The orchestra played to an appreciative audience that included Cyril and Ada Weekes, Dorothea Erskine, Genevieve Masefield seated between Abigail and Carlotta Hubermann, the Palgraves, the Latimers holding hands surreptitiously, Edward Collins, and Ellen Tolley, who had come early to ensure seats in the front row so that her father could stretch out his leg. It was a long and varied program. During the first half, Violet Rymer was as taut as the strings on the instruments. Though two of her favorite pieces were played, she hardly heard a note, rehearsing instead her excuse to withdraw during the interval and looking forward to the joyful reunion with Philip Garrow. She was at once exhilarated at the thought of what lay ahead and terrified that something might happen at the last moment to threaten it.
Mozart brought the first half of the concert to an end. Applause was generous. As the orchestra retired for well-earned rest, there was a rustle of dresses and flapping of programs beneath the heavy murmur of voices. Nairn Mackintosh was among several who withdrew to relieve himself. Sylvia Rymer was about to join those heading for the ladies’ room when her daughter touched her on the arm.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll slip out now,” said Violet.
“But why, dear?”
“I have a slight headache.”
“What a shame!”
“You’ll have to excuse me.”
“But it may pass off soon.”
“What I need is some fresh air.”
“Do you want me to come with you, Violet?”
“Oh, no!”
“I hate the thought of you being unwell.”
“It’s only a headache, Mother.”
“You are looking a trifle flushed, I must say.”
“There’s no point in your missing the second half as well,” said Violet, detaching herself. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to … go on deck for a while. Good-bye.”
Before her mother could say anything else, Violet moved quickly toward the exit and went out, not daring to look back until she was well clear of the music room. Nobody had followed her. She was safe. It would be at least another hour before Sylvia Rymer emerged to look for her, and her father, she was certain, would now be dozing in their suite. As she hurried off, she reflected on the kindness and discretion of George Dillman. The American had tracked down Philip Garrow, delivered her letter, brought a verbal reply, and given her directions to the second-class cabin where she was to meet her lover. She was tripping along as fast as she could, resisting the urge to break into a run and trembling so much that she bunched her fists hard in an effort to control herself.
When she reached the cabin, she first checked her appearance in a nearby mirror and brought a hand up to stroke back her hair. Clearing her throat and wishing that her heart would not pound so violently, she tapped on the cabin door. It opened almost immediately.
“Philip!”
“Come in,” he urged.
Drawing her into the cabin, Philip Garrow locked the door, then turned to gaze at her. Dressed in his new suit, he looked smarter than she had ever seen him before and that added to his luster. She did not see the dark shadows under his eyes or observe how nervous he was. Violet was too overwhelmed by the wonder of what was taking place. It was the first time they had ever been alone in a room with a bed before. As she glanced across at it, she blushed. Garrow gave a sudden laugh, almost a giggle of triumph, then reached out to embrace her. Violet Rymer clung desperately to him as her eyes became fountains of tears.
* * *
The first theft took place at the concert. An elderly lady had her purse stolen. The problem was that she could not remember whether she had left it on her seat during the interval or took it with her to the ladies’ room. A search of both places was fruitless. A second crime, it seemed, was also committed during the concert. When they got back to their cabin at its conclusion, a retired doctor and his wife discovered that a number of small items were missing, including a valuable French Empire clock, which they were taking to America as a gift for their hosts. Charles Halliday did his best to reassure the victims but all three were deeply upset by what had taken place.
When yet another theft was reported, the purser had to call in Dillman. One of the most priceless items aboard the ship had been stolen and its owner was in a towering rage.
“I will sue the Cunard Line!” threatened Itzak Weiss. “How on earth could this happen? It’s monstrous.”
“We must have the full details, sir,” said Halliday patiently.
“My violin was taken!” yelled the other. “That is the only detail that matters. It is a Stradivarius. Quite irreplaceable. I bought it many years ago in Vienna and it has been a sublime instrument. Do you know what a Stradivarius is? How much it means to a musician to possess one?”
“I assume that the instrument is insured, Mr. Weiss.”
“That’s immaterial! No amount of money can atone for its loss. We are talking about one of the finest violins ever made.”
“The thief appreciates that, sir,” said Dillman. “An artiste of your distinction would only play an instrument of the highest quality.”
“Find him! Arrest him!”
“One step at the time, Mr. Weiss.”
