John Heritage had grown increasingly worried about the condition of Carrie Peterson. Not having seen or communicated with her for over twenty-four hours, he began to fear the worst. She was not the most robust person, and the predicament in which she found herself would be almost unbearable. He blamed himself for landing the two of them in the dire situation they faced, and longed for an opportunity to relieve her suffering in some way. Locked in his cabin, he could do little but anxiously pace up and down. However, when he was accompanied to the bathroom by Inspector Redfern, he saw his opportunity. They had to walk right past Carrie Peterson’s cabin. He was under no restraint. On the way back from the bathroom, therefore, he waited until he reached her cabin, then broke away to bang hard on the door.
‘Carrie, it’s me!’ he yelled. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, John!’ she called. ‘What about you?’
‘Come away from there,’ said Redfern, grabbing him by the arm.
‘You must eat, Carrie,’ urged Heritage. ‘Keep up your strength.’
The inspector dragged him away. ‘This way, sir.’
‘I love you, John,’ she declared from the other side of the door, waiting for a reply that never came. ‘John!’ she said. ‘John, are you still there?’
But Heritage was already being hustled into his own cabin by Redfern. Hearing the commotion, Sergeant Mulcaster came in from next door to see if he was needed.
‘What was all that about?’ he asked.
‘Mr Heritage broke the rules,’ Redfern said irritably.
The prisoner gave a shrug. ‘I simply wanted to speak to her.’
‘That comes under the heading of “privilege”,’ said Mulcaster, ‘and you don’t have any. That was a very silly thing to do.’
‘I just wanted to know how she was.’
‘Safe and sound.’
‘Has she had any food yet? You told me she wouldn’t touch anything.’
‘She ate some lunch,’ said Redfern. ‘Not very much, it’s true. But we did coax her into eating a sandwich. At least, Sergeant Mulcaster did.’
Mulcaster grinned. ‘I want to keep her alive for the trial.’
‘Do you need to take quite so much pleasure out of it, Sergeant?’ complained Heritage. ‘Miss Peterson and I are completely innocent. It’s demeaning to be treated like a pair of convicts.’
‘In my book, that’s what you are.’
‘They’re suspects in a murder investigation, Sergeant,’ corrected Redfern. ‘The burden of proof lies with the prosecution. Not that I have any qualms on that score,’ he said, flicking his eyes to Heritage. ‘As for you, sir, we’ll have no more of the stupidity I just witnessed. If you try to make contact with Miss Peterson again – even by calling out to her – I’ll have to take you to the bathroom with a gag in your mouth.’
‘Let me do that,’ Mulcaster suggested, eager to take on the role.
‘I’m hoping it won’t be necessary. Will it, Mr Heritage?’
‘Perhaps not,’ mumbled the prisoner.
‘I want your word on that,’ said Redfern.
‘You have it, Inspector – as long as you treat Miss Peterson with respect.’
‘We do, sir.’
‘Yes,’ added Mulcaster. ‘I always bow three times when I enter her cabin.’
‘That’s enough, Sergeant,’ warned Redfern. ‘There’s no call to gloat.’
‘She needs the company of another woman,’ Heritage argued. ‘Not someone like Sergeant Mulcaster. He doesn’t know how to behave with a lady.’
‘I don’t see her as a lady,’ Mulcaster retorted. ‘Only as your accomplice.’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘So you keep telling us.’
‘She’s the last person in the world to lend herself to any type of crime.’
‘Unless she was driven to it by desperation,’ said Redfern.
‘We wanted to be together, Inspector. Can’t you understand that?’
‘Only too well. But there was the small matter of your wife.’
‘That’s why we ran away to Ireland.’
‘Having killed her beforehand.’
‘No, Inspector.’
‘Then why bother to flee like that?’ asked Redfern. ‘If your wife died by natural causes, then you had everything you wanted. Freedom to marry Miss Peterson and to spend the rest of your life together.’
‘It was not as simple as that.’
‘It never is, Mr Heritage. We talked to the family doctor. He told us your wife was in the rudest of health. Not surprising, when she was married to a trained pharmacist. You could cure any minor ailments she had, couldn’t you?’
