Death in the Middle Watch (3 page)

“I congratulate the girls in the office.”

“Old hat, that sort of thing. All the kitchen staff are Goanese and first-rate they are, so what the hell? This one who's just coming aboard is a West Indian. Alexander Carlisle, his name is. I've put him at the Captain's table next to Porteous. That'll teach old P a lesson.”

“Mr Porteous explained to me how loyal everyone was to the Company, by which I took it he meant himself.”

“Are they, hell? But we all have our illusions. I don't know who this man is coming up now.” Mr Ratchett consulted a list. “I think his name is Stopford. I can't know everyone by name. Good evening. Mr Stopford,” he called cheerily.

The man who had approached gave him a very hostile look from two steel-grey eyes.

“Runwell,” he corrected.

“Of course, Mr Runwell.”

“Doctor,” the man reproved him again.

“Yes. I remember now. I hope you'll have a pleasant trip, Dr Runwell.”

“I'm taking it purely for my health,” said the other severely, as he passed on.

“What can you say?” the Purser asked Carolus with a chuckle. “Now this one just approaching is crackers. Barking. Up the wall. We had him a year ago. Wait till you hear him.”

The cruiser, a powerful-looking fellow in his forties, informed the Purser that the ship ought to be taken out of commission.

“The breaker's yard is all it's fit for.”

“You'll pardon the question, Mr Medlow, but why do you book a passage on her in that case?”

Mr Medlow stared.

“Why do I book a passage? Why? You know very well. I have to make my report. You're perfectly aware of that. And 1 shan't be deterred from it, either. The truth, the whole truth … By the way, is Mrs Grahame-Willows coming on this cruise?”

“I don't know,” the Purser said. “I'll look her up.” He again consulted his papers. “Yes. I think so. Her name's down, anyway.”

“Strange,” said Mr Medlow. “I thought she never gave her own name in any circumstances.”

“Here it is—Mrs Agatha Grahame-Willows. That's her. Couldn't very well be any confusion over a name like that. could there

“You never know,” Mr Medlow told him. “I shall recognize her in any case. If there's anything like impersonation I shall inform you. Is this man a private detective?” He looked at Carolus.

“Mr Deene is a passenger.”

“You're not taking any precautions, then?”

“We always do that, Mr Medlow.”

As he passed on, Carolus realized that the stream of cruisers had dried up. The gangplank was empty and no one was crossing from the Customs sheds.

“That's about the lot of them, I suppose,” said the Purser. “May be a few last-minute arrivals, but you've seen the best of them now. All I can say is I wish you luck with that bunch. Novelist, are you? You need to be a science fiction writer, I should think.”

As Carolus turned away, two of the last-minute arrivals hurried up—a man and a woman who showed no sign of being together except by the coincidence of coming at the same time. The man was young, rather good-looking in a Latin sort of way, the woman looked slightly older but still in her twenties and plump. They parted at the top of the gangplank.

“No need of his type,” said the Purser, who had returned to Carolus's side. “Plenty of them among the officers. As for her, there's always one of them.”

“One of them?”

“The life and soul of the party. You'll see. Not bad, was she?”

“I thought that role was reserved for Miss Berry?”

“She'd like it to be,” said the Purser before he disappeared into his cabin at the top of the companionway leading down to the dining saloon.

At five o'clock in the afternoon the ship sailed, and at some time in the small hours of the morning Carolus awakened with a start, though he had no idea what had disturbed him. He switched on the light and examining his watch found it was ten to four.

“Must be well out at sea,” he thought, though he had little or no technical knowledge of seamanship.

But something had roused him. He knew himself well enough to be aware that he did not wake at this sort of time unless a sound or movement broke through his consciousness. When he heard a cry, seeming far away and rather desperate, he knew at once that it was a repetition of the sound that had aroused him, He sat up and strained to hear it yet again, and did so.

“Man Overboard!” someone was shouting and once more, it seemed with pathos and despair, “Man Overboard!”

