The Lusitania was a tiny island of noise in the vast ocean. As the great ship powered its way toward an empty horizon, the clamor in its public rooms grew ever louder. Cleared of its chairs, the music room had been set aside for the dog show, open to all contestants and drawing the most astonishing range of animals from passengers in first, second, and—in the case of two spaniels and a mongrel terrier—third-class. A room that echoed to the harmonies of famous composers on the previous afternoon now reverberated with the yelps, snarls, growls, and barks of over forty dogs. Canine tempers were short, owners tried to shout their charges into submission, and partisan spectators cheered on their favorites.
Even this tumult could not compare with the pandemonium in the third-class lounge where a fancy dress parade was being held. Families with barely more than a few suitcases with which to start their new lives in America had begged, borrowed, or somehow improvised a wide array of costumes. Pirates competed with cowboys, fairy princesses with foul witches on makeshift broomsticks. There was even an infant Queen Victoria in a paper crown to fight for the throne of first prize. A tea dance for the second-class passengers combined with the roar of the ship’s engines to swell the general commotion.
Some of the events helping to produce the cacophony had been suggested by Dillman as a means of keeping the passengers fully occupied but he did not pause to participate in any of them himself. His destination was the bridge, where he found the captain at his post with his officers. Hoping for some good news at last, Captain Watt took the visitor aside so that they could converse in private.
“Well, Mr. Dillman? Has any arrest been made?” he asked.
“Not yet, sir. But it is imminent.”
“Purser Halliday keeps saying that to me but I see no sign of it.”
“I believe that I have just made the breakthrough.”
“Does that mean you've found Mr. Weiss’s violin?”
“No, but I have every confidence that I will.”
“You’d better, Mr. Dillman. The newspapers will crucify us if something like this gets out. And Itzak Weiss is threatening us with a lawsuit. A maiden voyage is supposed to be an act of celebration, not a publicity disaster. That Stradivarius must be found. I understand there’s been a ransom note.”
“It may be something else as well, Captain Watt.”
“Something else?”
“A confession.”
“What are you on about?”
“The language in which it was written,” said Dillman. “I think that our man has unwittingly shown his hand. That’s why I came to see you. Apparently everyone is starting to get excited about the prospect of our winning the Blue Riband on this voyage.”
“Then the excitement is premature.”
“Is there no chance that the ship will lower the record?”
“There’s every chance, Mr. Dillman,” said the captain proudly. “I’d stake my pension on it. What I can’t guarantee is that it will happen on this trip. My orders are to take the Lusitania safely to New York, where we can expect a warm welcome, whatever time we arrive. I have not been urged not throw caution to the winds in pursuit of any record. That will come in time. The Lusitania is a greyhound of the sea, Mr. Dillman. It won’t be long before she wins the race for the Blue Riband, and I expect to be on this bridge when she does it.”
“We seem to be maintaining a high speed now.”
“Yes,” said the other, “and we'll continue to do so while we can. But the North Atlantic is the most dangerous ocean of them all. The weather can change for the worst so quickly. A heavy swell would slow us right down. And reports are already coming in about ice ahead. We could still break that record, Mr. Dillman, but I’d advise you not to bet your life savings on it.”
Dillman grinned. “I don’t have any life savings, Captain. But what I really came to ask you is this. How big a triumph would it be if the ship did capture the Blue Riband on its maiden voyage?”
“An enormous triumph. Our rivals would never forgive us.”
“You’d seize business from them at one fell swoop.”
“Of course, everyone wants to travel on the fastest liner.”
“She’s rather more than a liner, Captain Watt.”
“Not at the moment.”
“What about the future?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Mr. Dillman,” said the captain with a weary sigh. “But there’s no point in trying to bamboozle a man like you. I know you’ve got a nautical background. You understand the principles of marine architecture.” He took Dillman to the window and they looked down toward the bow of the ship. “What do you see down there?”
“A narrow prow, designed for speed.”
“And?”
“Reminiscent of a destroyer.”
“What else do you see, Mr. Dillman?”
“A foredeck that could easily be reinforced to take guns.”
“Go on.”
“A compass platform could be added on top of this bridge. A second could be placed in a number of locations. Decks, fore and aft, could be cleared. Passenger accommodation could be restricted to allow more room for cargo. Do you want me to go on, sir?” said Dillman. “This ship was designed for peace but is also ready for war.”
“It won’t be of our choosing, sir. But we’re bound to take note of the way that the Germans are building up their navy. They’re flexing their muscles. We need to be ready in case they start to swing punches.”
“In the meantime?”
“We win the battle of the Atlantic with the Lusitania.”
“Perhaps even on this voyage?”
“Nothing would gladden my heart more. I’ve spent a lifetime competing with German skippers who think they own this ocean. High time someone wiped that arrogant grin off their faces.” He looked around. “And we’ve finally got the ship that can do it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Dillman moved off. “You’ve been a great help.”
“You’re going?”
“I have to, Captain Watt.”
“But you haven’t told me about this so-called confession.”
“I have to find the man who wrote it first.”
Dillman ducked out of the bridge and descended the stairs. While the captain deserved to be kept informed of every development, there were some things the American felt obliged to keep from him. He still believed that his own camouflage was the best means of catching the man they were after. He made light of the personal danger involved. The visit to the bridge had provided vital confirmation. He was tingling.
“Hold on, Mr. Dillman!”
A loud voice cut through the crowd on deck and he turned to see Carlotta Hubermann waddling toward him. She had a mischievous glint in her eye, which was never there when her sister, Abigail, was with her. Dillman waited until she came panting up to him.
“You sure are a difficult man to find!” she said.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for me.”
“Genevieve said you’d come in this direction. Like a bullet from a gun, that’s how she put it. What’s the rush? This is the life of leisure, Mr. Dillman. Enjoy it while you can.”
“I intend to, Miss Hubermann.”
“Good! That means you’ll join Abigail and me for dinner this evening. We’ll meet you for drinks in the lounge beforehand.” She raised a hand to stop the protest that rose to his lips. “I won’t take no for an answer, Mr. Dillman. You’re needed for compassionate duty.”
“Compassionate duty?”
“I’m seating you next to Genevieve Masefield. Something’s upset her. She can’t hide it from me. I reckon it’s to do with that Lord Carradine. Abigail may have been right all along. Perhaps he is sinister. Anyway,” she said, squeezing his arm, “Genevieve needs brightening up and I think you’re just the man to do it. She really likes you.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Hubermann.”
“See you later, then. Oh, by the way, don’t go near the music room. They’re holding a dog show down there and the noise is earsplitting. A dog show! What lunatic came up with an idea like that?”
Matthew Rymer had reverted to his more usual mood of suppressed anger. Pacing the lounge in their suite, he fired rhetorical questions at his wife, who sat meekly in a chair and toyed with her purse.
“Where the devil has she got to? How long does it take to have your hair done, for heaven’s sake? Violet should have been back by now, surely? What’s got into the girl? We practically had to drag her aboard last Saturday, yet now she goes prancing off whenever she can. Is there something I should know about, Sylvia?” He stopped to tower over her. “Well, is there?”