The musician paced up and down the cabin like a caged tiger. His heavy jowls were puce with rage. His broad shoulders were hunched, his eyes blazing. Dillman noticed how small, white, and delicate his hands seemed. Weiss brought them up to his temples in a gesture of despair.
“I am ruined!” he wailed. “Without my violin, I am ruined.”
“If you could give us more details, please,” the purser began.
“Who could do such a thing! It’s abominable.”
“You have our deepest sympathy.”
“What use is that, man? I want my violin!”
He came to a halt and unleashed a stream of abuse. Austrian by birth, he had a guttural accent that gave his words more bite and authority. As his fury built, however, he lost faith in the ability of the English language to express his full disgust and lapsed back into German. Dillman waited until the storm blew itself out, then he took command of the situation.
“Might I suggest that we all sit down, Mr. Weiss?” he said.
“What?” mumbled the other in a daze.
“Sit over here, sir,” said Dillman, guiding him to an armchair, “so that we can review the situation more calmly. Before we go any further, let me assure you that we will retrieve your violin as soon as possible.”
“How?”
“I will explain.” Indicating that Halliday should join him, Dillman lowered himself on to the sofa. “Your violin is still on board this ship. We will search the vessel from top to bottom until we find it. There is no chance whatever that anyone will manage to smuggle it into New York. It is only a question of time before it is safely back in your hands.”
Weiss was distraught. “If, as you say, it is still on board. But what if it has been destroyed? Or thrown into the sea?”
“Inconceivable.”
“Is it?”
“Nobody would take the risk of stealing it in order to damage it, still less to hurl it overboard. The thief understands its true value. There is an old Turkish proverb, Mr. Weiss. ‘He who steals a minaret knows where to hide it.’ That is what must have happened here. Only someone who knew how to sell such an instrument at the best price would go to the trouble of stealing it.”
“Then why didn’t they take the case with it?”
“I can only hazard a guess.”
“Mein Gott! It’s a Stradivarius. It needs to be treated with the utmost care. When I am not practicing, it never leaves its case. What kind of a madman would just grab the violin on its own?”
“Someone who probably has another case waiting for it,” said Dillman, speculating quietly. “One that does not have a name inscribed on it as yours does. There’s another consideration. This theft took place sometime in the past hour or so. In broad daylight. A violin case is very conspicuous. The thief didn’t want to be seen carrying it when he took it back to his cabin. On its own, it might more easily be concealed inside a coat or beneath a garment draped over an arm.”
“How long were you absent from the cabin?” asked Halliday.
“I told you. An hour, perhaps a little more. My wife and I had a walk on deck, then she went to the lounge.” A fresh surge of despair sent his hands up to his temples again. “Ruth! My dear wife! What is she going to say when she learns about this? She will be heartbroken!”
“Perhaps it is just as well that you made the discovery on your own,” said Dillman. “Mrs. Weiss was spared that horror. I know that it’s small consolation, but you will have time to prepare her before you break the news to her. That may lessen the pain slightly.”
“It will not lessen my pain, Mr. Dillman.”
“I understand that, sir.”
“I am due to play in New York the day after we land. Brahms. How can I honor my commitment when I have no violin? How can I practice?”
“We can at least solve that problem,” said the purser helpfully. “I’m sure that we can borrow a violin from a member of the orchestra.” He saw the other’s grimace. “Yes, Mr. Weiss, I know it’s not the same, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I want my own instrument.”
“You will get it, sir.”
“When?”
“When we find it,” promised Dillman. “Both the violin and the thief are rarefied specimens. There’s only one person aboard this ship who would even dream of committing such a crime.”
“He deserves to be shot!” exclaimed Weiss.
“Don’t worry,” said Halliday. “He’ll pay the full penalty.”
“He’d better, sir. I hold you responsible.”
“You should have kept the violin in my safe, Mr. Weiss.”
“What use is it in there when I want to practice?” The virtuoso jumped up from his seat. “Are you telling me that the Cunard Line expects to have Stradivarius stolen? Is that why I should have had it locked away? What sort of a ship is this if a man’s violin cannot be left safely in his cabin? Are all our possessions in danger? Have other people had things taken from them? What kind of security do you call this?”
Charles Halliday chose not to answer and he was grateful when Dillman again came to his rescue, calming the violinist down sufficiently to be able to extract full details of his whereabouts during his absence and how he made the discovery of the crime. When they were about to depart, Itzak Weiss’s misery had got the better of his anger. He looked up dolefully into Dillman’s face.