‘That’s beside the point.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Mrs Heritage came to trust you,’ said Mulcaster. ‘When you brought pills and potions back from the shop, she took them without questioning your judgment.’
‘You know nothing about my marriage, Sergeant,’ said Heritage testily.
‘We know that it came to a sudden end.’
‘Death by unnatural means,’ said Redfern. ‘And you did not even stay around to mourn your wife’s passing. You planned it very well, didn’t you? When you shut up the shop on Saturday evening, you told your business partner you’d be taking a few days off at the start of the following week. That gave you ample time to make your escape. You also sent a note to the cleaning lady, telling her not to come on her usual day. That delayed the discovery of the body.’
‘It may look like that, Inspector,’ said Heritage, ‘but you’re quite wrong.’
‘Am I?’
‘I’ve told you a dozen times what really happened.’
‘You’ve told us what you want us to believe happened,’ Redfern said firmly, ‘but we’re not that easily fooled. I’d bet a month’s wages that you were responsible for the death of Winifred Heritage. The only point on which I have the slightest doubt concerns Miss Peterson. Was she a party to the murder or not?’
‘Not, Inspector,’ pleaded Heritage. ‘I swear it!’
‘You’re two of a kind,’ Mulcaster decided. ‘Both of you were involved.’
‘No!’
‘She’s more or less confessed it by her behaviour.’
‘How can she confess to something that she never did?’
‘Guilt expresses itself in a variety of ways,’ said the inspector. ‘We know the signs and the pair of you have started to show them in abundance.’
Heritage took a deep breath. ‘For the last time, Inspector, we are innocent.’
‘Then why has there been no remorse over the death of your wife?’ Heritage lowered his head to his chest. ‘It’s because you gloried in it, isn’t it? Look at you, Mr Heritage. You’re a middle-aged man who was trapped in an unhappy marriage. You became infatuated with a younger woman. Miss Peterson, in turn, fell in love with you.’
‘Lord knows why!’ said Mulcaster.
‘It’s a situation that we’ve seen dozens of times before. Two people have an overpowering urge to be together. Because it’s not possible, they’re driven to extreme measures. In this case, the murder of a wife.’
‘That’s simply not true, Inspector!’ exclaimed Heritage.
‘No?’ Redfern replied calmly. ‘Then answer me this. Whenever poison is sold at your pharmacy, you keep a strict record of its sale. Your partner let us examine the record book, and what did we find? A certain John Heritage – the pharmacist himself, no less – is listed as having bought some arsenic and certain other drugs that could be used to induce acute poisoning.’ He watched his prisoner closely. ‘Now, sir, perhaps you’d be kind enough to tell us why you did that?’
John Heritage had no answer. Slumping into his chair, he looked desolate.
Genevieve Masefield did not escape her for long. No sooner had she sat down in the first-class lounge than Isadora Singleton came looking for her. The girl was glad to be released at last from the company of her parents and their friends. She talked at length about the extended boredom of her lunch.
‘I missed you so much, Genevieve,’ she said. ‘Did you miss me?’
‘Of course,’ Genevieve said politely.
‘Whom did you sit with?’
‘Theo Wright and his coach.’
Isadora was mystified. ‘Theo Wright?’
‘You won’t have heard of him but he’s very famous in his own circles. He’s a professional cyclist, on his way to compete in a race in France that takes almost twenty-four hours to complete. Theo is a very engaging young man,’ said Genevieve, ‘though I was not so taken with his coach, Mr Odell.’
‘I’ve never met a professional cyclist,’ said Isadora.
‘You can see him in action twice a day.’
‘On board ship?’
‘Yes, Isadora. He trains on deck, last thing at night and first thing in the morning. If you get up at the crack of dawn, you’ll see him speeding past.’
‘What fun!’
‘Theo Wright is the American champion.’
‘Then maybe I should get acquainted with him,’ said Isadora. ‘He sounds like livelier company than the Van Wessels. The problem is that Mother and Father would disapprove,’ she sighed. ‘Mother, in particular. I can imagine how she would react to a man who made his living on a bicycle.’
‘There are rich rewards in the sport, apparently.’
‘It’s not a question of money, Genevieve, but of class.’