“No, Matthew.”
“So what is happening?”
“I’m as much in the dark as you.”
“Violet has been gone for hours.”
“Perhaps she met a friend at the salon.”
“What friend? She hardly speaks to anybody.”
“That’s not true,” said Sylvia Rymer. “She often talks to Mrs. Weekes. They get on well together. Then there’s that Mr. Dillman. Violet likes him. She’s been agitating for us to invite him here to dinner one evening.”
“Well, she’s wasting her time.”
“Why?”
“Something about the fellow,” he said, on the move again. “Can’t say what it is but it worries me. I’m certainly not going to encourage any friendship between my daughter and him.”
“Mr. Dillman is so courteous.”
“Sylvia, he’s an American!” He sneered. “Besides, I’ve invited Nairn Mackintosh and his wife to join us for dinner here tonight. Violet can forget all about Mr. Dillman. I want her on her best behavior. Mackintosh is coming round to my suggestion.”
“That’s good to hear, Matthew.”
“It’s one of the rewards of this voyage.”
“Not the only one, I hope,”
“Oh, no,” he said, stifling a smile. His tone hardened. “I think that we should watch Violet more carefully. Too much freedom could be dangerous. Who knows what she might get up to?”
“I can’t keep an eye on her all the time.”
“We can share the load. All three of us.”
“Three of us?”
“You, Mildred and I. No point in bringing a maid unless we make full use of her,” he said airily. “Next time Violet wants to go to the salon or wander off on her own, we’ll send Mildred with her.”
“If you say so, Matthew.”
“I do say so. I insist.”
The cabin door suddenly opened and he swung round. Violet Rymer came into the room and saw the grim expression on her father’s face. She tried to control the turmoil inside her head and force a smile.
“Where on earth have you been?” demanded her father.
* * *
Dillman caught the chief engineer as he was about to leave his cabin. Fergus Rourke grinned at his visitor’s immaculate appearance.
“No need to wear white tie and tails to call on me,” he joked. “I don’t stand on ceremony here, Mr. Dillman.”
“Could you spare me a minute, please?”
“As long as you’re not going to tell me any more lies.”
“I’ve come to ask your advice, Mr. Rourke.”
“Well, that’s different.”
They went into the cabin and Rourke switched on the light again.
“I wondered if I could possibly glance at those diagrams of yours again,” said Dillman, pointing to the folder on the desk. “The ones that were stolen.”
“You mean, the ones that you found by sheer chance under a pile of sheets in a linen cupboard? I hope you didn’t prick your fingers on the drawing pins.” He opened the folder and stood back. “Help yourself. Then you can tell me what all this is in aid of.”
Dillman looked first at the cross section of the boiler room but reserved his real concentration for the wiring diagram. Miles of cable had been used, snaking its way around the entire vessel to feed electricity to its control panels, appliances, and countless thousands of bulbs. He checked to see where the generators were, then matched their position against another diagram. The chief engineer peered over his shoulder.
“You’re on to something, Mr. Dillman.”
“Possibly.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s just say that I may have seen the light.”
“Share it with me.”
“When I have more proof, Mr. Rourke.”
“Proof of what?”
“Call it maritime envy.”
“Could you put that into English for me?”
“Wrong language, sir.”
“Eh?”
“It would be more appropriate in German.”
Leaving him openmouthed in bafflement, Dillman went out.
Itzak Weiss shuttled between anger and sadness with no intervening stage. When the purser tried to console him, he was met either with a stream of vituperation or with a series of tearful pleas. Ruth Weiss was perched on the arm of her husband’s chair, alternately calming him when he shouted and patting him when he sobbed. Charles Halliday did his best to bring a modicum of cheer to the cabin.
“Your violin is safe, Mr. Weiss. At last, we know that.”
“Do we?”
“Yes, sir. Why else send the note to you?”
“It could just be a cruel joke.”
“The thief wants to exchange it for money.”
“Well, I’m not paying it out of my own pocket,” insisted Weiss. “Why should I? This is the responsibility of the Cunard Line. My property was stolen aboard one of their ships. That makes them culpable.”
“Not necessarily, sir.”
“It must,” said Ruth Weiss. “Passengers are insured against loss or damage to luggage. We saw the rates in your brochure.”
“This is a slightly different matter, Mrs. Weiss. Luggage stored away is indeed covered by the insurance premium. But we did not envisage a loss on the scale of a Stradivarius.”
“You will pay the ransom money!” howled the violinist, pointing an accustory finger. “And if the instrument is not returned to me in perfect condition, I will demand full compensation. I still have the receipt for that violin. Do you know how much it cost me?”
“I’d rather not,” said Halliday, “and I do beg of you not to fear the worst. We’ve already picked up a number of vital clues and may well be able to reclaim the instrument before Friday.”
“You saw the ransom note. You must suspend the hunt.”
“We have done, Mr. Weiss. In one sense. That’s why you do not see anyone in uniform charging around the ship to search cabins. That would be the quickest way to ensure that your violin is tossed through the nearest porthole or smashed to pieces.”
“O mein Gott!” said Weiss, clutching at his chest.
“Do not say such things, Mr. Halliday,” chastised Ruth Weiss. “My husband has suffered enough as it is. We have not had the strength to leave this cabin since the tragedy. Look at him—he is in pain!”
The purser apologized and did his best to soothe both of them. His words eventually began to have an effect. When he ignited a faint hope in Itzak Weiss, the violinist reached out to grab him by the hand.
“Find it, Mr. Halliday!” he implored. “Find my Stradivarius, please. If you can bring it safely back to me, I will not sue your company or release a word of this to the press. I will be so grateful that I will give a free concert to your passengers in the music room!”
“That’s a most generous offer, sir!”
Charles Halliday smiled, but his stomach was churning restlessly. Too many unanswered questions still remained. He feared that the man they were after would always be a few steps ahead of them. The only real hope lay with George Porter Dillman, and the purser was beginning to wonder if his confidence in the American was misplaced. When he left the cabin, his smile froze and his apprehension soared.
After drinks in the lounge bar that evening with Genevieve Masefield and the Hubermann sisters, Dillman made his way to the dining saloon. Helped by his daughter, Caleb Tolley was lowering himself gingerly onto a chair at a table near the door. When she saw the newcomers, Ellen Tolley intercepted Dillman with a mock frown.
“Seems as if I lost out, after all,” she complained. “And there was Miss Masefield, telling me that I had a clear run at you.”
“Another time, perhaps,” he appeased her.
“Another man, I think.”
“I’m just being sociable, Ellen.”
“I know,” she said with a grin. “And who can blame you? Just remember that I’m still around, will you? Before this voyage is over, I’m determined that someone is going to take me out on deck for a look at the stars. Don’t let me down, George.”
“It’s a promise.”
