Dillman examined the weapon with care. It was loaded. The detective went after the wounded man to question him, but he had already vanished around a corner. Dillman searched for him without success, wondering where he could possibly have gone. He could hardly bang on the door of every cabin in pursuit of him. Abandoning the search, he then went back to the companionway where the scuffle had occurred and climbed to the top. The corridor on the promenade deck was deserted, and there were no indications that a struggle had taken place. Dillman reasoned that it had been short-lived. The fact that nobody had been aroused by the sound showed how quickly the fight had been resolved. When he tumbled down the steps, the noise the man made was partially muffled by the constant hum of the ship’s engines. Dillman speculated on whether or not his presence had brought an end to the assault. Had the attacker simply pushed his victim down the steps, or would he have followed to inflict further damage? Whatever the truth, Dillman was grateful that he was passing when he did.
What mystified him was the victim’s reaction. Anyone else who was injured in that way would have welcomed help, yet the man had spurned it completely. He had not even admitted that the fight had taken place. Dillman wondered who he was. It was evident from his clothing that he had not dined in the first-class saloon, and Dillman did not recall having seen him on the ship before. Yet he had disappeared so quickly that he must have had a cabin on the upper deck. Dillman looked more closely at the weapon. It was a Smith & Wesson.38 Hand Ejector with a swing-out cylinder that was opened by a thumb-operated catch on the frame. He noted the locking lug under the barrel into which the front end of the ejector rod was engaged, thus securing the cylinder head at both ends. It was a refinement introduced by the manufacturer some years earlier. Dillman had once carried a revolver of that type in the course of his work as an operative for the Pinkerton Agency. It was an effective weapon, and the last thing he would have expected to find on a passenger.
The sound of footsteps down below alerted him. Thrusting the gun into his belt, he descended the steps at speed. Dillman reached the passageway below in time to see a figure walking casually away from him.
‘Mr Blaine?’ he called.
He stopped and turned. ‘Why, Mr Dillman. What are you doing about so late?’
‘I was enjoying a walk on deck.’
‘Wasn’t it rather cold out there?’
‘A trifle.’
‘I lingered rather longer in the smoking room than I intended,’ said Blaine with a polite yawn. ‘I was sorry to desert you and Mrs Brinkley like that.’
‘Not at all. You obviously had an important summons.’
‘It was a false alarm, as it happens,’ said the other with a bland smile. ‘I wish I’d stayed to enjoy another brandy. Charming lady, isn’t she?’ He gave another smile. ‘Mrs Brinkley, I mean.’
‘I didn’t think that you were referring to Mrs Van Bergen.’
‘Poor woman. I hope that she didn’t feel we were ganging up on her.’
‘We’ll know tomorrow when she chooses her table.’
Blaine pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Heavens! It is tomorrow,’ he said, putting the watch away. ‘I’m far too old to be up this late, Mr Dillman.’
‘We all need our sleep.’
Dillman followed him along the passageway and around the corner. Blaine paused outside the door to his cabin. He turned to look at his companion.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘have you had any more sightings of the gentleman?’
‘Which gentleman?’
‘The one you thought was watching us.’
‘My feeling is that he was keeping an eye on me,’ said Dillman. ‘But I haven’t been aware of him since. He’s either leaving me alone or being more careful.’
‘I hope it’s the former. That kind of thing is irritating.’
‘I take it that you haven’t been troubled by him, Mr Blaine?’
‘No,’ said the other cheerily. ‘I’ve had a wonderfully untroubled voyage so far. Apart from being ejected from my original cabin, that is. But one takes that kind of thing in one’s stride. Good night, Mr Dillman. Sleep well.’
Their second session was far more successful. It took place shortly after breakfast. Genevieve played the piano in the rehearsal room used by the orchestra. At Maxine’s suggestion, they concentrated on only a few songs, working hard on each one until they had refined their performance. When they broke off, Maxine was thrilled.
‘We’re getting somewhere at last, Jenny,’ she said.
‘You are, Maxine,’ replied Genevieve. ‘You got better and
better. I was more or less the same throughout.’
‘No, you weren’t. You improved each time.’
‘Did I?’
‘Of course,’ said Maxine, giving her a warm hug. ‘I’d choose you as my accompanist any day. Apart from anything else,’ she added with a cackle, ‘you don’t try to pinch my ass like the men who’ve played piano for me.’
Genevieve gathered up the sheets of music. ‘Look, I hope you don’t mind,’ she said uncertainly, ‘but I agreed to have luncheon with Fay Brinkley today.’
‘That’s fine by me, honey.’
‘You must be getting fed up with me by now, anyway.’
‘Not at all,’ said Maxine, ‘but you mustn’t feel tied to us. Rance was saying only last night how surprised he was that you didn’t spread your wings a little. Give all those single guys aboard a chance.’
‘Some of them don’t need encouragement, Maxine.’
‘You still having a problem with Mr Kincaid?’
‘Not really. But he did try to waylay me last night.’