‘Your mother will very much be at home in England, then. It’s even more class-ridden than Boston.’
Isadora grimaced. ‘I refuse to believe that!’
‘Take my word for it. We invented class.’
Genevieve looked up as a tall figure approached. Stanley Chase stopped beside them to exchange a warm greeting with Genevieve and to be introduced to Isadora.
‘It’s not fair,’ he teased.
‘What isn’t, Mr Chase?’ asked Genevieve.
‘The two most beautiful young ladies on the ship are sitting together, on the principle that there’s safety in numbers. The Caronia is full of amorous young men in search of romance. Why deny them their opportunity?’
‘That’s not what we’re doing.’
‘I’m sure, Miss Masefield,’ he said, winking an eye, ‘and I was only joking. In any case, nothing you could do would prevent admirers from queuing up. I can’t speak for Miss Singleton but I know you’ve already set one heart alight.’
‘Has she?’ said Isadora, agog. ‘Who is he?’
‘A certain cyclist who sat opposite her at lunch.’
‘Theo Wright?’
‘That’s the chap.’
‘Genevieve was just talking about him.’ She turned to her companion. ‘Is it true? Have you made a conquest?’
‘Of course not,’ said Genevieve. ‘Theo was just being friendly.’
‘I think it may go deeper than that,’ said Chase. ‘That’s why his coach kept shooting you those dark looks. He could see how fond of you Theo was. Talking of Mr Odell,’ he went on, glancing up and down the lounge, ‘have you seen him around? I wanted a brief chat with him.’
‘I haven’t seen either of them since lunch,’ said Genevieve.
‘Oh, you will, Miss Masefield. I guarantee it. Sooner or later Theo will come in search of you. He can’t spend all the time training for his race.’ He smiled at Isadora. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Singleton. Enjoy the voyage.’
‘I will, Mr Chase,’ said Isadora. She watched him walk off. ‘What a charming man. He had such a kind smile. But he was wrong about one thing, Genevieve.’
‘Was he?’
‘Yes. He said that you already had an admirer. I think you have two.’
‘Two.’
‘Theo Wright and Stanley Chase.’
‘That’s nonsense!’ said Genevieve.
‘I saw the way his eyes twinkled whenever he looked at you. My guess is that he’s carrying a torch for you as well.’
‘I only met him a couple of hours ago.’
‘There’s such a thing as love at first sight.’
‘Not in this case.’
‘He’s such an attractive man. I’d be flattered.’
‘Forget about Mr Chase,’ Genevieve ordered. ‘And about any other imaginary suitors I’m supposed to have. You’re the one who’s being taken to look for a potential husband. Have you spotted any possibilities on board?’
‘I haven’t been given the chance.’
‘There’s more than one member of the British aristocracy on the Caronia.’
‘My parents are well aware of that,’ said Isadora with a sigh. ‘That’s why they’re dragging me off for drinks before dinner this evening.’
‘Dragging you off?’
‘To the Openshaws’ cabin. Frank Openshaw comes from somewhere called Yorkshire. That’s up north, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Isadora.’
‘He’s one of those men who went from rags to riches and who insists on describing the journey in detail. He has a voice like a foghorn. Father thought he was frightful and Mother couldn’t bear him until he mentioned his close friendships with several aristocrats.’
‘“Friendships”?’
‘That’s what he said,’ she explained. ‘Mind you, he did go on to say that he liked to have someone from the nobility on the boards of his companies. It always looked impressive on letter-headings, he claimed. But it was no empty boast. He knows Lord Eddington, who’s a passenger on the ship, and there’s another friend called Sir Harry Fox-Holroyd, apparently. Both will be there this evening with their wives. That’s why Mother insisted we should go as well.’
‘Even though both these gentlemen are already married?’
‘Mr Openshaw confided that Lord and Lady Eddington have a son who is one of the most eligible bachelors in Sussex. But that isn’t the only reason my parents were keen to meet them both. They’re hoping it will gain them an introduction to the circles that really matter in England.’
‘Those aren’t all to be found in the aristocracy,’ said Genevieve.
‘Mother believes that they are.’
‘Then I hope someone enlightens her.’
‘Will you come with us this evening, please?’