The promise was easily given but not so easily kept. Dillman had no wish to be caught in a private tug-of-war between Ellen Tolley and Genevieve Masefield. What might be extremely pleasurable under other circumstances was a major distraction at the present time. All his energies needed to be focused on the task in hand. Dinner with Genevieve and the Hubermanns would be enjoyable but he would use it to scan the dining saloon and to keep watch. As soon as he sat down, he saw something that alerted him. The Anstruthers, the retired couple whose property had now been restored, were coming through the doors with Jeremiah Erskine. Were they walking beside the thief who had broken into their cabin?
Dillman was seated between Genevieve Masefield and Carlotta Hubermann. He suspected that the latter had been in charge of the seating plan. Abigail Hubermann still treated him with mild disdain but her younger sister was much more amenable.
“You have to hand it to the royal family,” said Carlotta. “They do add a bit of tone. Like any true American, I’m a diehard republican, but there’s something so grand about having a king and queen.”
“Only if you have the jack as well,” observed Dillman, gently teasing her. “From the same suit, of course. Do you play poker?”
“No, you naughty man!” she reproached him with a laugh. “That wasn’t what I was talking about, as you know only too well. I think that King Edward is just wonderful. I’m not sure that I’d like him as a house guest, mark you, especially with Abigail around, but I think he looks magnificent in an open carriage. Such style, such dignity. We’ve got nothing to touch it.”
“I disagree, Miss Hubermann. I daresay that President Roosevelt cuts a fine figure when he stands on the steps at the White House.” He turned to Genevieve. “Will you be going Washington at any stage?”
“I’d like to, Mr. Dillman,” she said. “If I can fit it in.”
“We’ll make sure you do, honey,” Carlotta assured her, waving the menu at her. “Have you seen what they’re giving us this evening?”
“A meal fit for a king,” said Dillman graciously, “and for the two queens I have the good fortune to be sitting between.”
Carlotta Hubermann grinned but Genevieve’s response was more muted. Glasses were filled and the meal was served. A couple of hours seemed to float past. Dillman kept up polite conversation while his mind wrestled constantly with more urgent questions concerning a ransom note and a wiring diagram. His gaze constantly roved the room. Genevieve wanted to know why he had given her the spontaneous kiss earlier on.
“Was it so objectionable?” he asked worriedly.
“No, not at all. Just rather unexpected. I suppose that’s all part of being a man of mystery,” she said with a mocking smile. “You do the unexpected. But what did I do to deserve that kiss?”
“A big favor.”
“In that case, I must do you another sometime.”
It was dinner table banter rather than anything more serious, but Dillman was still ignited by the remark. As the meal came to an end, the guests began to disperse. Dillman made an excuse to slip across to the nearby table where Jeremiah Erskine was seated, hoping to engage him in casual chat about his knowledge of German. Before the conversation could get under way, however, he heard a scream of surprise behind him and turned to see Genevieve Masefield staring in distress at her silk evening gown. While gesturing in the course of conversation, she inadvertently knocked over her wine glass and spilled its contents down the front of her gown. She dabbed at it with a napkin then hurried toward the door. Dillman noted her consternation. Carlotta Hubermann came swiftly across to prompt him.
“The lady needs help,” she said with a nudge.
“Yes, of course.”
“Well? Go after her, man.”
Dillman nodded and picked his way through the crowd. Genevieve had a head start on him but he knew that her cabin was on the deck below. While she would descend by means of the grand staircase, he headed for the narrow companionway that would afford him a shortcut. It was at the end of a long corridor and he hurried toward it. In his haste, he did not realize that he was being followed.
Reaching the top of the steps, he was about to descend them at speed when someone gave him assistance. Two strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him with vicious force. Dillman went headfirst down the companionway, turning somersaults and buffeting himself hard on the walls. His head struck the floor at the bottom of the stairs and he lost consciousness.
Genevieve Masefield was very annoyed with herself. Having removed the silk evening gown, she laid it on a towel in the bathroom and sponged the wine stain with cold water, hoping that it would save the dress. A loud bang on her cabin door made her look up. When it was followed by a second, even louder, bang, she put a dressing gown on over her underwear and answered the door.
“Mr. Dillman!” she cried. “What’s happened to you?”
“Fell down the stairs.”
“Your head is bleeding!”
“Banged it as I came tumbling down. Any chance I could come in?”
Genevieve helped him inside at once. Her visitor was clearly dazed and barely able to stand. His tie had come undone, a button was missing off his tailcoat, and he looked thoroughly disheveled. Sitting him on an upright chair, she closed the cabin door and rushed back into the bathroom. Dillman’s wounds took priority over the stain on her dress.
“How did it happen?” she asked, bathing the gash on his temple.
“I tripped.”
“But why were you coming down the stairs in the first place?”
“It was Carlotta Hubermann’s idea,” he explained. “When you rushed out, she dispatched me after you to lend assistance. I tried to cut you off by coming down a companionway used by the staff but I made a faster descent than I intended.” His head was clearing. “Now I know how Jack must have felt.”
“Jack?”
“In the nursery rhyme. Remember Jack and Jill? Isn’t there something to the effect that Jack fell down and broke his crown?”
“And Jill came tumbling after! I should forget that, if I were you. Unless you wanted to have your head mended with vinegar and brown paper.” Having bathed the wound, she stemmed the bleeding with a handkerchief, using a scarf to bind it into position. “If you go to the surgery, they’ll bandage that properly.”
“I’d prefer you as my nurse any day.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“You were really groggy when you first came in.”
“A glass of water and I’ll be as good as new.”
She fetched the water and watched him drink it. He was rallying.
“Now, suppose you tell me the truth, Mr. Dillman.”
“About what?”
“That little tumble you took. You look like one of the fittest and most surefooted men on this boat. And you’ve spent many years going up and down narrow companionways on your father’s yachts. It’s second nature to you, isn’t it? You didn’t fall, did you?”
“I’m not sure. It all happened so quickly.”
“Please, Mr. Dillman. Don’t insult my intelligence.”
“All right,” he admitted, “maybe somebody did help me on my way.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? Jealousy, perhaps. Someone saw me rushing off to your cabin and tried to stop me. That’s all I know.”
Genevieve set his glass aside, then took him by the shoulders.
“Why don’t we stop fencing?” she said. “I told you that we had an affinity. Both of us have something to hide. I know what my secret is, but what’s yours? Haven’t I earned the right to share it by now?”
Dillman searched her face to see if he could trust her. From the moment he had first seen her on Euston Station, she had exercised a fascination for him, but that did not mean he could safely reveal his true purpose on board the ship. Genevieve saw his hesitation.
“What have you got to lose?” she encouraged. “I’m as close as the grave. Whatever you tell me, it will go no further. Besides, I may be able to help you, Mr. Dillman. We can play Jack and Jill for real, if you like. Now that I’ve mended your broken crown, we can go back up that hill to fetch a pail of water. And this time, neither of us will come tumbling down.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said with a grin. “Let me give you the shortened version. What I said about leaving the family firm and going on the stage was all true. The thing I didn’t tell you was what happened afterwards. I may have failed in the theater but I put my acting abilities to great use elsewhere. Have you ever heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency?” She nodded eagerly. “I became one of their operatives, working under cover to expose all sorts of crimes. You really have to act in those situations, Miss Masefield, or it can get dangerous.”