‘We can soon put a stop to that.’
‘I coped.’
‘Let me speak to Rance. He’ll deal with it.’
‘No, Maxine. I don’t want any violence.’
‘There won’t be any,’ promised the other. ‘Rance will get someone to have a quiet word with Mr Kincaid. That’s all it will take. Tommy is an expert at quiet words.’
‘Tommy?’
‘Tommy Gault. He works for Rance.’
‘Well, I don’t want him involved in this, thank you,’ said Genevieve. ‘I had my own quiet word with Mr Kincaid and left him in no doubt about my feelings. I don’t think he’ll bother me again.’
‘Good. He’ll soon find someone else.’
‘Men like him always do.’
‘He’s still got that Mrs Van Bergen eating out of his hand.’
‘Who?’ asked Genevieve, recalling Dillman’s mention of the name.
‘Some fool of a woman who’s been taken in by him,’ she explained. ‘They play bridge together, apparently. In fact, it was Mrs Van Bergen who told him about our little performance of “Beautiful Dreamer”. That’s how he got our names in the first place. Kincaid is a sly old fox.’
‘He certainly knows how to exploit people.’
‘Well, he’s not going to exploit you, honey.’
They left the room and walked along the passageway. Genevieve began to fish.
‘I didn’t see Mr Hayashi at our table last night,’ she remarked.
‘No, he was dining with some Japanese friends.’
‘His wife wears the most beautiful clothes. I loved that jewellery in her hair.’
‘Hayashi is a rich man and he dotes on his wife.’
‘What sort of business is he in?’
‘I’m not sure but it clearly pays. Rance has had a lot of dealings with him. We’ll be staying with Hayashi and his wife in Kobe. They’re lovely people. Whenever I ask Rance about Japan, all he can talk about is geishas,’ she said with a snort. ‘What I want is one of those kimonos like Mrs Hayashi. She’s got half a dozen of them. Pure silk.’
They came to the end of the passageway and stopped. Genevieve pointed.
‘My cabin is this way,’ she said, ‘so I’ll leave you here. Thank you, Maxine.’
‘For what?’
‘Putting up with my mistakes on the piano.’
Maxine grinned. ‘I didn’t notice any. We’ll have another practice tonight, Jenny. In the meantime, we can have a good rest from each other. Actually,’ she said, ‘it’s a good job you won’t be sitting at our table today.’
‘Why?’
‘Things could get a little noisy Joe McDade will be there.’
‘Mr McDade?’ said Genevieve with interest. ‘I’ve met him.’
‘Then you know how he can sound off. His poor wife must be deaf with that voice booming in her ear all the time. Anyway, Rance needs to talk business with Joe, so we’ll have to put up with him.’
‘I thought that Mr McDade was involved in copper mining.’
‘He’s involved in everything, honey.’ Maxine grinned. ‘Just like Rance.’
Mike Roebuck stared at the revolver in dismay. He looked up at Dillman with a frown.
‘Where did you get this, George?’
‘One of your passengers dropped it by mistake.’
‘We can’t have people carrying weapons aboard the Minnesota. It’s against company rules. Somebody could get hurt.’
‘Actually, it was the man who owned this who got injured, Mike.’
‘How?’
‘That’s what I came to tell you.’
Dillman gave him a succinct account of what had happened and Roebuck listened intently. When his friend had finished, the purser had some surprising news for him.
‘And this guy vanished, you say?’
‘Into thin air.’
‘Not exactly, George. I had breakfast with Dr Ramirez this morning. He was called out just after midnight to treat a wounded man. Whoever pushed him down those steps did a good job,’ he said. ‘The guy had a broken arm and a couple of broken ribs. Quite apart from heavy bruising, that is.’
‘What about the head wound?’
‘Dr Ramirez had to put in six stitches.’
‘Did the man say how he’d come by the injuries?’
‘He reckoned he’d had too much to drink and fallen down the steps, but Ramirez didn’t believe him. There wasn’t the slightest scent of alcohol on his breath. He looked stone-cold sober. Anyway,’ he continued, handing the revolver back to Dillman, ‘I can explain how this guy disappeared before your eyes.’
‘Can you?’
‘He popped into a cabin. Not far from yours, as it happens. That’s where the doctor was summoned. Cabin number thirty-seven.’
‘Thirty-seven?’ Dillman was astonished. ‘That belongs to Mr Blaine.’
When the visitors came, Rutherford Blaine was seated in a chair, reading through a document. The knock on his cabin door made him stiffen. He walked slowly over.
‘Who is it?’ he called.
‘The purser, sir,’ said Roebuck.
‘This is not a convenient moment to call.’
‘I can’t help that, Mr Blaine. I need to speak to you urgently.’
‘What about?’
‘Last night.’
Blaine hesitated, considered the options, then reluctantly opened the door. Expecting to find the purser alone, he was taken aback to see that Dillman was standing beside him. Roebuck led the way into the cabin and the door was shut behind them.
