Murder on the Minnesota (27 page)

“It will keep Mr. Kincaid and the amorous artist off your back.”

“I was thinking of Fay Brinkley.”

Dillman sighed. “Yes, I’m glad you mentioned her. We had a chance encounter last night. Except that I don’t believe there was much chance involved.”

When he related what had happened, she was amused and intrigued. Genevieve was also glad that he was so honest about it and held nothing back. Anxiety returned.

“Fay will be hurt if we walk into the dining saloon together.”

“There may be a way around that,” he said thoughtfully. “Leave it to me. But if we are going to be identified as a couple, there’s something we can do at once, Genevieve.”

“What’s that?”

“Issue a challenge.” He moved to the door. “I’ll explain on the way.”

When he got back to his cabin, Rance Gilpatrick was given a severe jolt. After the row with his wife, he had seen no sign of her. Maxine, he assumed, was keeping out of his way unless he lost his temper again. He prided himself on having rebuffed her accusation about the search of Genevieve Masefield’s cabin. It had enabled him to gain the upper hand again. He soon discovered that that was an illusion. When he stepped into the cabin, he sensed at once that something was awry. It was markedly tidier than it usually was. None of Maxine’s possessions were scattered about on the table or chairs. Going into the bedroom, he had the same experience. There was a sudden emptiness. Gilpatrick dived for the wardrobe and flung open the doors, hoping to find it filled with his wife’s dresses. He stepped back in alarm. They had all disappeared.

Tommy Gault’s fame as an entertainer had spread. Over a dozen children had gathered on the boat deck to watch his displays of strength. Though wearing a jacket and pants, he stood on his hands to amuse them, let them punch him in the stomach, and lifted each of them in turn by getting them to hold their elbows tight against their sides. Cupping the tips of their elbows in his hands, he lifted them right above his head in one fluent move. The children loved it. When Dillman arrived with Genevieve, the children were laughing with glee at Gault’s antics. Recognizing Genevieve, he was a little shamefaced at first, fearful that she might have come to accuse him of searching her cabin, but it was Dillman who had sought him out.

“I wondered if I could take another crack at you, Mr. Gault?” he asked.

“Sure, Mr. Dillman,” said the ex-boxer. “Wear a knuckle duster, if you like.”

“No thanks. I just want to be certain that you’ve got nothing
hidden away under your shirt.” He removed his jacket and gave it to Genevieve. “Take your coat off. Let me see the target properly.”

“I’ll put on a singlet and boxing shorts, if you prefer,” boasted Gault, slipping his coat off. Genevieve took it from him. Gault slapped his stomach. “See? Nothing there except hard muscle. Whitey Thompson said it was like hitting a brick wall.”

“In that case,” said Dillman, flexing his right hand, “I’ll take a small precaution.”

Retrieving a handkerchief from the top pocket of his jacket, he wound it around his knuckles. The children were agog. Dillman was tall and fit. He looked as if he might trouble Gault. Some of them egged him on while others, who had seen his earlier attempt at throwing a punch, sided with Gault. As Dillman got himself ready, the little audience cheered them on. Nobody noticed that Genevieve was slipping a deft hand into the pocket of Gault’s jacket.

“Ready?” asked Dillman.

“Give it all you’ve got,” goaded the other man.

“Here goes!”

Dillman did not pull his punch this time. Putting much more power into the blow, he struck Gault in the middle of the stomach and saw a faint glimmer of pain in his eyes. Dillman shook his hand, then removed the handkerchief to blow on his knuckles. The children laughed and Gault grinned in triumph.

“You’re welcome to try any time, Mr. Dillman,” he said.

“No thanks. I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It was my fault,” said Genevieve. “I wanted to see if what he told me was true.”

“It’s true, all right,” said Dillman, taking his jacket from her. “I’ve never felt stomach muscles like that before. I’ll need to put my hand in cold water.”

“Congratulations, Mr. Gault,” she said. “The professional wins the day.”

Gault put his chest out. “I was a good fighter. Fourteen knockouts.”

“It shows.”

After helping him on with his coat, she went off with Dillman and left Tommy Gault to entertain the children. They were out of earshot before Dillman spoke.

“Did you find anything?”

