Murder on the Celtic (26 page)

“This is nothing to do with Lowbury,” said Spurrier at length. “I couldn't care two hoots about the man. I just think it was unfair of you to give the impression to Miss Masefield that I had a bad temper.” Cleves laughed. “When he told us we were wasting our time pursuing her, you were as angry as I was, Josh. Did you mention that to her?”

“No,” said Cleves, “but then I also omitted to tell her about the rest of your failings. You, on the other hand, couldn't wait to stick the knife into me.”

“She was entitled to know the facts.”

“Selected facts. Chosen to blacken my reputation.”

“Chosen to fill out the picture.”

Cleves chuckled. “Have it your way, Frank,” he said. “Whatever you told Genevieve, it hasn't put her off me. We had a very amicable time over dinner this evening.”

“I think she has your measure.”

“Yes, I'm a friend of the British aristocracy.”

“A friend or a performing bear?” asked Spurrier with a thin smile. “The simple fact is that, with all your advantages, you've failed to win the bet. I'll have to show you how it's done, Josh.”

“Time is rapidly running out.”

“When the moment comes, I move very fast.”

“I'll still be ahead of you.”

“Miss Masefield may have other ideas.”

“She'll choose the better man,” said Cleves, “and that has to be me. Excuse me, Frank,” he went on, easing him aside. “The card table awaits me and I'm in the mood to win lots of money.”

In the circumstances, Jane Lowbury took the news well. Genevieve had expected her to dissolve into tears when she heard what had happened to her husband, but she held them back. She had had time to prepare herself for the worst. Though she recoiled in horror, she also seemed relieved to have information about her husband's death instead of being kept in the dark.

“Who could want to
do
such a thing to David?” she asked.

“We have one possible suspect, Mrs. Lowbury,” said Genevieve.

“Who is he?”

“Let me ask you a question first. Have you ever heard of a man named Horace Pooley?”

Jane looked surprised. “Why do you ask that?”

“It could be relevant.”

“Then the answer is yes. Horace Pooley is a financier. He's very famous in New York. Because he's involved in all sorts of big projects, his photograph is often in the newspapers.”

“I'm afraid that the only thing people will have been reading about him recently is his obituary.”

“I didn't know that he'd died.”

“He was killed, Mrs. Lowbury, by a man who burgled his house.”

“That's dreadful!”

“Did you ever meet Mr. Pooley?”

“I didn't,” said Jane, “but David knew him. They were about to make a deal at one point but it fell through. David always spoke highly of him. I can't believe that he was murdered.”

“There's something else I must tell you,” said Genevieve. “We've come to the conclusion that his killer is on board and that he was involved in the death of your husband.”

“Are you sure?” gasped Jane, a hand to her mouth.

“Almost certain.”

“What's the man's name?”

“Edward Hammond — but that's not the name under which he's traveling. He's sailing with a false passport.”

Jane frowned in concentration. “Edward Hammond?”

“Does that name mean anything to you?”

“It could do,” she answered. “David used to employ an Ed Hammond but he had to dismiss him. I don't know the full details except that David was tempted to call in the police.”

“I don't suppose that you ever met Hammond?” said Genevieve.

“No.”

“Did your husband tell you anything else about him?”

“Not really. He never talked much about his business.”

“If Mr. Lowbury dismissed the man, Hammond might well have borne a grudge against him. He was clearly connected with the financial world in some way. When he realized that your husband was aboard, he took his revenge.” Genevieve gave a shrug. “That's how it's starting to look.”

“And this man is still at liberty?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“Then why don't you arrest him?” said Jane anxiously. “If he's already killed two people, he's a danger to everyone.”

“We know that, Mrs. Lowbury. Earlier this evening he attacked my partner, George Dillman.”

“Goodness! Was he hurt?”

“Yes,” said Genevieve, “but he was very fortunate. Someone came along and disturbed Hammond. He ran away.”

“This is terrible! The man is a menace.”