‘What are you doing here, Mr Dillman?’ asked Blaine.
‘We’ll come to that in a moment, sir,’ said Roebuck. ‘Is it true that you called the doctor to this cabin last night?’
‘Yes. A friend of mine was injured.’
‘The name he gave to Dr Ramirez was Poole. Is that correct?’
‘Of course. Why shouldn’t it be?’
‘I’m just confirming details, Mr Blaine.’
‘Jake Poole’s name is on the passenger list. Check it and see.’
‘I already have, sir. Mr Poole seems to have a cabin on this deck as well. Number forty-eight. It’s around the corner. I wondered why the doctor was summoned here and not there.’
‘That’s easy to explain,’ said Blaine calmly. ‘Jake fell down the steps of that companionway nearby. He was badly dazed. Since my cabin was nearer, he came banging on my door and I took over.’
‘Was this before or after you met me?’ asked Dillman pointedly. ‘It couldn’t have been before, could it, Mr Blaine, because you were in the smoking room until midnight. I must say, I find that odd. You told me that you didn’t smoke.’
Blaine became indignant. ‘Are you doubting my word?’
‘Frankly, I am.’
‘Why? Look, what are you doing here in the first place?’
‘Hoping that you’ll tell us the truth, Mr Blaine,’ said Dillman coldly. ‘When I bumped into you last night, you weren’t returning from the smoking room at all. You were in that passageway to search for this.’
Opening his jacket, he produced the revolver and held it out. Blaine gasped.
‘Mr Dillman found it when the injured man fled,’ explained Roebuck. ‘He couldn’t understand why someone with a broken arm and broken ribs refused his offer of help. The very least that Mr Poole could have done was to ask him to fetch you.’
Running a tongue over his lips, Blaine looked from one man to another.
‘I had a feeling that you were not an ordinary passenger, Mr Dillman,’ he said with grudging admiration. ‘You were rather too observant.’
‘I’m employed as a detective on this vessel,’ admitted Dillman, ‘and I’ve seen far too much to be deceived. I suggest that you stop lying to us, Mr Blaine. We mean to get to the bottom of this matter.’
Blaine nodded. ‘You will. First, let me ask you an important question.’
‘Go on.’
‘What’s happened to Father Slattery?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Roebuck, exchanging a glance with Dillman. ‘I understand that Father Slattery is unwell. That’s why you haven’t seen him about.’
‘So he’s still in his cabin?’
‘Yes, Mr Blaine.’
‘Has the doctor been to see him?’
‘Of course.’
‘Now it’s you who’s lying,’ accused the other. ‘There’s nobody in that cabin at all. The bed has been stripped and Father Slattery’s belongings have all been tidied away into the wardrobe. Don’t hide the truth,’ he demanded. ‘He’s been killed, hasn’t he?’
Roebuck paused. ‘Father Slattery died,’ he said eventually. ‘He was murdered,’ insisted the other. ‘There’s no other conclusion to be drawn. Jake Poole inspected the cabin last night.’ He turned to Dillman. ‘That note you saw me receive in the dining saloon was from him.’ They stared blankly at him. ‘You don’t understand, do you? It was a dreadful mistake. Father Slattery was not the intended target at all. He wasn’t supposed to be in cabin number twenty-five. I was.’
Dillman thought quickly. He looked down at the gun and remembered the man who had been watching them on their first night. The same man had been lurking in the area of his cabin. The detective was certain that he knew his name now. ‘Mr Poole is your bodyguard, isn’t he?’
‘He was,’ said Blaine with a sigh. ‘Jake is not much use to me in that condition. Neither is that thing,’ he went on, pointing at the gun. ‘I wouldn’t have a clue how to fire it.’ He indicated the chairs. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, gentlemen? I think we have a lot to discuss.’
When Maxine found her husband, he was sitting in a chair on the boat deck beside a short, thickset man in his thirties with rugged features and a cauliflower ear. As soon as he saw his wife, Rance Gilpatrick hauled himself to his feet and gave his companion an order out of the side of his mouth.
‘Make yourself scarce, Tommy.’
‘Okay, Rance.’
‘I’ll speak to you later.’
Tommy Gault greeted Maxine with a gap-toothed grin and a raised hat. She gave him a farewell smile. Gilpatrick waited for his wife to sit down before he joined her.
‘Tommy has warmed it up for you, honey.’
‘I feel sorry for him every time I see that ear of his.’
‘Feel sorry for the man who gave it to him,’ said Gilpatrick with a chuckle. ‘Tommy knocked him out in the next round. The guy was out cold for hours. Still,’ he continued, patting her thigh, ‘you don’t want to hear about Tommy Gault’s boxing career. How did the rehearsal go?’
‘Much better.’
‘Is Genevieve going to be up to it?’
‘When she’s had more practice. She’s still very nervous.’
‘So am I when I’m around you,’ he said with a lecherous smirk.
‘Behave yourself, Rance!’