“So I see.”
“Then you’ll also have worked out that I’m now employed by the Cunard Line. How that came about is another story. Suffice it to say that I earned my spurs on an earlier voyage. So I had my passage booked on the Lusitania. I was hoping for a quiet trip,” he said, “but it hasn’t worked out that way.”
“I heard there have been some minor thefts aboard.”
“We’ve had rather more serious crimes than that, I fear. And one of them was used to flush me out. I realize that now.”
“Flush you out?”
“The man we’re after knew there’d be a private detective aboard. I see now why he staged one of the thefts. It brought me out of cover. I’d bet my last cent that he saw me going into the victim’s cabin.” He put a hand tenderly to his temple. “This is the result.”
“He attacked you?”
“He’s an opportunist. Been lurking in readiness.”
“Who is he?”
“That’s the problem. I’m not entirely sure. Which means he holds a crucial advantage because he knows exactly who I am.” He got to his feet. “On the other hand, he doesn’t realize that I survived the fall without any broken bones. Plenty of bruised ones, maybe,” he said ruefully, stretching himself, “and one heck of a stiff neck, but I’m still in one piece. The advantage may swing back my way. He thinks he’s taken me out of the game and that the field is clear.”
“For what?”
“That’s one thing I can’t tell you. But, if you want to help me, say that I met with an accident. When you go back up to the lounge, put it about that I had a nasty fall and have been carried off with concussion.”
“If you wish.”
“I do wish. It might lull him into a sense of security.”
“Who? Who is this man?”
“Your turn to provide a few answers, Miss Masefield. I’ve taken you into my confidence,” he reminded her, “why don’t you do the same? I don’t think you’re simply going on vacation, are you?” She shook her head. “You’re on the run, I think. What from?”
“A terrible mess I left behind me,” she admitted, moving to sit on the sofa. “Not entirely of my own making, I may say, but I have to bear much of the responsibility. The name of Lord Wilmshurst will mean nothing whatsoever to you, will it?”
“Does he wear a monocle as well?”
“No,” she said, “he spends most of his time in a bath chair, nursing his gout. And he doesn’t look in the least like an English aristocrat. I was engaged to his son, Nigel. It was quite an achievement, believe me, because I don’t exactly come from a titled family. Let me be honest with you. To some extent, I went hunting for him. I was very fond of Nigel, but I won’t pretend that I was madly in love with him. What really attracted me was his family and his position. I suppose I was infatuated with the idea of sharing them. To understand why, you’d have to come from my background.” She gave a hopeless shrug. “It all went hideously wrong. I began to have guilt feelings about the whole thing then my fiancé did something which I found unforgivable. It involved another man. We had a fierce row. I snatched off my engagement ring and threw it in the river. At that point, of course, I forfeited control of the situation.”
“Control?”
“Yes,” she sighed. “Technically, I’d broken off the engagement but it was Nigel’s account which was believed. He portrayed me as a callous gold digger, who was only after his title and money. He claimed that he’d found me out and discarded me. There was an element of truth in that, I admit, but it was by no means the whole story and I really had been having second thoughts. Even without the row, I don’t think that I could have gone ahead with the marriage. But Nigel was in control. His version became the official one. I had proof of that on this very ship. I was branded as a social outcast, Mr. Dillman. It seemed to me that the only sensible thing was to leave England and start afresh elsewhere.”
“It was a dramatic move to break off the engagement.”
“As an actor, you would have appreciated it.”
“Why?”
“Because I wasn’t reckless enough to throw a valuable diamond ring into the river Thames. What I took off my finger was a paste ring I inherited from my mother. For sentimental reasons, I was sorry to lose it, but it had no commercial value.”
“What happened to the engagement ring?”
“This,” she said, indicating the cabin. “I sold it to pay for my passage and to stock my wardrobe. I felt that I’d earned that ring. It was the least Nigel could give me in return for the loss of my good name. So I booked a passage on the Lusitania,” she continued. “At the back of my mind was a silly idea that, during the voyage, I might even find another gentleman to dance attendance on me.”
“With or without a monocle.”
“I want to forget Lord Carradine.”
“Do you?”
“He was my fall down the stairs.”
“Then we have more in common than I thought.”
“At least my life isn’t in danger,” she said with concern. “Yours is. You could have broken your neck when you fell. Don’t you have any idea at all who could have pushed you?”
“I think so,” he said, “though I can’t be certain yet. When I first regained consciousness, I had this ridiculous idea that it might have been her. Acting out of jealousy when she saw me rushing to your aid. I almost believe that she’s capable of it.”
“Who?”
“Ellen Tolley. She seems to have developed a strong interest in me.”
“It’s much more than that, Mr. Dillman.”
“Is it?”
“She’s been breathtakingly frank on the subject. Miss Tolley even cornered me in the ladies’ room for cross-examination. She thought I might be a potential rival for your affections.”
“Was she that blunt about it?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s very disturbing,” he said, pursing his lips. “I think I shall have to start dodging her in future. Both of them.”
“Both?”
“Ellen and her father.”
“But Caleb Tolley is not her father.”
Dillman gaped. “What do you mean?”
“I shared a table with them. It took me a while to work it out, but I got there in the end. Ellen may have fooled you, but I’m a woman. What you would probably call a designing woman. The advantage is that I can recognize one of my own kind.”
“I don’t follow.”
“The Tolleys are not father and daughter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said confidently. “Because if they are, you’ve got a nasty case of incest aboard.”
Dillman needed only a second to assimilate the information. He reached out impulsively for her. This time the kiss was on the mouth.
As the message came in through his earphones, the operator scribbled it down on his pad with pencil. When the Morse code stopped clicking in his ear, he turned to his colleague.
“Message from the Haverford,” he said with a cynical laugh. “She’s sailing east and wanted to wish us Godspeed. I bet she does! Since when does a steamer from another line want to see a Cunard ship get the Blue Riband back?”
“Why not send a witty reply?” suggested his companion.
“I’ve sent enough messages for one day,” said the other, vacating his chair so that the other wireless operator could relieve him. “My favorite was an old lady who wanted an urgent message sent back to her daughter in Liverpool. It was to remind her to feed the canary. I ask you!”
Dillman burst in while they were still laughing. He had smartened himself up and removed the makeshift bandaging from his head but his face still made them both stare. The ugly red gash on his temple was glistening and there was a dark bruise flowering on his chin. His hair was unkempt.
“I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he said by way of explanation. “Look, this is important. When I came in here before, you showed me some messages sent by a Mr. Barcroft.” He pointed to the man who had just come off duty. “Remember? You told me you kept every wireless sent from this room. Is that true?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I need to go through them all.”
“But there are hundreds!”
“No other way,” said Dillman, “unless you happen to recall a Mr. Caleb Tolley. You couldn’t miss him. Uses a stick.”
“Passengers don’t come directly here, sir. Their messages are brought in. Most of them, anyway. We do get the odd passenger who tries to jump the queue by sneaking in here in person. That Mr. Barcroft was a case in point, but I don’t remember any Mr. Tolley. Victor?”