“That's why we're doing all we can to catch him. Our problem is that we don't know which name he's hiding behind or in which class he's traveling. He obviously has access to first class. When he attacked my partner, Hammond was disguised as a cabin steward.”

“Can't you just search the ship from top to bottom?”

“We could if we knew who we were looking for, Mrs. Lowbury, but we don't. The description we have of Edward Hammond is very general. It could fit dozens of people.”

“But while he's free,” said Jane, “none of us is safe.”

“It's the reason you must take no chances, Mrs. Lowbury. Since this man has never met you, he should have no call to be hostile toward you, but he seems to have a warped mind. He might decide that revenge against your husband would only be complete if he added you to his list of victims.” Jane gave a cry of alarm. “That's only a remote possibility, but it's one we have to take seriously. To that end, I'd advise you to remain in your cabin.”

“Oh, I will, Miss Masefield. I won't stir from here.”

“Don't let anyone in unless you know who it is.”

Jane gave a shudder. “I feel so vulnerable.”

“We'll arrange for someone to patrol the corridor outside at regular intervals,” said Genevieve to reassure her. “And we'll be taking a closer look at anyone in the uniform of a cabin steward.”

“What about you?”

“I don't follow.”

“This man is a ruthless killer,” said Jane, “If you go after him, you're risking your life. Do you have any kind of weapon?”

“No, Mrs. Lowbury.”

“Then how can you hope to capture him?”

“My partner is armed.”

“Oh, I see.” She sat down on a chair and tried to take in all that she had heard. Eventually, she looked up. “What about David?” she said piteously. “Will there be any kind of funeral?”

“We can't have a funeral without a body.”

“He deserves
some
kind of service, Miss Masefield.”

“I'll speak to the chaplain.”

“No, no, don't do that. Let me think about it first. I'm not sure that I'm strong enough to go through with it just yet.”

“Would it make a difference if we caught Edward Hammond?”

“Oh, yes!” said Jane with feeling. “It would make all the difference in the world.”

“What makes you think he has an accomplice?” asked Rutherford.

“It's the way he can disappear with ease,” said Dillman thoughtfully. “I feel that someone is sheltering him.”

“Who?”

“It may be a member of the crew. Someone provided him with a steward's uniform, after all. It was good camouflage.”

“I'd hate to think that a member of our crew is working with Hammond,” said the purser worriedly. “The White Star Line is very careful about the people it employs, even at the lowest level. If we have a villain on the payroll, he must be weeded out immediately.”

It was early morning and they were in Rutherford's office. He had been flabbergasted to hear of the assault on Dillman, and
sorry that the detective had sustained a nasty head wound. Though it was largely concealed by Dillman's hair, it still smarted. The purser was baffled by something.

“Why did Hammond pick on you, Mr. Dillman?”

“Because I'm on his trail.”

“Yes, but how did he know that you're the ship's detective?”

“He must have seen me conducting my search,” said Dillman. “Unless, of course, he was tipped off by this accomplice of his.”

“But almost nobody apart from me knows that you and Miss Masefield were hired as detectives. The vast majority of the crew think that you're simply passengers.”

“And we want them to go on thinking that. It's the same with everyone else. When I was attacked last night, we didn't tell Lord Bulstrode that we had an official role on board. All that he knows is what he saw.”

“A first-class passenger being beaten up by a cabin steward.”

“Hammond had more on his mind than grievous bodily harm.”

“Yes,” said Rutherford, swallowing hard. “But for the timely arrival of a witness, I could now be attending your funeral.”

“I'm not ready for that just yet,” warned Dillman with a grin.

“If he's tried once, he may well try again.”

“That's why I'm carrying a weapon, Mr. Rutherford.”

“What about Miss Masefield? Is she a target as well?”

“Hopefully, she's not. But I've told her to exercise additional care and to stay in public areas. She's perfectly safe there.”

“Shouldn't you be doing the same?”

“Not if I want to catch him. I need to be seen in order to draw him out of cover again. Don't worry,” he said, patting the revolver under his coat. “I'm not a tethered goat. I'm armed. So, I fear, is Edward Hammond.”