‘This is our honeymoon, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ she complained. ‘Then why do you spend so much time with your business associates? I’m beginning to feel neglected.’
‘Well, we can soon change that,’ he soothed. ‘Now, why don’t you think up some ways in which your loving husband can spoil you?’
‘I can give you a hundred at least.’
‘Hey, don’t overdo it, honey.’
‘Why don’t you start with a nice big kiss?’
He leaned over to kiss her. ‘There! That was a treat for me as well.’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Oh, by the way, Maxine, I need to ask you a favour. I want the cabin to myself for an hour or so this afternoon.’
‘Why?’ she teased. ‘Expecting a visit from another woman?’
‘Not unless she goes by the name of Joe McDade.’
She was hurt. ‘You’re kicking me out to make way for him?’
‘Joe and I need to talk.’
‘But we’re having lunch with him. You can talk to him all you want – if you can get a word in, that is. Joe McDade just loves the sound of his own voice.’
‘We need some privacy, Maxine. I never discuss business in public.’
‘There you go again,’ she protested. ‘I’m always in second place. You take me on our honeymoon, then tell me I can’t even get into my own cabin. It’s maddening. If Joe McDade is so keen to talk to you, why don’t you go to his cabin?’
‘His wife always takes a nap in the afternoons.’
‘What about me? Aren’t I allowed to take a nap?’
‘Not while I’m around.’ He squeezed her hand fondly. ‘I’ll make it up to you, honey. I promise. But tell me some more about Genevieve. Did you break it to her that there might not be room at our table today?’
‘I didn’t need to, Rance. Jenny had already agreed to eat with someone else.’
‘Not that English guy with the moustache?’
‘No,’ said Maxine. ‘Mr Kincaid won’t be allowed anywhere near her. All that stuff about meeting her at a party was a pack of lies. He never clapped eyes on her until this voyage. Kincaid was chancing his arm.’
‘So who is the lucky man?’
‘It’s a woman friend. Fay Brinkley.’
‘That smart-ass!’ he said with disgust. ‘Genevieve can keep her.’
‘They get on so well together.’
‘That’s what worries me, Maxine. I think they’re two of a kind, only Genevieve knows how to hide it better. Underneath, I reckon she’s just like Fay Brinkley.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Calculating.’
‘No, Rance,’ she said defensively. ‘That’s not true. Jenny is sweet.’
‘Oh, she can be very sweet when she wants to be. But I think it’s an act.’
‘It’s not. I’ve spent time alone with her – you haven’t.’
‘All right,’ he said, ‘what does she talk about when you’re together?’
‘Music. We’ve got all those songs to work on.’
‘She must talk about something else as well. Does she ever mention men?’
‘One in particular. Mr Kincaid. He’s been pestering her.’
‘My guess is that she can handle that. What else does she talk about?’
Maxine shrugged. ‘You, sometimes.’
He became wary. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, she thinks it’s wonderful the way you can fix things. Like the concert, for instance. Jenny is interested in what you do. She’s asked me about your business dealings more than once. And today,’ she recalled, ‘she was talking about Mr Hayashi.’
‘Hayashi? Why?’
‘She liked him.’
‘Not in that way, surely?’
Maxine laughed. ‘Of course not. He’s far too old for her.’
‘So what did she want to know about him?’ he pressed. ‘Come on, Maxine. This is important. Try to remember her exact words. What did she say?’
Genevieve Masefield met him in the purser’s office. Dillman was alone. He gave her a kiss of welcome, then offered her a chair. Still mystified, she sat down.
‘Thanks for your note,’ she said. ‘I came as quickly as I could, though we didn’t arrange to meet again until tonight.’
‘Something came up, Genevieve.’
‘That’s what I assumed.’
‘I didn’t want you to come to my cabin. There are too many people about. You might have been seen. Mike gave us the use of his office. We’ll be safe here.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I’ll explain that in a moment,’ he said. ‘Do you remember the incident that occurred when I first came aboard? That business with the cabins on the upper deck?’
‘Yes, George. You told me about it. Father Slattery was involved.’
‘To his cost, Genevieve.’
‘In what way?’
‘If he’d taken the cabin originally assigned to him, he’d still be alive.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because the assassin was not supposed to kill a Catholic priest,’ said Dillman. ‘The real target was the man I’ve talked about before, Rutherford Blaine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely sure. Let me tell you what happened.’
Dillman described his meeting with the injured man and his discovery of the revolver. She listened wide-eyed to his account of the visit to Blaine’s cabin.
‘But why should anyone want to kill him?’ she asked.
‘For political reasons, Genevieve.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘Mr Blaine is a diplomat. He’s on his way to Tokyo to hold secret talks.’
‘About what?’
‘He wasn’t at liberty to tell us that, but there’s no question about his authenticity. He showed us his credentials. I’m not sure how much you know about the situation in Japan,’ he said, ‘but it’s not entirely stable. There are certain people there who resent America bitterly. They didn’t like the way our president acted as mediator when Japan went to war with Russia, and they’ve got lots of other reasons to hate us. According to Mr Blaine, they’ve stirred up trouble and organised anti-American riots. He’s on a highly sensitive mission, Genevieve. It’s not difficult to guess one of its objects.’