“Nor I,” said the other man.
“Then let me see those messages.”
It was a long search. Aided by the two men, every message that had been dispatched was checked, then set aside. Since they worked backward chronologically, they took time to find the one short message sent by Caleb Tolley. One of the operators read it aloud.
“Here it is, sir. ‘Wonderful trip. Everything is fine.’ Man of few words, isn’t he?” He handed the piece of paper to Dillman. “Take it.”
“Did you see where this was sent?” asked Dillman, studying it. “Not to Liverpool or New York. But to the Deutschland.”
“That’s right, sir,” said the man. “She passed us in the dark last Sunday. Case of ships in the night, eh? She’s part of the Norddeutscher Lloyd Line. Mr. Tolley must have a friend aboard.”
Dillman saw the time at which the message had been sent. His mind went back to the nocturnal meeting with Ellen Tolley on Sunday night. She told him that her father had gone back to his cabin with a headache. Their encounter took on a new meaning. It was not the coinicidence he had assumed. The friendly young American girl with whom he had collided was not lost at all. She was deliberately preventing him from continuing his pursuit of Barcroft. Dillman believed he knew why.
He thanked the operators and charged off. Caution advised him to seek help from the purser, but he was in no mood for a sensible option. His blood was too hot for that. Dillman wanted revenge. A deliberate attempt had been made to disable him. Someone wanted him out of the way while they made a decisive move. That thought was enough to send him racing off to the chief steward. Startled by his appearance, the man willingly gave the detective the information he wanted, and Dillman went off to the cabins allotted to Ellen and Caleb Tolley. He knocked hard on the first door but got no reply. The other cabin also seemed to be empty when he tapped repeatedly on its door.
Dillman was glad that he had kept the master key provided by the purser. It let him into the first cabin, which he immediately identified as belonging to Caleb Tolley. Expecting to find damning evidence, he was dismayed to see nothing even remotely incriminating. When he went into the adjoining cabin, however, it was different story. Nominally belonging to Tolley’s daughter, the room bore few indications of a woman’s touch. What Dillman first noticed was the sketch pad, pencils, and ruler on the desk. He recalled seeing Ellen at work on deck and admiring her draftsmanship. Further examples of her skill with a pencil soon came to light. When he opened a drawer, he found exact copies of the diagrams that had been stolen from the chief engineer’s cabin. There was a bonus and it gave Dillman a surge of pleasure. On the wiring diagram was an obliging little cross.
The search was not yet complete. In the wardrobe, concealed behind Ellen’s dresses, was a large black valise. He flicked the catch and opened it up. Dillman could not resist a little shout of delight.
Charles Halliday was looking more haggard than ever. Too anxious to enjoy his dinner, he had returned to his cabin immediately afterward to brood on the vicissitudes of life as a purser aboard an ocean liner. Pressure was being applied from all sides and it was threatening to squeeze him to a pulp. Captain Watt was pushing him hard for results, so was Fergus Rourke, so was Itzak Weiss, and so were the dozens of other passengers with more minor concerns. The accumulated pressure was stifling. A tap on his door promised no release valve.
“Come in!” he called, sitting up. “Mr. Dillman!”
His visitor stepped into the cabin with fire in his eye, blood on his temple, and a bruise on his chin. Draped over his arm was a large towel embroidered with the Cunard emblem.
“What in God’s name happened to you, man?”
“They tricked us, Mr. Halliday.”
“They?”
“The couple who’ve been behind us all along. The raid on Itzak Weiss’s cabin was partly a ruse to bring me out into the open. Once they knew who I was, they could choose their moment to pick me off, as you see. Luckily, I survived the fall.”
“What fall?”
“One of them pushed me down a companionway.”
“One of whom?”
“The Tolleys. Father and daughter. Man and mistress. Whatever their relationship, I’m sure of one thing. They’re in this together. They killed Barcroft between them.”
“How?”
“Think back to those two glasses with the bottle of Champagne,” said Dillman. “They weren’t for Barcroft and a male friend. He had an assignation with Ellen Tolley. Set up by her, I’ve no doubt. According to what I’ve heard, he propositioned a number of young ladies and must have thought he finally hit the jackpot with Ellen.”
“Who are these Tolleys?”
“First-class passengers. And first-class performers,” admitted Dillman with reluctant admiration. “They took me in. Ellen is clever enough and cunning enough to take in any man. She obviously hypnotized Barcroft. He invited her to his cabin, but she took someone along with her. It wouldn’t have been difficult to distract Barcroft. In the state he was in, he probably wouldn’t have heard a cavalry charge coming through the door behind him.”
“Yet they didn’t get what they came for, Mr. Dillman.”
“Oh, yes, they did, sir.”
“But they didn’t find that brown envelope.”
“They didn’t need to, Mr. Halliday. They took it into the room with them. Think back. The body was positioned in the one place from which that envelope would be spotted. We were meant to find it there so that we would assume it was Barcroft who stole the diagrams from the chief engineer’s cabin.”
“And he didn’t?”
“No. They copied what they stole, then planted it on him.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve just seen concrete proof in Ellen Tolly’s cabin.”
Halliday sprang to life. “Let’s arrest them at once!”
“Stay where you are, sir!” warned Dillman. “Going after them is the worst thing you can do. It would not only cause a scene in public, it would end in violence and some of the other passengers might get hurt. Caleb Tolley is a strong man. He uses a walking stick because he claims to have a bad leg but I don’t believe there’s anything the matter with him. I have a horrible feeling that he used that stick to batter Henry Barcroft to death. Do you want him flailing it around in the lounge?”
“Of course not.”
“Then play this quietly, sir. Let him come to us. I know exactly where the rendezvous will be. I’ll tell you where to station your men. If we plan this with care, we may be able to tidy up this whole mess in one night and none of the other passengers would be any the wiser.” He gave a broad grin. “How does that sound?”
“Too good to be true!”
“Won’t anything put the color back in your cheeks?”
“Yes, Mr. Dillman.”
“What?”
“A stolen violin.”
“I was forgetting that,” said Dillman, removing the towel from his arm. He held up the Stradivarius. “This was hidden away in a valise in Ellen Tolley’s cabin. Why don’t you do yourself a supreme favor, sir?” He handed the instrument over. “Take it back to Itzak Weiss now and win yourself a friend for life.”
* * *
Violet Rymer was more distressed than ever. The afternoon’s meeting with Philip Garrow had started so well but ended so badly. Money had once again been the stumbling block. It was his turn to be shocked this time. When she told him that her marriage to him would jeopardize the payment of the trust fund to her, his manner had altered completely, and before they could talk the matter through properly, the third-class lounge had been invaded by a fancy-dress contest. Driven out, they parted in the most unnerving way, Violet seeking assurance that looked like it was never coming from him. Pulsing with frustration, Philip Garrow, the young man she loved and with whom her whole future was entwined, had pushed her away and run off. Violet had been spurned. It was demeaning.