There were sounds of running footsteps on the deck above him and a few shouted orders. He thought he heard Mr Porteous's voice, but that might have been his imagination. Then he began to dress.

W
HEN
C
AROLUS CAME OUT
on deck, he noticed that the lights had been switched on, though it was still dark in the saloon. He was able to see three men in a group at the for'ard end of the deck but, hesitating behind a stack of deckchairs lashed together, he was not seen by them.

One was Mr Porteous in a dressing gown of Chinese design. The second, in uniform, was recognizable by his gold braid as the Captain, whose name Carolus knew was Scorer. The third was a sailor, what he believed would be termed a deckhand. They were holding a serious but seemingly unhurried conference. Carolus was unable to catch their words but it seemed that the Captain was giving some impressive instructions to the deckhand. No one was scanning the sea, as Carolus had expected. No one seemed concerned with anything connected with the cries that had awoken Carolus.

He waited a few moments more, hoping that the three would move within earshot. Then he walked forward boldly towards the group.

Mr Porteous turned to him.

“Hullo, Mr Deene. You're up early,” he said.

“Early? You don't think I get out of my bed at this hour for amusement, do you?”

“It did strike me as strange. Let me introduce Captain Scorer, by the way. This is Mr Carolus Deene.”

Carolus scarcely acknowledged the introduction.

“I was awoken by someone shouting ‘Man Overboard!'” he said, with a note of accusation in his voice. He seemed to anticipate denials.

“Man Overboard?” repeated Porteous incredulously.

“You must have been dreaming,” said the Captain.

“I know the difference between dreaming and reality. I distinctly heard someone shout the words. One doesn't dream that sort of thing—or I don't. If I dream I don't dream in clichés. ‘Man Overboard' is a feature of every old-fashioned novel, shouted in exactly that tone of voice. What happened?”

Both Porteous and the Captain smiled.

“Nothing whatever, Mr Deene.”

“Then why the conference?”

“I don't think you need concern yourself with that. Captain Scorer was giving some instructions to this deckhand, who was just going off watch. You wouldn't know that, would you? The Middle Watch changes at four o'clock and the Morning Watch comes on.”

“That has nothing to do with what I heard. Have you, or have you not, been given the alarm that someone is overboard?”

“We have not,” said the Captain.

“So whoever shouted did so in a nightmare?”

“I don't know about that. I can only tell you that I've been on the bridge since midnight and heard nothing of the sort.”

“Yet I, in a cabin with the porthole closed, could hear it distinctly.”

“Did you hear anything else?” asked Porteous. Carolus thought that there was anxiety in his voice.

“Among other things, your voice shouting.”

“My voice! But I wasn't here at the time!”

Carolus turned on him sharply.

“At what time?” he snapped.

“The time you're talking about. When you imagined you heard shouts.”

Carolus looked coldly at Mr Porteous.

“I should like to speak to you alone,” he said.

At once the Captain, as though relieved, left them and the deckhand followed.

“I think it was agreed,” said Carolus, “that you should treat me with complete frankness if I came on this cruise.”

“Of course …”

“Then why are you concealing something as important as these events?”

“I assure you …”

“But you don't. There was an alarm of ‘Man Overboard' tonight, and you know it …”

Mr Porteous seemed cornered. He proposed a drink in his cabin—where, be said, they could discuss the whole matter. Carolus acquiesced, but remained inflexible.

“Let us hear the truth,” he said.

“We have no proof,” Mr Porteous told him.

“Of what?”

“That … anything untoward took place. The deckhand, an excellent fellow called Leacock, only assumed that it had happened.”

“Go on.”

“He was making his rounds before going on watch. In the saloon he found this cruiser in darkness, fast asleep.

“I wish you would call him a passenger.”

“Passenger, then. Fast asleep.”

“Who was it?”

“That's what we don't know. Leacock described him as being tall and thin, but as Leacock is on the short side, he might think anyone was tall. It means nothing.”