‘Closer ties between America and Japan?’
‘In all probability. The details don’t matter. Mr Blaine does.’
‘Is he still in danger?’
‘Serious danger,’ said Dillman gravely. ‘When he was seen alive yesterday, it must have dawned on the assassin that he’s killed the wrong man. He tried to stalk Mr Blaine last night. Fortunately, the bodyguard got in the way.’
‘Where is this Mr Poole now?’
‘Recovering in bed. He can’t do his job properly while he’s there.’
‘So what’s going to happen?’
‘We have to take over,’ explained Dillman. ‘It’s our job to guard Mr Blaine now. The first thing was to move him from his existing cabin. That’s where Mike Roebuck is now. Sorting out the transfer and making sure that nobody else knows about it but the chief steward. Mr Blaine needs protection. The assassin will strike again.’
‘So we’re not looking for suspects with a motive to kill Father Slattery?’
‘Not any more. We were completely misled there.’
‘I’m rather relieved,’ she confessed.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, George. I suppose I felt rather ashamed of my suspicions about Mr Natsuki. He was such a pleasant man. I never really believed that he was a potential killer. I know that he had that blistering argument with Father Slattery,’ she said, ‘but I fancy it was more to do with Mrs Natsuki than her husband. She was cut to the quick by some of Father Slattery’s remarks. Mr Natsuki wouldn’t allow that. He went after the priest to confront him.’
‘He sounds like a good husband.’
‘He is, George. So polite and decent.’
‘How discreet do you think he would be?’
‘Why?’
‘We may need someone in due course who speaks Japanese. That was Mr Blaine’s view, anyway. The man who attacked his bodyguard was not an American.’
‘Japanese?’
‘Jake Poole didn’t get a proper look at him because he was wearing a mask, but he was certain that the man was Asiatic. He was short, quick, and skilled in jujitsu. That’s how he got the better of him,’ noted Dillman. ‘Mr Poole is a tough man. He wouldn’t be easy to overpower.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Check all the Japanese passengers?’
‘We already have, Genevieve.’
‘There must be dozens in first class.’
‘There are,’ he confirmed, ‘And well over a hundred in steerage. We haven’t got time to work our way through that lot. There’s a much simpler method.’
‘Is there?’
‘We wait until he comes to us.’
‘How?’
‘Mr Blaine is a brave man,’ he said admiringly. ‘He refuses to be shut up with an armed guard outside the door. As long as he’s in public, he’s fairly safe. Especially if he has company, and one of us will always have an eye on him.’
‘In other words, you’re using him to bait the hook?’
‘It was his idea, Genevieve.’
‘Will it work?’
‘I hope so.’
‘What about me?’ she wondered.
‘Carry on with what you’re doing,’ he advised. ‘Just because we’re after some political hothead, it doesn’t mean that we forget Rance Gilpatrick. I’d like to know more about his business dealings with Mr Hiyashi.’
‘I asked Maxine about that. She knew no details. But she and Gilpatrick will be staying with the Hiyashis in Kobe,’ she said. ‘So they must be close.’
‘What else have you learned?’
‘The identity of another of Gilpatrick’s associates. Joseph McDade.’
Dillman wrinkled his brow. ‘Where have I heard that name before?’
‘From me,’ she reminded him. ‘Mr McDade and his wife dined at my table on the first evening, He was the loudmouthed man who sprayed his opinions all over us.’
‘I remember now. What’s his connection with Gilpatrick?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
‘Any other progress?’
‘Yes,’ she said, keen to pass on the information. ‘We knew that Gilpatrick would have henchmen. I discovered who one of them is.’
‘Well done! How did you manage that?’
‘I mentioned to Maxine that Mr Kincaid had been hassling me.
Dillman tensed. ‘When was this?’
‘Last night, after the rehearsal. He intercepted me on my way back to the cabin.’
‘You never told me about it.’
‘We had rather a lot of other things to discuss, George. In any case,’ she said with a dismissive gesture, ‘I dealt with it in my own way. But Maxine wanted to bring her husband in on it. She offered to get one of his men to frighten Kincaid off.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘I wouldn’t hear of it. I fight my own battles.’
‘Or call in me as your heavy artillery,’ he said fondly, ‘though I don’t think that I’d be needed somehow. Did you ask who might be brought in to warn Kincaid off?’
‘I did.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Mr Gault,’ she said. ‘Tommy Gault.’
Most people on the boat deck wore coats and hats, but one of them braved the cold wind in a singlet, a pair of shorts, and some boxing boots. Dancing nimbly on his toes, he swished the skipping rope over his head with increasing speed until he built up a steady rhythm. A small crowd, most of them children, gathered to watch him. They had never before seen anyone skip so well or for such a long time. In spite of the wind, the man was soon sweating freely. His face was glistening by the time that Rance Gilpatrick strolled past with his wife on his arm. Gilpatrick waved to his friend.