‘What?’
‘I hate the idea of being on show,’ said Isadora, ‘like a china doll in a store window. I don’t want Lord and Lady Eddington to look down their noses at me and decide that I’m not good enough for their son. I want you there so I’ll have somebody I can enjoy talking to.’
‘But I haven’t been invited.’
‘I’m inviting you now.’
‘No, Isadora. It would be quite improper.’
‘Father can speak to Mr Openshaw. He seemed very approachable. Oh, by the way,’ she continued, ‘I asked my parents if you could use our bath and they agreed without any argument. Do you see, Genevieve? You’re one of the family now.’
‘Not really.’
‘You’re the best friend I have aboard.’
‘All the more reason for you to meet some new people,’ said Genevieve.
Isadora was hurt. ‘I thought you liked me.’
‘I do, Isadora. I’m very fond of you, but I don’t think we should live in each other’s pockets. The truth is that I’d feel embarrassed if I went along this evening as part of your family. Don’t ask me to explain why It’s one of the penalties of an English education, I’m afraid. We’re obsessed with decorum.’
‘So are we. Boston society thrives on it.’
‘Then you’ll understand how I feel,’ said Genevieve. ‘Let’s reach a compromise, shall we? You go along to the Openshaws with your parents and I’ll promise to sit next to you at dinner. How does that sound?’
‘I’d prefer you to be there beforehand.’
‘I can’t be. It’s as simple as that.’
‘Oh.’
Isadora was dejected. Genevieve was sorry to have disappointed her but there was no alternative. If it were left to her, Isadora would spend the bulk of each day in her friend’s company and that would be a great inconvenience to Genevieve. The girl needed to be weaned off her, to extend her social circle, and to learn the pleasures of being more independent. Before Genevieve could decide how to achieve those ends, she saw someone come into the lounge and look around with a nervous smile. It was Cecilia Robart. She was wearing the pearl necklace but not the gold earrings. When she recognised Genevieve, she gave a friendly wave before moving off to sit with two elderly female passengers.
Isadora studied the woman. ‘Who is that?’ she asked with faint jealousy.
‘Oh,’ said Genevieve casually, ‘just somebody I bumped into earlier.’
It took only a couple of minutes for George Porter Dillman to deal with the matter. Having found the man in his cabin, he did not even need to reveal his identity as a detective. One look at Mostyn Morris was enough to explain the misunderstanding. Short, shrivelled, and gaunt, the Welshman had large eyes that seemed to be on the point of leaving their sockets at any moment. It was as if he were in a continuous state of alarm. He looked up at Dillman.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked.
‘Mr Morris?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘My name is George Dillman. I’m sorry to disturb you but I just wanted to give you a word of warning. I noticed that you were sitting opposite Mrs Anstruther at lunch.’
‘Yes,’ said Morris. ‘Not the most appetising experience in any way. She’s a handsome woman but Mrs Anstruther does tend to hog the conversation.’
‘That’s what I wanted to whisper in your ear, Mr Morris. I had to endure her over a meal yesterday. She means well but, as you found out, she is inclined to talk too much.’
‘A torrent of meaningless words, Mr Dillman.’
‘There is another problem.’
‘Oh.’
‘She’s a widow, desperate for male company. She never quite got over the death of Mr Anstruther. She did hint to me that she came on this voyage on the hope of finding a replacement for him.’
‘Saints preserve us!’
‘I just thought you ought to know that.’
‘Thank you for the warning.’
‘You seemed so hypnotised by what she was saying.’
‘The woman just wouldn’t take her eyes off me.’
‘I had the same trouble,’ confided Dillman. ‘That’s why I’ve steered clear of the lady ever since. It might be wise if you did the same.’
‘I will,’ Morris vowed. ‘She terrifies me.’
‘I hope you didn’t mind my speaking to you.’
‘Not at all. You’ve only said what I secretly feared. Thank you, Mr Dillman.’
Eyes bulging more than ever, Mostyn Morris retreated into his cabin and locked the door behind him. Dillman suspected the man would regret that he had no drawbridge to raise and no portcullis to lower as well. Defences against Mrs Anstruther needed to be as formidable as possible. One thing was certain. Those staring eyes would never again get close enough to make her think Morris was having improper thoughts about her. Mrs Anstruther would have to find another complaint to take to the purser.