“Tell me the truth, sir. I will get my violin back?”
“Without a shadow of doubt.”
“And this vile thief?”
“Leave him to us, sir.”
“Where will you look for him?”
“Among the audience at the music concert. We’re dealing with a man who loves music, who might even be, or have been, a musician himself. That’s where I’ll start searching for him.”
“But how could he take my Stradivarius if he was at the concert?”
“There was an interval, Mr. Weiss. A long interval.”
“But who exactly is he, Violet? Who is this George Porter Dillman?”
“I told you, Philip. He’s a friend.”
“What sort of friend?”
“One that I can trust,” she said. “I needed help from someone.”
“But why him?”
“Mr. Dillman was the only person I could ask.”
“And what will he expect in return?” asked Philip Garrow.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s such a considerate man. He was glad to help.”
“I didn’t see any signs of gladness when I met him. He was much too smooth for my liking. Too smooth and too watchful. I began to wonder if this Dillman had designs on you himself.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it?”
“I’ve only known him a few days.”
“So?”
Violet Rymer was almost overcome with disappointment. Expecting to fall into his arms and kiss away their long absence, she had spent most of the time with Philip Garrow arguing pointlessly about the man who had indirectly brought them together. When she stepped into the cabin, she had left all thoughts of Dillman behind her but he appeared to have followed her in. Garrow’s jealousy was turning the meeting into an ordeal. She had never seen him in such an unpleasant mood before.
“Perhaps I’d better go,” she announced.
“No!” he protested. “Not yet. We haven’t decided anything.”
“You seem to have decided something about Mr. Dillman. And I find it very distressing. How could you even think such a thing? After all that we’ve been through together, all the risks I’ve taken on your behalf.” Her eyes moistened again. “There isn’t a man in the world to touch you. How can you stand there and accuse me like that?”
“I’m not accusing you, Violet,” he said soothingly.
“It’s very hurtful.”
“Then I apologize, I really do, because I’d hate to hurt you in any way. I love you. I’ve missed you. That’s why I’m so on edge. I hardly slept a wink last night.”
“Neither did I.”
“I’ve been dying to see you again.”
“Thought of nothing else,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “When I realized that you were on board the ship, I nearly fainted with joy. It was the last thing I dared hope for.”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, you certainly did that.”
“And are you happy now, Violet?”
She nodded. “Are you?”
He took her in his arms again and kissed her on the lips. Violet was willing but too inexperienced to put any real passion into the kiss. Still holding her tight, he moved her slowly across the cabin. When her leg touched the side of the bed, she tensed in alarm.
“No, Philip!”
“Why not?”
“I can’t. I daren’t.”
“Won’t you just sit on the bed with me?” She hesitated. “Violet, it’s me. We’re alone together at last. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes, but I’m not ready for anything else yet.”
“We have to seize the chance when we can.”
Violet was shocked. “Just like that? With no time to prepare? It’s wrong, Philip. I know I couldn’t go through with it. Besides, I’ll have to get back soon or they’ll start wondering where I am.”
“Let them wonder.” He tried to lower her into a sitting position on the bed but she resisted. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do!”
“I thought you wanted me, Violet.”
“Yes. But the first time must be special. We always promised each other that it would be. I can’t be rushed into it like this. I want it to be perfect. In a hotel room. In a bed. With no pressures. Perfect.”
“Wherever it happens, it will be perfect,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s me, Violet. You’ve nothing to be afraid of here. I’m your lover. I’m going to be your husband. Why must we wait?”
He exerted a little more force and she consented to perch on the very edge of the bed. As soon as he started to fondle her with more urgency, however, Violet grew frightened and broke away from him. She stood up and crossed to the other side of the cabin.
“This isn’t at all as I hoped it would be,” she complained.
“No, it isn’t!” he said ruefully.
“We haven’t even talked properly yet.”
He stood up wearily. “What is there to talk about?”
“In the first place, how on earth you come to be here.”
“I bought a ticket, embarked at Queenstown.”
“But where did you get the money from, Philip? And how could you afford that new suit? You had nothing when you were in England. I had to lend you some of my own savings.”
“And I’ll repay every penny of that,” he said quickly.
“Have you got a new job or something?”
“Not exactly.”
“Did someone loan you the money, then?”