“What about this accomplice of his?”

“I can't even guarantee that he exists, Mr. Rutherford. I'm relying on instinct. The reason that Miss Masefield came looking for me last night was that she'd been warned by Mrs. Burbridge that I was in imminent danger.”

“Thank goodness she did!”

“I lack that kind of prescience but I have learned to pick up some vibrations. Experience tells me we're looking for Edward Hammond and an unnamed accomplice.”

“Who could or could not be in the crew.”

“Yes,” said Dillman. “In case he isn't, then I need to ask a favor of you. I want to borrow your master key.”

“Why?”

“To get into the cabin of Mr. Frank Spurrier.”

“Do you think that
he's
involved in some way?”

“Let's just say that I'd like to investigate him a little. Give me five minutes in his cabin and I'll find out if he's the person he professes to be.”

Rutherford was cautious. “I can't authorize the search of a cabin unless it's in exceptional circumstances.”

“I would have thought the murder of one passenger and an assault on another might qualify as exceptional. And I'm not only depending on my own judgment here. Miss Masefield also has cause to suspect Frank Spurrier.”

“Five minutes, you say?”

“Less, probably.”

“You'll need someone to act as a lookout.”

“I'll take Wilf Carr with me,” said Dillman. “Nobody will look twice at a cabin steward waiting in a corridor.” He gave a grim chuckle. “I found that out last night.”

As an insurance against a further ambush, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle decided to honor his promise at the earliest opportunity.
Immediately after breakfast he went to the men's hairdressing salon and signed the book of poems belonging to Nobby Ruggles. Because the barber was about to shave a customer whose face was already covered in white lather, the conversation was necessarily brief.

“Thank you, Sir Arthur,” said Ruggles.

“My pleasure.”

“I carried this all the way through the Boer War.”

“I'm relieved to see that it survived intact.”

“The poems are so easy to learn.”

“You proved that,” said Conan Doyle.

“When would you like me to perform ‘The Groom's Story'?”

“When we have time.”

“And when would that be?” pressed Ruggles, turning to give an appeasing smile to his customer. “I work long hours here, so evening would be best.”

“I'll be in touch.”

“It's well worth hearing. Everybody said so.”

“I'm sure they did, Ruggles,” said Conan Doyle, “but you're not sailing on the
Celtic
in order to recite my poetry. You're here to cut hair and shave off beards. We must keep things in proportion.”

“Nothing is as important as your work, Sir Arthur.”

“It is if you're sitting in the barber's chair.”

“Shall we say this evening after dinner?”

“No, Ruggles.”

“Before dinner, then?”

“We'll let you know,” said Conan Doyle easily. “Meanwhile I'd be grateful if you didn't keep popping up like a jack-in-the-box. My wife and I are rather tired of it. Is that understood?”

“Of course,” replied Ruggles.

“Thank you. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, sir.”

Ruggles gave him a salute, but the moment Conan Doyle turned his back, he dropped his arm and glared at the author. Putting the book aside, he picked up his razor and began to sharpen it on the leather strop.

Wilfred Carr was thrilled to be called upon to act as a lookout. While the steward lurked outside the cabin, Dillman let himself in with the master key and began a rigorous search. Before coming, he had taken the trouble to ensure that the occupant was otherwise engaged. In the unlikely event that Spurrier returned unexpectedly, Carr had been told to bang hard on the cabin door so that Dillman could make his escape in time. As it was, no signal came. He was safe.

The detective was swift and methodical, working his way through every drawer, cupboard and item of luggage. Frank Spurrier was a man of taste, buying his suits from a Savile Row tailor and his hats and overcoats from Jermyn Street, also in London. Nothing in his effects suggested cheapness or lack of discernment. A first search revealed nothing incriminating. Dillman therefore began a more thorough exploration, looking at places he had ignored before. He felt under the bath, he went through the pockets of each garment and he peered into every last corner of the cabin.