I could have done it any time I wanted to, Mr. Ziegler.”
The normally good-natured purser relented then. “Don’t pay any attention to me, Miss Cherry! I’m in such a state I’m beginning to suspect the Old Man himself. I hope whoever swiped that letter doesn’t leave it lying around. If the captain ever saw it, I would be—” He stopped himself just in time. Shrewdly he finished with “I’d be hard put to explain why I didn’t report it had been taken from the files.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” Cherry said mildly.
Ziggy spread his hands expressively. “You don’t know the skipper. Hates details. That letter was a detail. If I’d mentioned it, he’d probably have had an attack of apoplexy. Very impatient man, the skipper. We old-timers learned long ago never to bother him with anything that wasn’t important.”
It sounded like a weak explanation to Cherry. And Ziggy’s manner was evasive to say the least. While she checked the contents of the medical refrigerator, Cherry wondered why the letter had been stolen.
Ziggy sat at his desk, lost in thought. “It’s the work of a practical joker,” he said at last. “I probably mislaid that letter myself. Someone who has a master key, and what he thinks is a sense of humor, is behind all this. You run into crazy passengers like that every so often. Like the old man who died last trip. I always knew he was strange, but I didn’t know he was crazy until I heard what he said just before he lost consciousness.”
Cherry pricked up her ears. “What did he say, Ziggy? I’m interested in hearing about him; he was the uncle of the young Paulding girl in Suite 125–127, you know. She adored him, and I’m sure it would mean a great deal to her to know just what his last words were.”
That, she reflected, smiling inwardly, was putting it mildly, but she didn’t want to arouse the purser’s suspicions.
Ziggy shook his head grimly. “If she wants to know, she’ll have to ask the ship’s surgeon. I’m just the pharmacist’s mate when it comes to dying passengers.” He got up and left the room.
Cherry decided that Ziggy was right. Jan herself would have to question Dr. Monroe. Even though it was now “Kirk” and “Cherry,” he would never violate professional ethics and repeat what his patient had said.
After she had finished her inventory, Cherry went to the dispensary to check the supplies and the sterilization equipment. Then it was noon and time for her visit to Timmy.
Mrs. Crane looked exhausted by her four-hour stretch of duty. But she didn’t utter a complaint. With Cherry looking on, she went through the routine of Timmy’s care without mishap. Cherry complimented her enthusiastically.
“You’re as good as any nurse’s aide now. In another day or so I’ll be pinning a handkerchief on your hair to show you’ve won your cap.”
Mrs. Crane flushed with pleasure. “The doctor said Timmy couldn’t go out on deck today because of the rise in his temperature last night. But he did say if it was normal all day Timmy could go up to the library and see the Christmas tree when it’s lighted up this evening. That nice Mr. Landgraf offered to carry Timmy. That was really awfully sweet of him, don’t you think?”
“Oh, did Timmy have a visitor this morning?” Cherry asked quickly.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Landgraf and Jan Paulding and her mother. He and Jan both offered to read to Timmy while I took a dip in the pool, but I refused. I was afraid Miss Cherry Ames would scold me if I left the room for even one minute.”
Cherry laughed. “Well, you’ve earned a rest. I’ll ask the steward to bring my lunch on the same tray with Timmy’s. So you run along and have your swim. Unless I’m called elsewhere I’ll be glad to stay with Timmy for a couple of hours.”
Mrs. Crane thanked Cherry gratefully. “Then I’ll just stay right on until two and have my lunch at the pool. You’re a lamb, Cherry.”
Timmy was so full of Christmas Eve excitement he could hardly eat. When Cherry told him it was her birthday too, he promptly offered to give her the entire contents of his toy box.
And then Cherry suddenly remembered the cable she had tucked into her uniform pocket hours ago. It was from her mother:
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING. HAVE LOTS OF FUN.
A wave of homesickness swept over Cherry. If she were home now she and Charlie would be trimming the tree. There would be all sorts of mysterious whisperings as gifts were wrapped in the presence of everyone except the one who would open them on Christmas Day. Lost in thought she didn’t hear what Timmy was saying until he repeated:
“I’ve got a piece of yellow paper too, Cherry. Listen to me! I’ve got a ’portant piece of yellow paper too.”
“Have you?” Cherry smiled. “That’s nice. Did somebody send you a cable wishing you a merry Christmas?”
Timmy shook his head. “No, it b’longs to Henry. He was reading it in that chair just like you’re reading yours. Then Jan came in and he stuffed it in his pocket. But when he wasn’t looking I took it out and hid it under my pillow.”
“Timmy Crane,” Cherry scolded. “You’re a naughty boy. Give me that paper right away. I’ll have Waidy return it to Henry when he comes for our trays.”
“Okey-dokey,” Timmy said cheerfully. “I just borrowed it cause it looked so nice and ’portant. But you’ve got to read it to me first. I could only read some of the words, like milk.”
Cherry laughed. “I don’t think you read that one right. I can’t imagine anyone used the word milk in a cable to Henry.”
“Did so read it right,” Tim shouted. “M-I-L-K spells milk!” He reached under his pillow and produced a crumpled piece of yellow paper.
It was not, Cherry saw at once, a cablegram. Then she almost shouted herself, when Timmy triumphantly pointed to four capital letters in the middle of the sheet. They did, indeed, spell milk, and the crumpled piece of yellow paper was the carbon copy of a letter signed:
“R. D. Ziegler, Ship’s Purser.”