Murder on the Lusitania (16 page)

“Very little.”

“Is that the truth?”

“She was with Mrs. Weekes when I met her.”

“Women will gossip so.”

“They see it as taking an interest.”

“Sheer nosiness most of the time!” His gesture took in the whole room. “Wonderful to have a safe refuge like this.”

“Yes,” said Dillman casually. “I believe I saw you talking to that journalist yesterday evening. In the dining saloon.”

“Journalist?”

“Henry Barcroft.”

“Oh, him? Yes, nice chap. Rather took to him.”

“Not many people have said that, Mr. Erskine.”

“Eh?”

“They tend to find Mr. Barcroft a little too forward. Too brash.”

“That’s what I like about him,” returned the other. “He’s brimming with confidence. Can’t stand people who hide their light under a bushel. Barcroft is bright and he knows it. He’s ambitious. He’ll go far.”

“How well do you know him?”

“Not well at all. We’ve only met, what, two or three times. But that was enough. When you’re in business, you learn to size a man up quickly. I could see at once that Barcroft had the spark.”

“Spark?”

“That glow inside a man that gets things done. That drive and urgency.” He pulled himself out of the armchair. “I must go back to the cabin to fetch my wife,” he said, looking shrewdly at Dillman again. “You never done any boxing?”

“Not what you’d would call boxing, Mr. Erskine.”

“Pity. You’ve got the build for it.”

“But not the enthusiasm.”

“Oh, that’s critical. It’s the enthusiasm which helps you to absorb the punishment. We all enjoy landing well-aimed punches. But you may have to take a few in the process. It’s your enthusiasm for the sport which carries you through. Will you stand up a moment, please?”

“Of course,” said Dillman, rising to his feet.

Erskine appraised him. “Yes,” he said, “you’d have a longer reach and a decided height advantage but I still think I might pack the stronger punch. I’d have enjoyed a bout with you. In my day,
that is. Always liked a challenge.” He slapped Dillman playfully on the arm. “Excuse me. My wife will be wondering where I am.”

Erskine walked off and left Dillman with his arm still stinging.

Nairn Mackintosh and his wife were luncheon guests in the Rymers’ suite and thoroughly approved of the Scotch salmon being served. Wine flowed freely but the men still had room for two glasses apiece of malt whiskey at the conclusion of the meal. Sylvia Rymer went out of her way to be hospitable, realizing that it was not just a pleasant social occasion. Though the Mackintosh estate was not even mentioned, she knew that it had aroused her husband’s interest and that he was eager to befriend the wealthy Scotsman in order to win his confidence. Further down the line, perhaps, that friendship might eventually lead to some kind of proposition relating to the Highland property. Luncheon was a first important investment.

While the others at the table talked, laughed, and argued happily, Violet Rymer was largely reduced to the status of an onlooker. She smiled when it was required and answered questions from the guests with studied politeness but her mind was elsewhere. The tryst with Philip Garrow had been set for that afternoon. Fervently hoping that nothing would happen to imperil it, she watched her father’s steady consumption of alcohol with some relief, knowing that it would put him in a liberal mood and, at some point, send him quietly to sleep.

It was Sylvia Rymer who noticed how the time had raced past.

“Come on, everybody!” she announced. “We must go.”

“Must you?” complained Rymer.

“The concert starts in ten minutes, Matthew.”

“But we were just about to have another glass of whiskey.”

“I’ve had enough, thanks,” said Nairn Mackintosh, holding up a gnarled hand. “If I touch another drop, I’ll nod off during the concert.”

“That won’t do,” said his wife. “You snore so loudly.”

They all laughed and got up from the table. Violet had agreed to go to the concert with her mother but planned to leave in the
interval in order to hurry off to her assignation, secure in the knowledge that one of her parents would be listening to music while the other, most probably, was taking a nap. The plan seemed to be working.

“Why don’t you come with us, Matthew?” asked his wife.

“No, thank you, Sylvia.”

“But you’ll enjoy it. There’s some Mozart in the program.”

“I’ll sit this this one out, dear. Feel a bit drowsy, to be honest.”

“I’m not surprised,” she chided.

After a flurry of farewells, the four of them left the suite and headed for the music room. By the time they arrived, it was already quite full but they managed to find seats together. Violet made sure that she was sitting on the end of the row. The orchestra was small but they were all talented musicians. When the conductor appeared, he was given a generous round of applause. He took his bow, faced his orchestra and lifted his baton, waited for ten seconds, then led them into the melodious world of Franz Schubert.

Neither Sylvia Rymer nor her daughter had any idea that they were being watched through the glass doors by a plump woman in a light gray dress. As soon as the concert was under way, Mildred left and went straight back to the suite. Matthew Rymer was waiting in the parlor, his coat off, his waistcoat open. He was toying with a glass of whiskey.