“No, Violet. I’m paying my own way.”
“That’s wonderful! How are you managing to do it?”
“Don’t bother about that.”
“But I do bother. You said we were to have no secrets from each other. Three weeks ago, I thought I’d lost you forever. My parents told me that they were taking me on this voyage to get me away from you. Daddy swore that I’d never see you again. He was horrid to me.” She quailed at the memory, then looked plaintively across at him. “So tell me, Philip. Where did the money come from?”
“Where do you think?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“No!” she cried. “I don’t believe it.”
“Couldn’t you work it out for yourself?”
“It never occurred to me.”
“Well, that’s how it was, Violet.”
“But they told me that they’d simply warned you off.”
“I don’t warn off easily.”
“My father actually paid you?”
“Handsomely,” said Garrow with a smirk. “He’s the sort of man who thinks you can solve any problem if you throw enough money at it. So he bought me off. Or tried to, anyway. He gave me a large amount of cash on condition that I stopped bothering you. So I did.” Another smirk. “For the time being, at any rate. I went back to Ireland and booked a passage on the Lusitania. Had this suit made up by a tailor in Dublin. Bought a whole new wardrobe, in fact. Daddy was very generous.”
“That’s dreadful!” she said. “Paying you off like that.”
“I wasn’t going to refuse the money, Violet. Especially as it enabled me to get close to you again. Don’t you see? That’s the beauty of it. In trying to get rid of me, your father made it possible for us to be together. The joke is on him!”
“I’d hardly call it a joke.”
“Would you rather I hadn’t come?”
“No, no, of course not,” she said, going back to him to take his hands in hers. “I’m just shocked, that’s all. It’s a terrible thing to do. Giving you money to leave me alone.”
“Happens every day, Violet,” he said. “All over London, there are anxious fathers trying to get rid of their daughters’ unwelcome suitors.”
“You’re not unwelcome to me!”
“I’m so glad to hear you say that.”
“I just wish you’d thrown the money back in my father’s face.”
“And miss the chance of this voyage?”
She let him kiss her again but it was a perfunctory embrace. Her mind was deeply troubled. Violet was still trying to make sense of what she had just heard. It forced her to revalue her relationship with her parents in the most profound way. When she looked up at him, she was completely bewildered.
“Philip?”
“Yes?”
“All of a sudden, I’ve lost my bearings.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know where I am—where we are.”
“Together, Violet. Where we’ve always wanted to be.”
“Yes,” she said. “But whatever are we going to do now?”
When they left Itzak Weiss, they went straight back to the purser’s cabin. Charles Halliday closed the door behind them, then snatched off his hat and flung it down on the desk.
“It never rains but it pours!” he wailed. “And I’m the idiot who’s caught in the middle of the downpour without an umbrella.”
“It’s not that bad, Mr. Halliday,” said Dillman.
“How could it possibly be worse? We have a serious theft from the chief engineer’s cabin. The violent murder of a passenger. A purse is stolen from an elderly lady. A retired couple have their cabin rifled. And a celebrated violinist has just had his Stradivarius taken.” He slumped in a chair. “What’s next? Mass suicide? Rape and pillage? A typhoon?”
“Every crime will be solved in due course,” argued Dillman. “We’ve already returned those stolen items from Mr. Rourke’s cabin. I have every confidence that we’ll retrieve everything else that was taken.”
“Put the violin at the top of the list!”
“I’m sorry that Mr. Weiss rounded on you like that.”
“Everyone seems to be rounding on me today. Honestly, I feel as if I’ve got a target painted on my back.” He ran a hand through his hair, then pulled himself together. “No bleating! I took the job so I have to take the blows that come with it. Now, what do you want me to do?”
“Get me a list of everyone who went to that music concert.”
“There is no list. They just rolled up.”
“I know,” said Dillman, “but you must have had stewards on duty at the door to sell programs and act as ushers.”
“Four of them, at least.”
“Between them, they’ll have recognized dozens of the passengers who were there. That gives us a start. And each person who went to the concert will be able to give us additional names.”
“Are you certain that the thief was in the audience?”
“I’m certain that he used the concert as his cover. And I’m certain that the thefts are related to each other in some way.”
“That doesn’t seem possible.”
“Oh, it is, Mr. Halliday, believe me.”
“What sort of man steals a woman’s purse, a French Empire clock, and a Stradivarius in one afternoon?”