“Yes, George,” she said, slipping a key into his hand. “In his right pocket.”

“I had a feeling it would be on him somewhere.”

“What now?”

“I’m going down to the orlop deck to see if it fits.”

THIRTEEN

R
ance Gilpatrick’s anger was tempered with embarrassment. Though he demanded to see the purser instantly, he was more subdued as he explained the situation. Mike Roebuck was fascinated by the latest development, but his face remained motionless.

“Where is Maxine hiding?” asked Gilpatrick.

“I have no idea, sir.”

“She must be on the ship somewhere. If my wife intended to jump over the side, she’d hardly take her entire wardrobe with her.”

“I agree with you there.”

“So where is she, Mr. Roebuck?”

“I don’t know. Did Mrs. Gilpatrick leave no note for you?”

“No,” complained the other. “She just vamoosed.”

“Don’t worry too much about it, sir,” said the purser, trying to reassure him. “It’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened. What usually occurs is that the lady in question storms out, goes off alone to brood, and gradually calms down. It’s not my place to offer advice where disputes of this nature
are involved, but I’ve noticed how valuable a cooling-off period can be for both parties. Why not wait for a few hours?”

“Because I don’t want to wait.”

“At the moment, I suspect, your wife doesn’t wish to be found.”

“She ran out on me. I want her back.”

“Did you have some sort of disagreement, sir?”

“That’s between her and me.”

“Of course, sir.”

“So stop offering me advice and find out where my wife is hiding.”

“I’ll have to speak to the chief steward,” said Roebuck. “If she wanted another cabin, Mrs. Gilpatrick may have gone straight to him. He’ll pass on the information to me so that I can make an adjustment in the passenger list. When he does—”

“Where will I find this guy?” interrupted Gilpatrick.

“The chief steward has quarters on the main deck, sir.”

“Give me the number of his cabin. This is my wife we’re talking about, damn it! I can’t hang around until the chief steward decides to report to you.”

Mike Roebuck soothed him, gave him the details he wanted, then held the door open for him. As Gilpatrick surged out, Dillman was coming along the passageway. The detective offered a polite greeting but the other ignored him, heading for the staircase and plunging down it. Dillman joined the purser at the door of his office.

“What’s got into him, Mike?” he asked.

“His wife has left him.”

Dillman was astonished. “Left him?”

“Yes, George. When he went back to the cabin just now, she’d cleared out all her things. Gilpatrick has been searching everywhere for her.”

“What prompted all this?”

“Who knows? But it must be something serious. I wonder if it has some connection with this projected concert.”

“It does, Mike. Let’s step inside and I’ll explain.” They went into the office and closed the door. “Genevieve was forced to pull out. That really upset Mrs. Gilpatrick.”

He told the purser about Genevieve’s confrontation with Gilpatrick the previous night and how she had taken the opportunity to withdraw from the song recital.

“That’s not enough reason for a wife to leave her husband,” said Roebuck.

“There’s more,” said Dillman. “When Mrs. Gilpatrick cornered her this morning and tried to persuade her to change her mind, Genevieve confided that someone had searched her cabin. She hinted, very subtly, that Rance Gilpatrick was involved. My guess is that he was and that his wife has found out about it. She’s a spirited woman. Maxine Gilpatrick would be outraged.”

“She got her message across to her husband, I know that.”

“It obviously stunned him. He didn’t even see me when he rushed past. Still,” he went on, “let’s forget his marital difficulties for a moment, shall we? Did you speak to Captain Piercey?”

“We had a long talk, George.”

“And?”

“He wants to think it over.”

“You mean, he won’t give us permission to open some of the cargo?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“But he must.”

“Not without more evidence.”

Dillman thrust a key at him. “Show him this.”

“What is it?”

“The key to the orlop deck. It fits, Mike. I’ve just tried it.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Tommy Gault’s pocket.”

“You
stole
it?” asked the purser.

“We borrowed it,” replied Dillman. “I played a little trick on him. While Genevieve was holding his jacket, she searched the
pockets and found the key. How did a passenger come to have something as valuable as this in his possession?”

“The skipper will ask the same question.”

“Go back to him. Tell him we must examine that cargo.”