‘That’s it, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Keep in shape. I may have work for you to do.’
When Genevieve spotted her going into the library, she seized her opportunity. Blanche McDade was a rather forlorn figure. She stood in front of the shelves of books as if bewildered by the range of choice. Genevieve came into the room.
‘Oh, good morning, Mrs McDade,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ said Blanche, turning to see her. ‘Are you looking for a book?’
‘Yes,’ replied Genevieve, pretending to scan the shelves. ‘I was wondering if they had any English authors.’
‘I like something with romance in it.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, Miss Masefield. Joe always sneers at me for reading such books, but I adore them. And I have so much time to read these days.’
‘Do you know Thomas Hardy’s novels?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘They’re not exactly romances,’ said Genevieve, ‘but I think you’d enjoy them. He draws the female characters so well, though some of them do suffer.’
‘I don’t want anything sad.’
‘Then you’re better off choosing your own.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m rather fond of historical novels, Mrs McDade. People always seem to have had so much more fun in the old days. At least, that’s the impression one gets from the books. The reality, I suspect, was very different.’
‘Oh, I’m sure it was, Miss Masefield. Life was very harsh. I remember the tales my grandmother used to tell us. They made our hair curl.’
‘Where did you grow up?’
‘In Nebraska.’
‘Is that where you met Mr McDade?’
‘No, that was in Chicago,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘We were attending the wedding of a mutual friend. I’m Joe’s second wife, you know,’ she explained. ‘We’ve only been together for ten years.’
Genevieve was surprised. ‘You seem to have been together for longer than that.’
‘I know. It feels like an eternity sometimes.’
‘Is your husband a reader?’
‘He never has time, Miss Masefield. The only thing that Joe ever reads is the financial pages in the newspapers. He’s a businessman. He always will be. I accepted that when we married. But he’s a good husband,’ she said loyally. ‘I want for nothing.’
‘Except his company, I should imagine.’
‘Joe is a busy man. Besides, I do like to be on my own sometimes.’
‘Are you enjoying the voyage?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Blanche, taking down a book to examine it. ‘It’s much more comfortable than I thought it would be. And we’ve met such interesting people.’
‘That’s the beauty of travelling by sea. You have time to develop friendships.’ Selecting a book of her own, Genevieve flicked through it. ‘I understand that you know Mr Gilpatrick,’ she said casually.
‘Joe does. I’ve never met him before.’
‘He’s a fascinating man. I was lucky enough to be at Mr Gilpatrick’s table last night. I’ve never met anyone who’s done so much and been so far.’
‘That’s what Joe says about him.’
‘Are they business acquaintances?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Blanche sadly. ‘My husband doesn’t have any other kind.’
‘What about you, Mrs McDade?’
‘I have my books.’ She replaced one volume and took out another. ‘You must have met Mrs Gilpatrick, then.’
‘Yes,’ said Genevieve, ‘she’s a delightful woman.’
‘Joe says I must be nice to her. He needs to talk business with Mr Gilpatrick after lunch, so he wants me to keep Mrs Gilpatrick occupied. I’m not very good at that sort of thing, Miss Masefield,’ she said shyly. ‘I’m sure that you noticed.’
‘You’ll have no problems with Maxine Gilpatrick.’
‘Joe said that she used to sing professionally.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I wish that I could have done something like that,’ said Blanche wistfully, ‘but I was brought up in a strict household. My father wouldn’t let any of us develop our interests. The only singing I was allowed to do was in church.’
Genevieve exchanged her book for another. ‘What sort of business does your husband do with Mr Gilpatrick?’ she asked, reading the title page.
‘They export things together.’
‘Copper?’
‘Oh, no. Something quite different. Joe never talks about it to me, but I think it’s to do with those catalogues of his.’
‘Catalogues?’
‘Yes, he brought them with him to show to Mr Gilpatrick.’
‘Do you know what’s in the catalogues?’
‘I haven’t a clue, Miss Masefield. To be honest, I daren’t look.’
Annoyed with himself and in continual pain, Jake Poole was propped up on his bunk. His right arm was in a splint and supported by a sling. Heavy strapping had been put around his ribs. Dark bruises showed on his face and hands. Dillman was sympathetic.
‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked.
‘Frustrated, Mr Dillman. I want to be out there after that bastard.’
‘Not while you’re in that state.’
‘He caught me when I wasn’t looking.’
‘You’re young and fit,’ Dillman pointed out. ‘If Mr Blaine had been clubbed over the head and pushed down those stairs, he might not be here to tell the tale.’
‘That’s the one consolation. I protected Mr Blaine.’
‘Any idea who the man was?’
‘None at all,’ said Poole. ‘He came out of the blue.’
‘Were you expecting an attack?’
‘Not at the start, Mr Dillman. I thought this would be a routine mission. It’s not the first time I’ve kept an eye on Mr Blaine when he’s visited Japan. In the past, we had no problems at all.’’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because nobody knew who we were and why we were travelling.’