“Well?” he said.

“The concert has started, sir.”

“That gives us plenty of time, Mildred.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you enjoy your walk this morning?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I promised you a tour of the ship,” he said airily. “I told you that there would be treats if you came with us.”

“Being here at all is a privilege in itself, sir.”

“Is it, Mildred?”

“You know it is, Mr. Rymer.”

“Are you grateful that I brought you?”

She gave a submissive smile. “Very grateful.”

Matthew Rymer gazed at her with quiet pleasure for a while. Then, he reached into his waistcoat pocket to extract a large gold watch. After checking the time, he replaced the watch and looked up again at Mildred.

“Why don’t you lock the door?” he said.

ELEVEN

T
he orchestra played to an appreciative audience that included Cyril and Ada Weekes, Dorothea Erskine, Genevieve Masefield seated between Abigail and Carlotta Hubermann, the Palgraves, the Latimers holding hands surreptitiously, Edward Collins, and Ellen Tolley, who had come early to ensure seats in the front row so that her father could stretch out his leg. It was a long and varied program. During the first half, Violet Rymer was as taut as the strings on the instruments. Though two of her favorite pieces were played, she hardly heard a note, rehearsing instead her excuse to withdraw during the interval and looking forward to the joyful reunion with Philip Garrow. She was at once exhilarated at the thought of what lay ahead and terrified that something might happen at the last moment to threaten it.

Mozart brought the first half of the concert to an end. Applause was generous. As the orchestra retired for well-earned rest, there was a rustle of dresses and flapping of programs beneath the heavy murmur of voices. Nairn Mackintosh was among several who withdrew to relieve himself. Sylvia Rymer was about to join those heading for the ladies’ room when her daughter touched her on the arm.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll slip out now,” said Violet.

“But why, dear?”

“I have a slight headache.”

“What a shame!”

“You’ll have to excuse me.”

“But it may pass off soon.”

“What I need is some fresh air.”

“Do you want me to come with you, Violet?”

“Oh, no!”

“I hate the thought of you being unwell.”

“It’s only a headache, Mother.”

“You are looking a trifle flushed, I must say.”

“There’s no point in your missing the second half as well,” said Violet, detaching herself. “I’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to … go on deck for a while. Good-bye.”

Before her mother could say anything else, Violet moved quickly toward the exit and went out, not daring to look back until she was well clear of the music room. Nobody had followed her. She was safe. It would be at least another hour before Sylvia Rymer emerged to look for her, and her father, she was certain, would now be dozing in their suite. As she hurried off, she reflected on the kindness and discretion of George Dillman. The American had tracked down Philip Garrow, delivered her letter, brought a verbal reply, and given her directions to the second-class cabin where she was to meet her lover. She was tripping along as fast as she could, resisting the urge to break into a run and trembling so much that she bunched her fists hard in an effort to control herself.

When she reached the cabin, she first checked her appearance in a nearby mirror and brought a hand up to stroke back her hair. Clearing her throat and wishing that her heart would not pound so violently, she tapped on the cabin door. It opened almost immediately.

“Philip!”

“Come in,” he urged.

Drawing her into the cabin, Philip Garrow locked the door,
then turned to gaze at her. Dressed in his new suit, he looked smarter than she had ever seen him before and that added to his luster. She did not see the dark shadows under his eyes or observe how nervous he was. Violet was too overwhelmed by the wonder of what was taking place. It was the first time they had ever been alone in a room with a bed before. As she glanced across at it, she blushed. Garrow gave a sudden laugh, almost a giggle of triumph, then reached out to embrace her. Violet Rymer clung desperately to him as her eyes became fountains of tears.

* * *

The first theft took place at the concert. An elderly lady had her purse stolen. The problem was that she could not remember whether she had left it on her seat during the interval or took it with her to the ladies’ room. A search of both places was fruitless. A second crime, it seemed, was also committed during the concert. When they got back to their cabin at its conclusion, a retired doctor and his wife discovered that a number of small items were missing, including a valuable French Empire clock, which they were taking to America as a gift for their hosts. Charles Halliday did his best to reassure the victims but all three were deeply upset by what had taken place.

When yet another theft was reported, the purser had to call in Dillman. One of the most priceless items aboard the ship had been stolen and its owner was in a towering rage.

“I will sue the Cunard Line!” threatened Itzak Weiss. “How on earth could this happen? It’s monstrous.”

“We must have the full details, sir,” said Halliday patiently.

“My violin was taken!” yelled the other. “That is the only detail that matters. It is a Stradivarius. Quite irreplaceable. I bought it many years ago in Vienna and it has been a sublime instrument. Do you know what a Stradivarius is? How much it means to a musician to possess one?”