“A very cunning man.”
“Cunning?”
“Yes,” said Dillman. “I didn’t want to say this in front of Mr. Weiss because it was important to calm him down before he had a seizure, but there is a possibility which has to be taken into account. In my view, it’s a rather strong possibility.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What we have here is another dog show.”
“Dog show?”
“Don’t you remember why I suggested that you organize one?”
“Of course. To create a diversion.”
“Well?”
The purser’s face registered bafflement, surprise, then amazement in three separate stages. When he leaped from his chair, it was covered by an expression of mild hysteria.
“Do I understand you aright, Mr. Dillman? Are you suggesting that the killer and the thief are one and the same man?”
“What better way to throw you off the scent than by getting you entangled in a series of thefts? Especially the one from Itzak Weiss’s cabin. That’s really rung the alarm bells. It’s bound to cut into the amount of time you can devote to solving a murder.”
“Yet that must remain a priority.”
“Don’t tell that to Itzak Weiss. Nothing is more important to him than getting his precious violin back. In his opinion, a massacre of the ship’s complement would take second place to that. But if your theory is correct, Mr. Dillman—”
“It is only a theory.”
“Then the man we’re after may not have such an interest in music.”
“I still believe that he does, and I’m sure he treated that Stradivarius with great respect. After all, it may help him to escape arrest for murder. That’s the plan, anyway.” Dillman pondered, then snapped his fingers. “The couple who had that clock stolen. Remind me of their name?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Anstruther.”
“Find out who sat at their table for luncheon.”
“Luncheon?”
“And dinner last night,” said Dillman. “They probably talked about going to that concert this afternoon. That’s how the thief may have picked up the information. He planned that break-in. I don’t think he waited to see who turned up in the music room before sloping off to their cabin. The Anstruthers were deliberately picked out.”
“What about Mr. Weiss and his wife? They weren’t at the concert. How could the thief be sure that their cabin would be empty as well?”
“By studying routine.”
“Routine?”
“Musicians are usually very methodical. They keep strictly to a set pattern. So many hours of practice a day and so on. Mr. and Mrs. Weiss have had a walk on deck every afternoon since we sailed. They’re rather distinctive people. Nobody could miss them.”
“I’m more confused than ever,” admitted Halliday. “Stealing an old lady’s purse would have been relatively easy, particularly as, I suspect, she left it on her chair. She was a rather absentminded old dear. But how did the thief get into two locked cabins? Neither showed signs of forced entry.”
“Then he must have had a master key.”
“Impossible!”
“Is it? If I’m right, we’re talking about a man who can commit a murder, leave no clues behind him, and vanish into the night. He’s cool and calculating. My guess is that he can get into any cabin he chooses.”
Halliday stiffened. “I’m going to alert every member of the crew and institute patrols. Passengers must be protected from this man.”
“Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any further crimes,” decided the American. “Prevention is not the problem. He’s already given you more than enough to keep you occupied. He’ll just keep his head down now.”
“I hope so. We can’t cope with anything else.”
“You’re stretched enough as it is.”
“So how do we catch him, Mr. Dillman?”
“You don’t, sir. I do. He can see you coming in that uniform, but he can’t see me. I’ve probably rubbed shoulders with him already. Even talked to him, perhaps.” He opened the door. “We’ll catch him.”
“When?”
“When he slips up. They always do.”
When the concert was over, Sylvia Rymer adjourned to the lounge for tea in the company of Dorothea Erskine and Ada Weekes. All three lingered there for the best part of an hour as they chatted away.
“I do wish Matthew had come,” said Sylvia. “He missed a treat.”
“Yes,” agreed Ada Weekes. “I can’t understand why Cyril left at the interval. I thought he was enjoying it as much as I did. And the second half was even better than the first. I loved the Tchaikovsky.”
“Oh, I preferred the Mozart. Mrs. Erskine?”
“Give me Beethoven any day. He’s the one who stirs my blood!”
“Does your husband know that?” teased the other.
“Oh, yes. Jeremiah knows everything about me by now!”
“How long have you been married?” asked Ada Weekes.
“Twelve years.”
“Cyril and I have been together for thirty-three. Our children have long since flown the nest. Do you have any children, Mrs. Erskine?”
“No,” said the other briskly. “Only stepchildren. Two boys. They’ve also left home to strike out on their own.” She turned to Sylvia Rymer. “It will be Violet’s turn next. Does she have a young man in view?”