‘How did they find out this time?’ said Dillman.
Poole was vengeful. ‘I wish I knew!’
The talk with the bodyguard was revealing. Though he knew no details of the discussions that were to take place, he gave Dillman a clear indication of Blaine’s importance in diplomatic circles. For some years, Blaine had had ambassadorial duties. Close to the president, he was tried and trusted. Poole also stressed what an easy man he was to work beside. The two of them had been all over the Orient together.
‘Why didn’t you take advantage of onboard security?’ asked Dillman. ‘If we’d known who Mr Blaine was, we could have arranged additional protection.’
‘It’s never been needed before,’ said Poole. ‘Besides, we were anxious not to draw attention to ourselves. The point about secret missions is that they’re supposed to be secret. We assumed that this one was.’
‘Until you had suspicions about Father Slattery.’
‘Yes, Mr Dillman. It was so strange for him to disappear like that. And he was occupying the cabin that was originally assigned to Mr Blaine. That worried us,’ he admitted. ‘When he didn’t appear for dinner, I broke into the cabin to see for myself. It was then that I knew we had a real problem.’
‘Why not go straight to the purser?’
‘I thought I could take care of it myself.’
‘Well, you couldn’t,’ said Dillman reasonably. ‘If you’d been a little less secret and a little more sensible, none of this would have happened.’
Poole was defiant. ‘I know my job, Mr Dillman.’
‘There are times when even the best of us need help. You shouldn’t have pushed me away like that last night. I might have saved you a lot of pain.’
‘I didn’t want you to find out what I was doing onboard.’
‘Well, I know now, Mr Poole. That’s why I’ve come here. I need your advice.’
‘Have you protected anyone before?’
‘Yes,’ said Dillman. ‘When I was with the Pinkerton Agency. I was hired to protect someone who shut the workers out of his factory. It got pretty hectic at times. I can’t say that it was a job that I enjoyed.’
‘Why not?’
‘I didn’t take to the man I was supposed to protect, and my sympathies were very much with his employees. Still,’ he said resignedly, ‘I wasn’t paid to take sides. I kept him out of trouble and that was that. But this situation is rather different.’
‘It is, Mr Dillman. There’s no place you can hide on a ship.’
‘So what do you suggest?’
Jake Poole’s physical injuries had not affected his brain. His advice was clear, practical, and based on experience. Eager to learn, Dillman paid close attention. Most of his own work had been investigative. It was intriguing to listen to a specialist like Poole.
‘You’re the first guy that spotted me,’ confessed the bodyguard.
‘Only out of the corner of my eye.’
‘That never happens as a rule. I pride myself on being a good shadow. Most of the time, Mr Blaine doesn’t even know that I’m there.’
‘Someone did, Mr Poole.’
‘Yes,’ said the other, wincing as a spasm of pain shot through him. ‘If they knew that Mr Blaine was on the ship, they’d figure that he’d have cover of some kind. They must know that I’m out of action now. Be careful, Mr Dillman.’
‘I will.’
‘You’ll be a marked man.’
‘Only if they realise that I’ve replaced you.’
‘Are you armed?’
‘No, but I’m forewarned.’
‘Borrow my revolver.’
‘I don’t think I’ll need that.’
‘You might,’ said Poole. ‘They made one mistake, choosing the wrong cabin. Don’t bank on them to make another.’
‘Their mistake was to travel on the same ship as me,’ said Dillman with a determined glint. ‘Someone had the temerity to commit murder right under my nose. That offended me deeply, Mr Poole. Like you, I take pride in my job. I won’t just be looking after Mr Blaine from now on. I’ll find the person or persons behind this murder,’ he vowed. ‘When I’m the ship’s detective, I like to keep it spick-and-span.’
Genevieve Masefield strolled towards the dining saloon with Fay Brinkley beside her.
‘What book did Mrs McDade choose in the end?’ asked Fay.
‘It was called The Love of His Life.’
‘Well, it certainly wasn’t written by her husband,’ said Fay crisply. ‘Mr McDade hardly notices that the poor woman is there.’
‘She’s his second wife,’ explained Genevieve. ‘The first one died.’
‘What of – neglect or humiliation?’
‘Don’t be so cynical, Fay.’
‘Some men treat their wives abominably.’
‘The wives must take a little of the blame for that,’ said Genevieve. ‘They should stand up for themselves.’
‘Wait until you get married,’ warned Fay. ‘You’ll see how difficult it is.’
‘I’m sure that you stood up for yourself.’
‘Of course, Genevieve. I like things my own way.’