Another gap had suddenly opened up between them. Yet it was not irremediable. In her heart, she knew and believed that. Philip loved her. All that she had to do was to demonstrate the full strength of her love for him and everything would be all right. That was the thought that helped to sustain her through dinner and through the long conversation that followed. When the guests departed, she retired to her own room and left her parents in the parlor. They would not remain there long. Her father had drunk quite heavily and her mother, a woman of delicate constitution, did not like late nights, preferring instead the solace of a sleeping pill prescribed by the family physician.
Violet waited, listened, and bolstered her resolve with thoughts of what lay ahead. Philip would be so pleased that she was ready at last to sacrifice herself wholly to him. It would bind them forever. Lying fully clothed in the dark, she watched the light under her door go out. Her parents had left the lounge and gone to bed. Another half hour would be a sufficient safety zone. Each minute was separate torment. When she felt certain that the coast was clear, she let herself back into the lounge and went out through the door to the passageway. In giving her a key of her own to the suite, her parents had never imagined it might be used during a bold escapade at night.
A mixture of elation and foreboding took her onward. She was stepping into the unknown. It was not at all as she had hoped or envisioned but there was no helping that. Only by throwing herself into Philip’s arms could she prove what he meant to her and receive the answering assurances from him. It seemed an age before she reached his cabin and she was trembling like a leaf as she tapped on it. There were sounds from within. She tapped harder. Afraid that someone might see her, she banged on the door with more purpose. A lock clicked and the door inched open. Two dark, guilty eyes peered out at her.
“Violet!” said Garrow in a hoarse whisper.
“Let me in, Philip.”
“I can’t. I mean, not now.”
“Don’t you want me to come in? You did yesterday.”
“Well, yes. But—”
“Let me in!” she begged. “Please!”
“Who is it?” asked the voice of Rosemary Hilliard.
Violet Rymer staggered back. Philip Garrow opened the door to reach out to her, then realized that he was stark naked. He immediately retreated back into the room. But she no longer needed him now. Ashen-faced and feeling sick, she supported herself against a wall while she took in the full horror of what she had discovered. The door clicked shut and Philip Garrow went out of her life forever. Raised voices were heard inside the cabin. Minutes after Violet had trudged slowly away, a fuming Rosemary Hilliard stormed out of his room and left her host to enjoy another cold night alone in his bed.
On the long walk back to her suite, Violet went through the tortures of recrimination. Cruel as they had seemed, her parents had been right about Philip Garrow all along. He was not worthy of her. At least she had made that discovery for herself before it was too late. She would not have to carry any more false hopes in her breast. Finding him with another woman had been a shattering experience for her and left her walking in a trance. Yet her night of disillusion was not over. As she turned into the passageway that led to her suite, she saw her father at a distance let himself out of the door and creep along to the cabin occupied by Mildred. When he let himself in with a key, Violet’s misery was complete.
She fell to her knees and wrapped herself in her arms as if protecting herself from any more blows. Self-pity gradually passed off, however, as she considered the implications for her mother. Subdued by a sleeping pill, Sylvia Rymer was dreaming happily in her bed, quite unaware that her husband was no longer beside her. Violet’s dismay turned to anger and she hauled herself up. The two most important men in her life had betrayed her but they had left her feeling vengeful and strangely empowered now. She knew exactly what to do.
Letting herself into the suite, she went into her parents’ bedroom, pushed home the bolt behind her, then looked down sadly at the sleeping figure. Violet took off her dress, climbed into bed, and enfolded her mother in her arms. They needed each other now.
Caleb Tolley went down the steps, then strode swiftly along the corridor. There was no sign of his limp now and his walking stick was tucked under his arm. Having waited until most of the other passengers went to bed, he was confident that he would now be unobserved and unobstructed. His destination was a room on the orlop deck, and it took him only a matter of seconds to pick the lock. Once inside, he pushed home the catch on the door and used a torch. Its beam played across the wall until it located a large fuse box. Tolley grinned. A small explosive device would cause untold havoc. It would knock out the lights in a substantial part of the vessel and achieve his objective in the simplest way.
He was about to place the miniature bomb in the fuse box when the light was suddenly switched on. Tolley swung round to see Dillman standing with his back to the door.
“You can see better with the light on, Mr. Tolley. So can I.”
“What are you doing here?” growled the other.
“Waiting for you,” said Dillman calmly. “Only this time, I won’t turn my back to you. That was a nasty shove you gave me down those stairs.”
“I can do worse than that.”
“I know. I was the one who found Henry Barcroft.”
“Barcroft was a fool,” sneered the other. “He stumbled on to something which was no business of his and had to be eliminated.”
“Well, before you try to eliminate me, Mr. Tolley, I’d better warn you now that there are two armed men stationed at either end of the corridor outside. You didn’t switch on the light in case it was seen under the door. An unnecessary precaution,” said Dillman calmly. “I knew exactly where you’d come because you were obliging enough to mark the spot on the wiring diagram that Ellen so cleverly copied. It was in your daughter’s cabin. Not that I believe for a moment that she really is your daughter, of course.”
Watching him carefully, Tolley put down the explosive device and reached for his walking stick. The torch was still in his other hand. He gave a slow smile as he studied his captor.
“You’re an astute man.”
“I tend to get results.”
“What do you want, Mr. Dillman?” he asked.
“You, sir.”
“Don’t you realize what else you might have, man?”
“Caleb Tolley is prize enough.”
“But there’s money in this. Big money, I promise you. Let me go and I guarantee that you’ll have your share.”
“How? There’s no escape for you from here.”
“Yes, there is. When I blow out the lights, there’ll be pandemonium everywhere. I’ll be able to slip away in the dark.”
“Where to? You’ve got nowhere to hide.”
“There are other ways of protecting oneself.”
“Just give me the walking stick,” said Dillman, approaching with caution. “Then we can talk this over. You’re far too intelligent to try to fight your way out of this, aren’t you?”
Caleb Tolley tensed into a defensive posture, then he seemed to accept the hopelessness of his situation. He tossed his stick to the floor. Dillman moved to kick it aside, knowing what brutal damage the stout handle could inflict on the human skull. Tolley acted quickly. Without warning, he hurled the heavy torch at Dillman and caught him a glancing blow on the temple that sent him reeling. Tolley retrieved his stick in a flash and lifted it menacingly. Dillman backed away.
The voice of Charles Halliday came through the door.
“Are you all right in there?” shouted the purser.
“Stay out!” called Dillman.”
“We’ve sealed off the corridor!”
“I’ll be there in a minute!”
“You’re a brave man,” taunted Caleb Tolley, circling his man. “There’s only one problem, Mr. Dillman. In order to leave here, you’ll need a couple of stretcher bearers. Henry Barcroft was not the first victim of this stick—and he certainly will not be the last.”
He lashed out with the stick but Dillman parried the blow on his left arm. Ignoring the pain, he flung himself hard at his adversary. Tolley was knocked to the ground with such force that he dropped the walking stick. Grappling with him, Dillman rolled over a few times as he fought to secure an advantage. Tolley was strong and resourceful, punching, gouging, and even biting his opponent but he had met his match this time. Forcing him onto his back again, Dillman sat astride him and pummeled away with both fists until resistance finally stopped.