Having sorted out a small problem, Dillman made his way down to the second-class deck to address himself to the more serious task of finding a pickpocket. The wallet had been stolen in the lounge. All the victim could remember was that he had been part of a large group of people who had left together. Shoulders had rubbed and there had been some good-natured jostling between the men. It was only when he was back in his cabin that the victim realised someone had deprived him of his wallet. Dillman intended to spend an hour in the lounge, relaxing in a quiet corner from which he could keep the room under surveillance and familiarise himself with the faces of the passengers who were there.
But he got no farther than the shelter deck. Blocking his way, as he descended the stairs, was Sergeant Mulcaster. Instead of giving a warning, it was Dillman’s turn to receive one, and it was not issued in the spirit of friendship.
‘Keep your nose out of our affairs,’ growled Mulcaster.
‘That’s what I’ve tried to do, Sergeant.’
‘Then why did you suggest that Miss Masefield should speak to one of the suspects? That’s what I’d call unwarranted interference.’
‘I’d call it an offer of help,’ said Dillman. ‘No more, no less.’
‘We don’t need you.’
‘Inspector Redfern made that point, though in a less hostile way.’
Mulcaster squared up to him. ‘Who do you think you are?’ he demanded.
‘I’m an employee of the Cunard Line,’ replied Dillman, meeting his gaze, ‘which means that I have some jurisdiction aboard this vessel. You have none, Sergeant. You may be travelling in an official capacity but you are, technically, a mere passenger. That means you come within my sphere of influence. I am paid to look after you.’
‘Clear off!’
‘Not until you tell me why you’ve got so riled up.’
‘I don’t like people trespassing on my patch.’
‘That’s not what I was doing.’
‘Of course it was,’ Mulcaster said bitterly. ‘When you ask if Miss Masefield can talk to Carrie Peterson, what you’re really saying is that we’ve failed, so why not let your precious assistant show us how it’s done? That’s a professional insult.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be. Inspector Redfern understood that.’
‘I see your offer for what it was.’
‘Then I withdraw it unconditionally.’
‘You don’t have to, Mr Dillman. It’s been met with total rejection. We didn’t come all this way to hand over the interrogation of our prisoners to someone as wet behind the ears as Miss Masefield.’
‘She’s an experienced detective, believe me.’
‘I’d rather believe the evidence of my own eyes.’
‘Genevieve would surprise you.’
‘She won’t get the chance,’ said Mulcaster. ‘Nor will you. Do you understand? You and Miss Masefield may be able to track down someone’s missing collar-stud in first class, but this is a murder investigation. It’s way beyond the pair of you. Clear off, Mr Dillman. You’re out of your depth. I won’t warn you again.’
‘I hope that you won’t,’ Dillman replied coolly. ‘For your sake.’
The relaxed and easy-going Theodore Wright came close to losing his temper for once. He and his coach were standing on the boat deck when it happened.
‘This is nothing to do with you,’ he said.
‘Oh, yes it is,’ retorted Odell.
‘You’re my coach and manager. That’s all.’
‘My job is to get you past that finishing line first.’
‘And you’re doing it, Wes. You devise the training schedule and I stick to it. But that doesn’t give you the right to take over my life.’
‘We can’t afford distractions.’
‘Who’s being distracted?’
‘You are, Theo – or you soon will be.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not blind,’ said Odell. ‘I saw the way you were mooning over her. I’ve heard the number of times you manage to bring the name of Genevieve Masefield into the conversation.’
‘I like her.’
‘You’re hooked on the woman.’
‘That’s my business.’
‘Not if it affects your training program.’
‘It doesn’t, Wes. You know that. I haven’t let up for a moment.’
‘Keep it that way.’
‘I’m not going to spend the entire voyage in the saddle.’
‘Metaphorically, you are.’
Wright grinned. ‘“Metaphorically”, eh? That’s a big word for you. Where did you pick it up from, Wes? More to the point, what the hell does it mean?’
‘It means that you keep away from Miss Masefield.’
‘Who says so?’