Fay laughed and led the way into the dining saloon. They were at a table with the Langmeads, Mr and Mrs Natsuki, and an elderly man called Vernon Silverstein. He greeted them with a smile, but used a battered ear trumpet when introductions were made. Silverstein had once worked in the Imperial Maritime Customs Service and was returning to China to visit old friends. In spite of his hearing difficulties, he took a full part in the conversation and displayed a gift for anecdote from the very start. The eighth chair at the table remained empty, and Genevieve assumed that nobody would take it. Just before the meal was served, however, a dishevelled David Seymour-Jones slipped into the seat and murmured his apologies. He had to repeat his words more loudly into the ear trumpet for the benefit of Silverstein.
Genevieve remained composed but quailed inwardly. Since the artist was seated directly opposite her, she could not avoid his gaze. It was Fay who brought him into the general conversation.
‘Are you still sketching the passengers, Mr Seymour-Jones?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Mrs Brinkley,’ he replied. ‘I’ve filled one pad already.’
‘Do I appear in it?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘Don’t I appeal to you as a subject?’
‘Very much,’ he said, ‘but you spend most of your time on the promenade deck and I tend to work elsewhere. Some of my best work has been done on the main deck among the steerage passengers. I have some wonderful group scenes.’
‘What do you do with your drawings?’ said Horace Langmead.
‘I keep them as mementos.’
‘You gave one to Miss Masefield,’ recalled Fay.
‘That was a rather special portrait.’
‘I thought it was astonishingly lifelike.’
‘Did you charge for it?’ said Langmead.
‘Horry!’ chided his wife.
‘It’s a simple question.’
‘The simple answer is that I didn’t, Mr Langmead,’ said Seymour-Jones with a glance at Genevieve. ‘I never charge friends.’
Langmead chuckled. ‘I can see you don’t have an entrepreneurial spirit, my friend. If I had your talent, I’d be hawking it around the first-class passengers. Some of them would pay handsomely for a portrait. People are vain. They love to be flattered.’
‘My portraits are not meant to flatter,’ said the artist. ‘They record truth.’
‘For whose benefit?’
‘Mine, Mr Langmead.’
‘Well, I don’t know that I’d like the truth about my face,’ said Etta Langmead light heartedly. ‘I’d want you to take at least ten years off me.’
‘You could take forty off me!’ said Silverstein, listening through his ear trumpet.
The laughter coincided with the arrival of the waiter, and they broke off to place their orders. Seymour-Jones made a point of ordering everything that Genevieve did, and she was discomfited by that. However, he made no attempt to talk to her. He engaged Natsuki and his wife in a discussion about Japan, tossing in the occasional phrase in Japanese. They were impressed by his intimate knowledge of their country. Silverstein monopolised the Langmeads with stories of his time as a customs official, leaving Genevieve free to converse at length with Fay Brinkley. The latter was delighted to renew their friendship.
‘It’s ages since we had a proper talk, Genevieve,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d lost you forever to the Gilpatricks.’
‘They let me out on parole, Fay.’
‘Gilpatrick is such an egregious character.’
‘I can’t say that he’s the most prepossessing man I’ve met onboard.’
‘Who is?’
‘I haven’t made up my mind yet.’
‘Nobody at this table, I suspect,’ said Fay conspiratorially.
‘Hardly,’ agreed Genevieve. ‘I seem to attract the wrong people. The latest is a dreadful man who pretended that he’d met me at a party in England. I believed him at first. He was so convincing.’
‘What was his name?’
‘Willoughby Kincaid. Watch out for him.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s the kind of man who makes a hobby out of preying on attractive women.’
‘Nobody preys on me,’ said Fay bluntly.
‘I know,’ returned Genevieve. ‘I’m not suggesting you’re at risk. I just thought you’d be amused by his seedy charm. Age doesn’t seem to be a factor for him. The idea of conquest is everything, however young or old a woman might be.’
‘What is he? A disreputable English roué?’
‘Judge for yourself. He’s very plausible on the surface.’
‘What will I find underneath?’
‘A self-appointed man of the world.’
‘Oh dear!’ said Fay. ‘One of those! I’ll give Mr Kincaid a miss.’
‘He may not let you, Fay. He seems to be working his way through all the unattached ladies. Your turn is bound to come.’
‘He’ll be wasting his time with me, Genevieve.’
‘You might enjoy seeing him in action.’
‘No thanks,’ said Fay. ‘I’m not providing target practice for some rake. No disrespect to your nation, but I’ve never found the English male very appealing.’
‘Why not?’
‘I suppose it’s because they’re too English.’
Genevieve laughed. ‘I’m not letting you get away with a slur like that.’
‘I speak as I find, Genevieve. The Englishmen I’ve met have always been so stiff and humourless. What they learn in those exclusive schools of theirs, I don’t know, but they’ve certainly never been taught how to talk to a woman. Actually, very few men have, whatever their nationality.’ She gave a confiding smile. ‘Though I have met one man who passed the test.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was my idea of what a man ought to be. Intelligent, sensitive, attentive.’
‘What was his name?’
‘George Dillman,’ said Fay. ‘I sat next to him at dinner last night. He’s younger than I am but I’ll tell you this: I came dangerously close to flirting with him.’
Genevieve hoped that her blush did not show.