Dillman was exhausted, dripping with perspiration and gasping for breath. His fists were bloodied, his left arm still smarting from the blow. Tolley was in a far worse state. His face was streaming with blood and his clothes were torn. He gulped in air noisily. Yet he was still not vanquished. When Dillman crossed to flick open the catch on the door, the wounded man was unperturbed by the sight of the revolver in the purser’s hand.
“Get up!” ordered Halliday.
“You heard him,” said Dillman, hauling Tolley up by the scruff of his neck. “He wants to lock you up where you won’t do any more harm.”
Tolley gave a weary grin. “Didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“About my profession,”
“We’ve discovered what that is.”
“My other profession.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Insurance, Mr. Dillman,” said Tolley, still fighting for breath. “You don’t think I’d take such risks without adequate insurance, do you? I arranged for a hostage to be taken.”
“Hostage?” echoed Dillman, fear stabbing at him.
“Yes. I believe that you know the lady in question.”
Genevieve Masfield was in a state of agitation for the rest of the evening. After her visitor had departed with a kiss, she put on another dress and went everywhere in search of him, but Dillman seemed to have vanished. While tending his wound, she had come to realize just how much she liked him and she could not believe she had been so honest with him about her situation. At the same time, she knew that Dillman would not betray a confidence. She could trust him as implicitly as he trusted her. Though she feared for his safety, she was eventually forced to give up the search and went back to her cabin, hoping that he would at least get a message to her in due course. Opening the porthole to let in some fresh air, Genevieve sat on the bed and waited.
It seemed an age before the knock came. She went bounding across the cabin with alacrity. Flinging open the door, she spread her arms as if to welcome Dillman back but she saw that her visitor was in fact Ellen Tolley, carrying a valise and a carpet bag. Genevieve’s pleasure vanished instantly.
“Say, could I ask you a favor?” said Ellen, pushing past her with the luggage. “It’s a terrible imposition, I know, but could I bring these in here for a while?”
“No,” replied Genevieve, asserting herself. “You certainly can’t. You have no right to barge in here. Take them back to your own cabin.”
“That could be difficult.”
“Well, you can’t leave them here.”
The slap across the face was so violent and so unexpected that it sent Genevieve flying. When she sat up on the floor, she saw that the door had now been closed and that Ellen Tolley was now standing over her with a gun in her hand.
“Don’t think I won’t use this,” warned Ellen. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve fired in anger. Now sit over there, on the bed,” she added, motioning her with the barrel of the weapon. “And take that stupid expression off your face.”
Genevieve crawled to the bed then perched on the edge of it. Her cheek was on fire. Ellen Tolley was no longer the chatty young American woman who followed her into the ladies’ room. She was an armed intruder, standing between Genevieve and the door. When the latter opened her mouth to speak, the gun waved her into silence.
“All you need to know is this,” said Ellen, moving to sit on the chair. “I’m the one with the loaded weapon. You’re the one with the serious problem. So do as you’re told. I was hoping that we wouldn’t have to resort to this but something has obviously gone wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Caleb didn’t come back in time so he must have encountered some obstacles. Our insurance policy had to be activated. You, Genevieve.”
“Me?”
“You’re our way out.” She laughed harshly. “And it’s no use squinting at me like that. You’re going to have to get used to having me around. Caleb and I plan to share your cabin until we reach New York. You’re our hostage, you see. Our landing card. They’ll have to release Caleb or they’ll have a first-class passenger with a bullet between her eyes and you would be extremely bad publicity for the Cunard Line.”
Genevieve quailed. She looked across at the luggage.
“What have you brought?” she asked.
“A few overnight things. Oh, and I packed another hostage into that valise. As secondary insurance. They wouldn’t dare try anything heroic while we have that in our possession.”
“That?”
“Yes. It’s worth far more than that diamond necklace of yours, I can tell you. It’s the most valuable item aboard this ship. When Caleb gets here, we’ll show it to you.” She gave a mocking grin. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever shared a cabin with a man and a woman, have you? Don’t worry. Your virtue is not in danger. My husband will not touch you.”
“So he’s your husband? I knew he was not your father.”
“That was very perceptive of you.”
Genevieve was slowly recovering her composure. Her cheek still burned but she was not going to give Ellen the satisfaction of watching her put a comforting hand to it. She took a deep beath.
“Why me?” she asked. “Why pick on me?”
“Because you’re his weak point. Men always have one somewhere and I’m an expert in finding it out. The only person on board this ship whom George Dillman would never endanger is you. He’s far too chivalrous. That’s why we chose Genevieve Masefield. To exploit his weak spot. You’re his Achilles’ heel.”
“And who is yours?”
“I don’t have one.”
The gun remained pointing at her and Genevieve had to make an effort not to stare at it. There was no doubt in her mind that her unwanted guest would use it if necessary. She probed for more detail.
“Why do you need a hostage?” she said. “Is this something to do with Mr. Dillman being pushed down those steps earlier on? He crawled along here so that I could bathe his head wound.”
“Now, isn’t that touching?” said Ellen with sarcasm. “And so symbolic. He came to you on his hands and knees. We were rather hoping that he wouldn’t have the strength to get up again. Ever!”
“So much for the interest you showed in him!”
“Oh, that was genuine at first. I liked the guy. Until we discovered that he was the resident detective. That put us on opposite sides.”
“And what sides are those?”
“Winners and losers. We’re the winners. No question of that.”
“Who are the losers?”
“You, George Porter Dillman and the dear departed Henry Barcroft.”
Genevieve was shocked. “Mr. Barcroft is dead?”
“He made the mistake of inviting me to his cabin.”
The tap on the door removed the cold smile from Ellen’s face. Keeping the gun on Genevieve, she put a warning finger to her lips. Carlotta Hubermann’s anxious voice pierced the door with ease.
“Genevieve?” she called. “Are you there? Do let me in. There’s been the most terrible accident. Mr. Tolley has been killed and Mr. Dillman seriously injured. He’s calling for you, Genevieve. You must come before it’s too late. Mr. Dillman sent for you.”
Ellen Tolley only half-believed the story. Suspecting a trap, she nevertheless found Carlotta Hubermann’s tone very convincing. She stood up and moved tentatively towards the door, not knowing whether to open it or leave it locked. Genevieve knew exactly what to do. Feeling for a pillow with one hand, she took a firm grasp on it then hurled herself across the cabin and swung the pillow violently at the gun. As the weapon was deflected, Ellen’s finger closed on the trigger and a bullet was discharged harmlessly into the ceiling.
It was the cue for Dillman to make his entrace. Throwing himself at the door with full force, he broke the catch and burst in to make a swift appraisal of the situation. Before Ellen could point the gun at him, he caught her by the wrist and twisted the weapon out of her hand. She was pushed forcefully back into the cabin, but she was not finished yet. Ellen pounced on the valise and pulled out the violin that was inside, holding it up in triumph.
“Stay where you are!” she cried. “This is a Stradivarius. We stole it from Itzak Weiss. It’s worth a fortune. Think of the ugly repercussions if any harm should come to it.” She held the violin close to the wall. “Now, let me have my gun back or I’ll smash it to pieces.”