“I will,” said the purser, taking the key. “But what will happen when Tommy Gault finds the key missing? He’ll guess who must have stolen it, surely?”

Dillman smiled. “I doubt it. Genevieve and I have arrested enough pickpockets to know how they work. When she found the key in his pocket,” he said, “she replaced it with a similar one. Genevieve took a selection with her. My feeling is that Gault went down into the hold on the day we sailed to make sure that all of their cargo was aboard. He’ll have no reason to visit the orlop deck during the voyage.”

“You’re a genius!”

“Tell that to the captain. Oh, and while you’re at it, Mike, I need a favor.”

“What is it?”

“Genevieve and I have to be at the captain’s table tonight. Arrange it, please.”

When he found the cabin, Rance Gilpatrick banged on the door with a bunched fist.

“Maxine!” he called. “You in there?”

“Go away!” she answered from inside.

“Open this door.”

“No, Rance.”

“Open this door!” he shouted. “I’m not standing out here.”

“Then take yourself off. You’re not coming into my cabin.”

“We already
have
a cabin. On the boat deck.”

“That’s all yours now,” she said coldly. “You can have as many meetings in there with Joe McDade as you like. I’ve got my own place now.”

“Let me in!” he ordered.

“Never again. You’re done with pushing me around.”

He tried to control his ire. “Maxine,
please,”
he begged.

“Good-bye, Rance.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You know why.”

“There’s no need to get sore with me, honey. I told you. I’ll fix everything. You want Miss Masefield to play the piano, you’ll have her. I guarantee it.”

“Save your breath. Jenny guessed that you were behind it.”

“Behind what?”

“That search of her cabin.”

“I swear to you that I had nothing to do with it!”

“Tommy Gault sings a different tune.”

He gulped. “Tommy?”

“According to him, he went in there but found nothing. Tommy’s not very bright. When I told him I knew he’d carried out the search, he confirmed it. One of you is lying, Rance,” she concluded, “and it’s not him. Now disappear, will you?”

There was a long pause. “Maxine,” he said at length.

“Are you still there?”

“We have to talk.”

“No, Rance,” she said vehemently, “you have to learn to listen. We’re finished. I’ve walked out on you. I can’t share my life with a cheat and a liar. You spied on my friend and had her cabin searched. Why? What were you expecting to find? It’s a dreadful way to treat your wife’s friends.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not the way it sounds. Let me explain.”

“I’m sick of your explanations.”

“Maxine!”

“This conversation is over.”

Gilpatrick was near despair. “We’ve got to sort this out. I can’t spend the rest of the voyage with my wife in a separate cabin. I’ve got business associates aboard. We have to be seen together, honey,” he pleaded. “Think how this will make me
look
.”

From the other side of the door came the sound of mocking laughter.

______

Luncheon found Genevieve Masefield back at the same table as Fay Brinkley. Their hosts, the Langmeads, had also invited the Newtons, along with Yves and Jeanne Houlier. It was an inspired selection. Everyone got on extremely well with one another and the repartee was witty and free flowing. Genevieve had finally shaken off both of her admirers. David Seymour-Jones adored her from a distant table and Willoughby Kincaid ogled her from a much closer one, but she was unperturbed. She could talk with friends instead of having to fend off unwelcome attentions. Seated next to her, Fay contrived a private word during the main course.

“What’s all this about a song recital?”

“I’ve had to withdraw, Fay.”

“I didn’t know you were involved in the first place,” said Fay. “Why didn’t you tell me? You’re a dark horse, Genevieve. How many other secrets are you holding back?”

“None.”

“So why did you pull out?”

“I just wasn’t up to it,” said Genevieve sadly. “Maxine Gilpatrick is a seasoned professional while I’m just someone who can play the piano fairly well.”

“I think you’re being modest.”

“No, Fay, I’m being a realist.”

“Mrs. Gilpatrick is a very interesting lady,” observed Fay. “I wish I’d been able to get to know her better. Etta Langmead says that she trained to sing opera.”

“That’s right, but Maxine took a wrong turning somewhere.”

“She did that when she married her husband.”

“You disliked him, didn’t you?”