“You didn't see the man?”

“No. It had happened before I came on deck.”

“
What
had happened, for God's sake?”

“Leacock shook the man's shoulder and told him it was just on four in the morning. The … passenger seemed surprised and stood up as though to go to his cabin. He said ‘Thank you' to Leacock and seemed to be all right, so Leacock left him and continued his rounds. He was on the port side of the ship (he had opened the saloon door on the starboard side) when he distinctly beard a stifled cry and a splash. It is, as you will have noticed, an uncommonly quiet, still night. I should have been delighted, if it hadn't been for all this. A calm sea on the first night out of a cruise is a blessing. But tonight I can't feel that at all. Leacock hurried to the spot where he had been talking to the passenger and found him gone.”

“Naturally. To his cabin.”

“No. He had been wearing a raincoat and it was hanging over the rail with a jacket under it and a pair of shoes was there too. At that point Leacock gave the shout you heard. He thought the passenger had thrown himself overboard. He followed instructions and immediately threw one of the life belts into the sea so the passenger might be able to reach it. In cases like this a strong swimmer has been known to do that, though the chances are very much against it. At this point I came on deck and found Captain Scorer already there.”

“He stopped the engines of course?”

“Well, no. We know from experience …”

“What experience?”

“Sea-going experience, Mr Deene.”

“I didn't know you had any.”

“The Captain certainly has. He told me that the chances were one in a hundred thousand of being able to pick anyone up, even if someone had gone overboard. Remember we had no proof of that. He consulted me and I decided that, with the
responsibility of the happiness of all the cruisers on my shoulders (they need their holidays, remember), I would avoid the panic and distress that an incident like this might cause them. The man, whoever he was, evidently wanted to die; who was I to interfere with his determination?”

“So you told the Captain to signal Full Steam Ahead?”

“Exactly. It was the only thing to do.”

“Without even knowing who, if anyone, had gone overboard?”

“There were the clothes.”

“I can think of a dozen explanations for those. And anyway, how do you know that he threw himself over? Leacock spoke of a stifled cry. How do you know the man was not murdered?”

“Murdered? You know, I think you are obsessed with murder, Mr Deene. The cruiser was alone, sleeping in the saloon …”

“But how do you know he was alone? There are so many possibilities. He might have been drugged. Another passenger might have been concealed in the saloon. He could have been thrown over the side. For all you know Leacock himself might have killed the man.”

“Preposterous. Leacock's an excellent fellow.”

“And thoroughly loyal, of course.”

“Of course. You evidently like letting your imagination run away with you.”

“But let us return to probabilities. It seems likely that one of the passengers, either deliberately or not, let himself be locked in the saloon when the lights were turned out.”

“That may well be so.”

“And that Leacock found him there and woke him?”

“That's what Leacock says and I'm inclined to believe him.”

“Then Leacock left him and the passenger presumably took off his overcoat, jacket and shoes and went overboard to a watery grave. In that case there remain some questions for
you, Porteous. Who was this passenger? Why did he want to commit suicide? Why come on a holiday cruise to do it?”

“No doubt these questions will be answered in the morning when we see which of the passengers is missing.”

“But how do you know you'll see? It may not have been a passenger. A good many people were on board yesterday who weren't going on the cruise. One of them could easily have stayed on in hiding.”

“You have the most extraordinary knack of making things more complicated than they are. I feel sure the mystery, such is it is, will be cleared up in the morning. The Purser has a complete passenger list and it can easily be checked. Besides … ,” there was triumph in Mr Porteous's voice, “we have all their passports.”

“I agree that not much can be done tonight. I gather your conscience is quite easy about leaving the man, if there was a man, to drown?”

“It's something everyone who charters a ship may have to face at one time or another. This kind of thing is not so infrequent as you suppose. Of course I'm sorry for the poor fellow. He must have suffered a great deal before he was driven to it. But to answer your question, yes, my conscience is quite clear.”