‘I do, Theo. You’re a wonderful athlete but there are two things that can ruin you. Drink and women. I’ve seen it happen time and again. A guy gets to the top in this game then throws it all away for the sake of booze or, even worse’ – he stressed – ‘because some pretty girl smiles at him.’
‘Genevieve is not only pretty,’ Wright said loyally, ‘she’s beautiful.’
‘Far too beautiful for you.’
Wright was stung. ‘In what way?’
‘In every way, Theo. Look at her, will you? She’s an English thoroughbred. She’s got real class. Miss Masefield is way beyond the reach of someone like you. Can’t you see what will happen, Theo?’ he urged. ‘If you start chasing her, you’ll only end up being given a polite brush-off and then where will I be? Trying to coach a cyclist with a broken heart.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘I don’t work with losers.’
‘I’m a winner,’ asserted Wright. ‘On and off a bicycle saddle.’
Odell stiffened. ‘I’m ordering you to stay away from that woman.’
‘And I’m telling you to mind your own business.’ Pushing his coach aside, he stormed off angrily.
Odell wondered if he should go after him or wait until his ire had subsided. Before he could make up his mind, he became aware of someone standing by his side. Stanley Chase looked apologetic.
‘I seem to have come at the wrong moment,’ he said.
Odell forced a laugh. ‘Not at all. Theo always blows off steam like that.’
‘He sounded as if he was really upset.’
‘It was nothing. Now, then, Mr Chase. What can I do for you?’
Chase lowered his voice. ‘I wondered if I might have a word with you.’
Dinner that evening provided everyone in first class with an excuse to dress up and show off. The men wore white ties and tails while the women ransacked their wardrobes to find their most striking evening gowns. Jewellery of all kinds was reclaimed from the purser’s safe. Expensive perfume was sprayed in discreet amounts and cosmetics used sparingly yet artfully When the first batch of guests swept into the dining room, it was clear the hairdressers had been busy that afternoon. There was a distinct sense of occasion, heightened by the fact that a small orchestra was playing for the first time. Dinner on the Caronia was the special event around which the rest of the day revolved. Everyone entered into the spirit of it.
Genevieve caught only a fleeting glimpse of Dillman but she was struck anew by his elegance. Suave and graceful, he seemed completely at home in his surroundings. She liked to believe that she, too, blended in well. Once again, she sat opposite Waldo and Maria Singleton with their daughter beside her. Whenever her parents were preoccupied, Isadora passed on her comments about the earlier gathering.
‘It was a terrible ordeal,’ she confided. ‘Far too many people.’
‘Just as well that I didn’t barge in, then,’ said Genevieve.
‘Mother insisted on introducing me to every man under the age of thirty.’
‘Did you find any of them at all appealing?’
‘Not really. They all looked the same.’
‘What about Lord and Lady Eddington? Did you meet them?’
‘I had no choice,’ said Isadora. ‘Lord Eddington wore a monocle and his wife looked at me as if I were one of her domestic servants. It was rather unsettling.’
‘Take that kind of thing in your stride,’ Genevieve advised. ‘The strange thing is that I made a good impression on them. According to Mother, that is. She was triumphant. Lord Eddington owns a string of racehorses, it seems. When he invited us to share his box at Royal Ascot, I thought Mother would faint with joy.’
Genevieve was interested to hear all the gossip and offered what support she could. But she also took care to speak to the person on the other side of her, a middle-aged Englishwoman named Pamela Clyne, who was so lacking in confidence that she hardly ventured a word for the first half an hour. She was a plump, round-shouldered woman in a black dress that looked hopelessly old-fashioned. She wore neither jewellery nor cosmetics. Her grey hair was brushed back into a bun that was skewered in place by two bone pins. On her hands were thick black lace gloves. When Isadora spoke to her parents, Genevieve eventually managed to have something approximating a conversation with her other neighbour.
‘Was this your first trip to America, Miss Clyne?’
‘Yes,’ whispered the other.
‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Very much.’
‘Where did you stay?’
The question embarrassed her. ‘With a friend,’ she admitted.
‘And what did you see?’
‘New York, principally. It took my breath away, Miss Masefield.’
‘It is rather splendid, isn’t it?’