“That’s an understatement,” said Fay bitterly. “Anyway, I was in here having a late breakfast when Gilpatrick came stamping in. He treated the waiter appallingly. I can’t bear it when people bully servants like that. The waiter did nothing wrong, but Gilpatrick was taking his anger out on the poor man. Anyone who marries him is in for trouble. Gilpatrick is violent and uncouth. What’s your opinion?”

“Pretty much the same as yours, Fay.”

“You know him better than I do.”

Genevieve nodded. “It wasn’t exactly a salutary experience.”

“What about his wife?”

“Maxine is a lovely woman. She’s had a tough life but has come through it well. I like her very much. That’s how I got drawn into this song recital.”

“Will the event still go ahead without you?”

“It’s in the balance,” said Genevieve tactfully. “But what about you, Fay? I haven’t seen you for a while. What have you been up to?”

“All sorts of things. The most important one occurred last night.” Her eyes sparkled at the memory. “I had what you might call a little adventure.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” said Fay, making sure that nobody else was listening. “I went for a walk on the upper deck and who should I bump into but George Dillman? I told you about him. That handsome man I met in here one day. When I saw Mr. Dillman there, I couldn’t believe my luck. The setting was so romantic.”

“What happened?”

“We talked and talked and got steadily closer. It was wonderful.”

“Did he ask to see you again?”

“Oh, no. Mr. Dillman would never do that. He’s in no hurry, Genevieve. It will take a few more sessions on deck at night before we get to that stage. But I’ll ease him gently along. It will come to fruition in time.”

“I see,” said Genevieve, giving nothing away. “What else have you been doing?”

“Upsetting Mrs. Van Bergen whenever I can. Oh, and I was able to vent my spleen on Joseph McDade as well. Do you remember him?”

“Yes. He launched that terrible attack on President Roosevelt.”

“He caught me in the lounge when I was enjoying a coffee,”
said Fay, slicing her salmon. “For some reason, Mr. McDade thought I needed the benefit of his ignorance, so he started to lecture me on the defects of our president. I saw red, Genevieve. I told him that if he hated the way the country was being run, he should do every American a favor by emigrating. You should have heard him rant and rave. That pallid wife of his was so embarrassed by it all.”

“I do feel sorry for her.”

“Yet the funny thing was this,” continued Fay. “Later on, she came looking for me on her own to apologize for the way that her husband had lost his temper and to thank me for what I said. Nobody has stood up to the old walrus before.”

“I don’t think Blanche McDade ever will.”

“She’s terrified of him, Genevieve. When he found that he couldn’t browbeat me, McDade went back to his cabin, swearing that he’d get his own back somehow. He was in such a rage, according to his wife, that he even took a gun out of his case at one point. I didn’t like the sound of that, I must admit,” said Fay worriedly. “What’s he doing with a gun in the first place? Intelligent people are supposed to win arguments with reason, not with a loaded weapon.”

“Did his wife know that he had a gun?” asked Genevieve with interest.

“No, she was as shocked as I was.”

“Don’t get too upset about it, Fay. I don’t think it was a serious threat.”

“That’s what Blanche McDade said. When her husband calmed down a bit, he told her that there was no real danger. He had no ammunition. I thought that was so peculiar,” said Fay. “Why should a man carry a gun when it has no bullets?”

Genevieve kept the answer to herself. Fay Brinkley had unwittingly given her another piece of evidence. Yves Houlier began to talk about a holiday that he and his wife had spent in England, and Genevieve was called in to pass comments. Half an hour slipped by in the most pleasurable manner. Everyone at the table seemed to be having an enjoyable time except Horace
Langmead. With a fixed smile on his face, he spent most of the time listening rather than contributing. For an extrovert like Langmead, it was highly uncharacteristic behavior. When he excused himself early from the table, Genevieve was concerned about him. She turned to Etta Langmead.

“Is your husband unwell?” she asked.

“Horry? No,” said Etta, “he’s never unwell.”

“He seemed rather distracted.”

“It was that row he had earlier on.”

“Row?” said Genevieve.

“Yes, Miss Masefield. Don’t ask me what it was about because I don’t know, but it really shook Horry. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

“He’s so even-tempered as a rule.”

“I know. Horry is a dear.”

“Did he tell you why he was upset?”

“All he’d say was that the man was never to be invited to our table ever again.”