“No,” said Sylvia Rymer firmly. “Not at the moment.”
“That will soon change. Such an attractive girl!”
“We think so, Mrs. Erskine.”
“Is she your only child?”
“Sadly, yes. We wanted more but …” She glanced around to make sure that nobody was within earshot. “Well, you see, there were severe complications after Violet’s birth. I had an operation but the surgeon told me that I could never have any more children. It was a terrible blow at the time but one gets used to that kind of thing. And there are, after all, certain compensations.”
“Compensations?” echoed Ada Weekes.
“For a woman.”
“I’m not sure that I follow.”
Sylvia Rymer looked from one to the other to see if she could entrust them with a confidence. Both smiled encouragingly. In a short time, they had become good friends. They would be sympathetic.
“To be candid,” she continued, lowering her voice, “I never really enjoyed that side of marriage. Not because of Matthew,” she added hastily, “I wouldn’t want you to think that. He was always considerate. It was just the way that I was brought up. My mother led me to believe that it was something a woman endured in order to bring children into the world. Once that became impossible, there seemed no need anymore. I felt so relieved.”
“I’m not sure that I would have done so in your place,” confessed Dorothea Erskine. “I think a woman is entitled to take some pleasure from that aspect of married life. In the right way, that is. When all is said and done, it is an act of love.”
“Sometimes,” murmured Sylvia Rymer.
“I’m not sure that I can remember anymore,” said Ada Weekes.
And their laughter dissolved the faint embarrassment that had sprung up. Sylvia Rymer was glad to see her daughter coming into the lounge at that point. She raised a hand to signal to Violet, then frowned as she saw how pale and drawn she looked. Greetings were exchanged all round.
“Where have you been, Violet?” said her mother anxiously.
“Just walking on deck. I watched a game of quoits.”
“You must have been out there for hours. How is your headache?”
“It’s gone, Mother. I’m fine now.”
“You don’t look fine. You seem so strained.”
“Do I?” said Violet, contriving a smile. “I’m not, really I’m not.”
“A nice bath will revive you,” said her mother, getting up from the chair. “Will you excuse us, please, ladies? We have to go now.”
“We’ll be on your tail as soon as we’ve drained our cups,” said Ada Weekes, waving them off. As soon as they had left, she looked over at her companion. “What did you make of all that?”
“It didn’t surprise me, Mrs. Weekes.”
“No?”
“I wondered why her husband looked so grim at times.”
“There seems such a lot of tension in that family.”
“I feel sorry for the girl. They watch her like hawks.”
“Didn’t your parents do the same to you?”
“Of course,” said Dorothea Erskine, “but I learned to handle them. I told them just enough of the truth to keep them happy. For instance, they would have been outraged if they’d known that Jeremiah took their daughter to anything as violent and rowdy as a boxing match. I told them we went to a ballet that night.” She emptied her cup in one gulp. “No harm was done by a white lie.”
“I found that out for myself a long time ago.”
Ada Weekes laughed, then drained her own cup. As they were leaving their seats, Dillman strode slowly across to them. He noticed the programs they were holding.
“Ah,” he said. “You’ve been to the concert as well. I just bumped into Mrs. Rymer and her daughter. They were telling me what a success it was. Was it well attended?”
“It was packed, Mr. Dillman,” said Ada Weekes.
“Who else was there?”
She rattled off a dozen names and Dorothea Erskine added another ten or so. Dillman made a point of memorizing all the men’s names. One name in particular was missing from the list.
“What about your husband, Mrs. Erskine?” he asked casually.
“Didn’t he go to the concert?
“Not at the start,” she explained. “He joined us in the interval.”
Before dinner that evening, Genevieve Masefield was invited to drinks in Lord Carradine’s private suite. Hoping that she might be able to talk to him alone at last, she found him surrounded by his cronies yet again.
“You’re a topping host, Percy!” said one of them.
“I’ve had plenty of practice,” replied Lord Carradine, adjusting his monocle. “I like to have my friends around me.”
“Provide Champagne like this every day and we’ll move in with you.”
“That would be abusing my hospitality too much, old chap.”
Brittle laughter greeted this exchange. Lord Carradine finally found a moment to take Genevieve aside to pour whispered compliments in her ear. Behind the easy charm, she sensed real interest and encouraged it with the subtlest of signals. He spotted each one instantly.