‘I found it a little intimidating.’
‘So did I, at first.’
‘They were nice people,’ said Pamela Clyne. ‘Very friendly.’
‘That’s what I found. Will you be going back again one day?’
‘Oh, no! There’s no possibility of that. This visit was very special. People like me don’t get to visit America more than once.’ She looked around uneasily ‘Especially in first class. I just don’t belong here.’
‘Yes, you do,’ said Genevieve, with a smile of encouragement. ‘Savour every moment of it, Miss Clyne. Think of the stories you’ll be able to tell your friends.’
‘There is that.’
Isadora soon reclaimed her but Genevieve did not forget Pamela Clyne. She wondered why such a tense and frightened woman had chosen to cross the Atlantic on her own, among people with whom she had so little in common. A week in the Lake District would have been more suited to her character. What impulse had taken her on a lengthy visit to a foreign country? It was baffling.
Dinner in the second-class restaurant was also a rather grand affair but it was a treat the two detectives had to forgo. Inspector Redfern and Sergeant Mulcaster ate in their own cabin then took a tray of food apiece in to their prisoners. Redfern chose to visit Carrie Peterson and was pleased when she cleaned her plate for the first time. When he got back to his cabin, Redfern passed on the information to Mulcaster.
‘Heritage only pecked at his food,’ said the sergeant. ‘I think he’s finally accepted that there’s no way out. We’ve got him.’
‘Yes, Ronnie. He gave himself away earlier when I asked about that poison.’
‘We still haven’t got a written confession out of him, though.’
Redfern took out his pipe. ‘It will come.’
Now that their charges had been fed and locked away, the two men could relax slightly. All the inspector wanted was to smoke a pipe and think about his wife and children. Mulcaster, a bachelor, had none of the comforts of family awaiting him in England. His mind was filled with visions of the kudos they would earn for their arrest of the two murder suspects. Excusing himself, he went out on deck for a stroll to ease the feeling of restlessness that had plagued him since they had set sail.
Redfern was left alone. After lighting his pipe, he took out his wallet and extracted the sepia photograph of his wife that he always carried with him. She had been alarmed at the thought that he was going three thousand miles in pursuit of two murder suspects, and doubtless would have endured some sleepless nights in his absence. He longed for the moment when he could see her again and reassure her with a warm embrace.
A polite tap on the door interrupted his thoughts. He looked up.
‘Yes?’
‘The steward, sir.’
‘What do you want?’
‘A message from the purser.’
Redfern hauled himself out of his chair and opened the door. But there was no uniformed steward outside it. He found himself staring into the barrel of a revolver held only inches from his face.
‘Back inside,’ ordered a curt voice. ‘I won’t ask twice, Inspector.’
Daniel Webb believed he was the unhappiest passenger aboard the Caronia. He loathed being at sea, he despised the accommodations in steerage and he detested the country to which he was being forced to return. Old and in failing health, he had tried to start a new life in America with the thousands of other emigrants who flocked there but he had been turned back at Ellis Island. What counted against him were his age, his medical condition, and the fact that he had criminal convictions to his name. He cursed himself for being so honest with the authorities. After being held in custody, he was summarily deported. The only way he could face the return voyage was by drinking as much alcohol as he could beg from other passengers. That night, he had been very successful, telling his tale of misery with such poignancy that he had earned himself a regular supply of beer. Webb had drunk too much too swiftly.
In the hope that the fresh air would clear his head, he went up onto the main deck but his stomach continued to churn even more violently. After being sick over the rail, he stumbled backwards into the shadows and sat down involuntarily on a coil of thick rope. It was dark and late. A gusting wind deterred anyone from trying to spend the night on deck and very few passengers were about. Webb dozed off to sleep for a few moments. When he awoke, he saw something that made him sit up in astonishment. Two men came out of the gloom to approach the rail. The second of them was holding something to the back of his companion’s head and pushing him forward. When they reached the rail, the second man suddenly clubbed the other to the floor with a series of vicious blows. He then lifted the heavy body with some difficulty and tipped it over the side of the ship. The noise of the ship’s engines muffled the sound of the splash.
Daniel Webb fell back into a drunken sleep.