“Go ahead,” encouraged Dillman. “It can be replaced.”
“A Stradivarius?”
“Take a close look at the instrument, Ellen. It belongs to a member of the orchestra. I borrowed it from him when I found the Stradivarius in your valise. The real Stradivarius is safely back in Mr. Weiss’s hands.”
Ellen stared at the violin in disbelief. As Dillman moved toward her, she threw it at him but he ducked out of the way. He got a firm grip on her. She fought hard but was soon overpowered. Charles Halliday entered with two armed men to march the captive unceremoniously out. Genevieve was so relieved that she burst into tears and fell into Dillman’s arms. He pulled her close and let his own emotions show.
Carlotta Hubermann interrupted the romantic moment. Eager for praise, she put her head around the door and beamed hopefully.
“How was I?” she asked. “Convincing?”
* * *
It took the remainder of the voyage for the full truth to emerge. Caleb and Ellen Tolley were awkward under questioning but a series of wireless messages gradually elicited information about them and their activities. Meanwhile, the Lusitania sailed calmly on with none of its passengers or crew any the wiser about the recurring crises that it had undergone. True to his promise, the grateful Itzak Weiss gave a recital on the eve of their arrival in New York. Dillman attended it with Genevieve Masefield on his arm. Reunited with his beloved violin, Weiss played with enormous passion and earned a standing ovation from his audience. When many of the spectators adjourned to the lounge immediately afterward, Dillman and Genevieve were among them. Cyril Weekes made a point of seeking out the former for a quiet word alone.
“I’ll say good-bye now, old chap,” said Weekes, “in case I miss you in the morning. I’m off to the smoking room now.”
“Another game of poker?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s become an addiction.”
“You’d play much better in here, Mr. Weekes,” said Dillman with a knowing smile. “Your wife might bring you luck. In the smoking room, you’ll find Mr. Collins more of a handful. They tell me that he plays like a professional gambler.”
Weekes chortled. “That’s why I had to clean him out at least once, Mr. Dillman,” he admitted. “You have sharp eyes, sir. So does my wife. When I give a signal at a critical point in a game, Ada comes to my rescue. It’s amazing how much information she conveys by squeezing my shoulder and issuing an order. I know exactly what my chief opponent is holding in his hand.” He looked defensive. “It’s not really cheating, you know. And I had to get back at Mr. Collins somehow.”
“It might teach him a lesson.”
“Most of the time, it really is luck,” said Weekes. “Meeting Ada was my first stroke of good fortune. Her father wouldn’t countenance a friendship between his daughter and a very junior member of his staff so we had to meet in secret. In a potting shed, actually. That’s where I proposed to her.” He gave another chortle. “In the circumstances, I felt that it was the gentlemanly thing to do. I’ve been lucky ever since. In love, in my business life, at the card table. Good-bye, Mr. Dillman.” They exchanged a warm handshake. “You may have found me out but I wasn’t entirely taken in by you either. Your story about bumping into a lifeboat. That isn’t how you got those bruises on your face, is it?”
“Perhaps not, Mr. Weekes.”
“No, I think that you and old Erskine indulged in a spot of fisticuffs. The fellow is mad about boxing. He even tried to lure me into a sparring contest. Yes, that’s how you came by those injuries, isn’t it?”
Dillman did not disillusion him. He waved his friend off to another session at the card table before returning to Genevieve, who was talking to the Hubermanns. Carlotta was still preening herself over her part in the deception which had momentarily distracted Ellen Tolley. Sworn to secrecy, her sister had been told of the emergency and now viewed Dillman through much more sympathetic eyes. After chatting with them for a few minutes, the two sisters excused themselves and moved tactfully away as if giving the flowering relationship a discreet seal of approval. Genevieve watched them go.
“That was a stroke of genius,” she observed.
“What was?”
“Getting Carlotta Hubermann to knock on my cabin door.”
“She was the only person I could think of,” said Dillman. “Ellen Tolley would hardly have opened up if I’d come calling.”
“She was caught off guard by Carlotta. That gave me my chance.”
“Thank goodness!”
“I was so angry at the thought you’d been injured. I lashed out.”
“And all because of Miss Hubermann’s talents as an actress.” He squeezed her hand affectionately. “It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Caleb Tolley was so determined to prevent the Lusitania from claiming the Blue Riband on her maiden voyage that he was prepared to commit murder and slow the vessel down by destroying part of its electrical system. And yet, ironically, there’s no chance that we will break the record now. Tolley needn’t have bothered.”
“I thought that was a false name, George.”
“It was. Their real name was Blauner. Carl and Ellen Blauner.”
“So he had no insurance company in New Jersey?”
“Yes, he did. That was their cover, Genevieve. But most of their money came from the German government. I don’t know much about European politics but what I do know is that the Germans are spoiling for a fight.”
“There have been articles to that effect in all our papers.”
“The British won’t run away,” he said seriously. “In launching a ship like this one, they’re waving a huge Union Jack at the Germans. The Blauners were paid to tear that flag down and steal vital information about the Lusitania at the same time.”
“What about Henry Barcroft?”
“An innocent bystander.”
“Did they have to murder him?”
“It was curiosity that really killed him, Genevieve,” he explained. “He wanted to know everything about the ship even if it meant poking around without official permission. The night that I followed him, he saw Caleb behaving suspiciously in a part of the vessel where no passengers were allowed. Caleb got out fast, not knowing if he’d been recognized or not. Ellen was his lookout and she made sure that I didn’t see anything untoward by blocking my path. Barcroft was a potential danger, but he was also the ideal person on whom they could plant the stolen diagrams.” He gave a shrug. “The rest, you know.”
“Not quite,” she told him. “There was a time when you believed that Mr. Barcoft had taken those plans from the chief engineer. Why?”
“Because he was so nosy. I was wrong about him and even more wrong about Jeremiah Erskine. It took me ages to unravel the true relationship between the two of them. No wonder Barcroft was so keen to butter him up.”
“Mr. Erskine? The ugly man with the beard?”
“He owned something very beautiful,” said Dillman. “As far as an aspiring author like Barcroft was concerned, anyway. Among his many other American assets, Erskine owns a publishing company. Quite a large one, I understand. It has close links with George Newnes Limited, the British publishing house.”
“So?”
“Barcroft wanted to elevate himself out of journalism and into the realms of literature. He’d already got a British publisher interested in his idea. That’s what he was doing on this maiden voyage,” he said quietly. “Researching a novel. Collecting situations and characters.”
“Characters?”
“Look around you, Genevieve. This ship is full of them. Who could resist the Hubermanns, for instance, or the Rymers, or our aristocratic travelers?” He gave a chuckle. “It’s even possible that a certain Genevieve Masefield and George Porter Dillman may have featured in the novel, albeit under different names.”
“I’m not sure that I like the sound of that,” she said with a shiver. “Have you any idea what the book was going to be called?”
“Yes—Erskine told me.”
“Well?”
“Murder on the Lusitania.”