“You’re inscrutable, Miss Masefield,” he said, studying her closely. “We’ve talked so much and yet I still know so little about you.”
“Is that a complaint, Percy?”
“Far from it. I hate people who wear their hearts on their sleeves. Ruins the fabric. And they’re so transparent. Nothing to learn about them. Whereas you have hidden depths,” he said over the top of his Champagne glass. “You’re the most enchanting kind of young lady.”
“And what kind is that?”
“One with a past. Do you have a past, Miss Masefield?”
“Everyone does, Percy.”
“Not the kind that I’m referring to. When I look at a creature as gorgeous as you, the first thing I wonder is why someone hasn’t already snapped her up. Be frank with me. You must have had packs of suitors baying at your heels.”
“One or two, perhaps,” she conceded. “But I might say the same of you, Percy. You’re the epitome of an eligible bachelor. How have you managed to elude the pack at your heels?”
“That is a well-kept secret.”
“Even from me.”
He laughed. “The night is young. Ask me again later.”
“I know what I’d like to ask you now,” she said seriously. “How on earth do you do it? As well as running a large estate and keeping up a busy round of social engagements, you’re a successful businessman. Most people in your position would be ground down by responsibility.”
“I was at first, Miss Masefield. Taken me years to find my feet.” He became solemn for once. “The pater, you see. He was a Trojan. Ran the estate with great vigor and still had energy enough left over to go into business. So many companies wanted him to be a director simply to have a title on their letterhead. Lords still have a snob value, thank God. But the pater wasn’t satisfied with being a standing statue at board meetings. He wanted to run a company himself. Picked one out, invested wisely, ended up taking over some of the people who’d made him a director because they thought he was an old buffer who’d lend a bit of tone. Then, of course,” he added, sipping his drink, “he died, alas. Before his time. Dumped the whole lot on me. Nobody thought I’d survive more than a year, if that. I certainly didn’t.”
“You confounded your critics.”
“I had to, Miss Masefield. For the sake of the family.”
“Who will carry on after you?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said with a slow smile. “You know, I’m so grateful to that journalist for introducing us.”
“Henry Barcroft?”
“That his name? They’re all the same to me.”
“Who are?”
“Men of the press. Necessary evils. I mean, what decent man would want to make a living scribbling nonsense about his fellow human beings? It’s so infra dig, don’t you know?” He gave a shrug. “On the other hand, they can sometimes be useful and that’s why I always show them a little indulgence. Publicity is invaluable when you’re in business. A mention in the Times does wonders for my tobacco company. I just wish I’d had a few copies of the newspaper before I met that Barcroft fellow.”
“Why is that?”
“I’d have put them on the floor in readiness. Know what I mean? There was a mongrel quality about him.” He leaned in close. “How did you get on with him?”
“Not at all well.”
“Pushy?”
“Worse than that.”
“He would keep trailing me around. Do you know, he actually tried to barge in here on one occasion. When I was having a few friends in for drinks. It was unforgivable. Who on earth did he think he was?”
“Henry Barcroft tried to gate-crash a private party?”
“Had some flimsy excuse about an article.”
“Article?”
“Quoting me, apparently. Wanted clearance before he sent it off. Clearance, my foot! He was just trying to insinuate himself.”
“I had a dose of that myself.”
“So did Honora.”
“Who?”
“Lady Carlyle’s daughter. Pretty thing. Barely seventeen.”
“What happened?”
“Barcroft had the gall to invite her to his cabin. Imagine!” said Lord Carradine with polite contempt. “Honora actually fell for that greasy charm of his. Might even have gone to his cabin if her mother hadn’t nipped it in the bud.” He held out his glass and the waiter topped it up. “The man is a positive menace. Inviting a girl of seventeen to his cabin at night! I felt obliged to have a word with the purser about him. I assume that’s why we haven’t seen anything of Barcroft since. He’s been warned off. Quite rightly. No,” he concluded, “Henry Barcroft deserves to be put well and truly in his place.”
Wrapped in a shroud, the body of Henry Barcroft lay on a bed of packed ice in one of the refrigeration units. He seemed to have diminished in size, as if all the arrogance and ebullience had been squeezed out of him. He was just one more lifeless carcass in the unit. A key scraped in the lock and the heavy door swung slowly open. The beam of a torch played on the corpse. An amused voice spoke.
“So this is where they’ve put you, is it?”