“I assume that the instrument is insured, Mr. Weiss.”

“That’s immaterial! No amount of money can atone for its loss. We are talking about one of the finest violins ever made.”

“The thief appreciates that, sir,” said Dillman. “An artiste of
your distinction would only play an instrument of the highest quality.”

“Find him! Arrest him!”

“One step at the time, Mr. Weiss.”

The musician paced up and down the cabin like a caged tiger. His heavy jowls were puce with rage. His broad shoulders were hunched, his eyes blazing. Dillman noticed how small, white, and delicate his hands seemed. Weiss brought them up to his temples in a gesture of despair.

“I am ruined!” he wailed. “Without my violin, I am ruined.”

“If you could give us more details, please,” the purser began.

“Who could
do
such a thing! It’s abominable.”

“You have our deepest sympathy.”

“What use is that, man? I want my violin!”

He came to a halt and unleashed a stream of abuse. Austrian by birth, he had a guttural accent that gave his words more bite and authority. As his fury built, however, he lost faith in the ability of the English language to express his full disgust and lapsed back into German. Dillman waited until the storm blew itself out, then he took command of the situation.

“Might I suggest that we all sit down, Mr. Weiss?” he said.

“What?” mumbled the other in a daze.

“Sit over here, sir,” said Dillman, guiding him to an armchair, “so that we can review the situation more calmly. Before we go any further, let me assure you that we will retrieve your violin as soon as possible.”

“How?”

“I will explain.” Indicating that Halliday should join him, Dillman lowered himself on to the sofa. “Your violin is still on board this ship. We will search the vessel from top to bottom until we find it. There is no chance whatever that anyone will manage to smuggle it into New York. It is only a question of time before it is safely back in your hands.”

Weiss was distraught. “If, as you say, it is still on board. But what if it has been destroyed? Or thrown into the sea?”

“Inconceivable.”

“Is it?”

“Nobody would take the risk of stealing it in order to damage it, still less to hurl it overboard. The thief understands its true value. There is an old Turkish proverb, Mr. Weiss. ‘He who steals a minaret knows where to hide it.’ That is what must have happened here. Only someone who knew how to sell such an instrument at the best price would go to the trouble of stealing it.”

“Then why didn’t they take the case with it?”

“I can only hazard a guess.”

“Mein
Gott
! It’s a Stradivarius. It needs to be treated with the utmost care. When I am not practicing, it never leaves its case. What kind of a madman would just grab the violin on its own?”

“Someone who probably has another case waiting for it,” said Dillman, speculating quietly. “One that does not have a name inscribed on it as yours does. There’s another consideration. This theft took place sometime in the past hour or so. In broad daylight. A violin case is very conspicuous. The thief didn’t want to be seen carrying it when he took it back to his cabin. On its own, it might more easily be concealed inside a coat or beneath a garment draped over an arm.”

“How long were you absent from the cabin?” asked Halliday.

“I told you. An hour, perhaps a little more. My wife and I had a walk on deck, then she went to the lounge.” A fresh surge of despair sent his hands up to his temples again. “Ruth! My dear wife! What is she going to say when she learns about this? She will be heartbroken!”

“Perhaps it is just as well that you made the discovery on your own,” said Dillman. “Mrs. Weiss was spared that horror. I know that it’s small consolation, but you will have time to prepare her before you break the news to her. That may lessen the pain slightly.”

“It will not lessen my pain, Mr. Dillman.”

“I understand that, sir.”

“I am due to play in New York the day after we land. Brahms. How can I honor my commitment when I have no violin? How can I practice?”

“We can at least solve that problem,” said the purser helpfully. “I’m sure that we can borrow a violin from a member of the orchestra.” He saw the other’s grimace. “Yes, Mr. Weiss, I know it’s not the same, but it’s better than nothing.”

“I want my own instrument.”

“You will get it, sir.”

“When?”

“When we find it,” promised Dillman. “Both the violin and the thief are rarefied specimens. There’s only one person aboard this ship who would even dream of committing such a crime.”

“He deserves to be shot!” exclaimed Weiss.

“Don’t worry,” said Halliday. “He’ll pay the full penalty.”

“He’d better, sir. I hold you responsible.”

“You should have kept the violin in my safe, Mr. Weiss.”

“What use is it in there when I want to practice?” The virtuoso jumped up from his seat. “Are you telling me that the Cunard Line
expects
to have Stradivarius stolen? Is that why I should have had it locked away? What sort of a ship is this if a man’s violin cannot be left safely in his cabin? Are all our possessions in danger? Have other people had things taken from them? What kind of security do you call this?”

Charles Halliday chose not to answer and he was grateful when Dillman again came to his rescue, calming the violinist down sufficiently to be able to extract full details of his whereabouts during his absence and how he made the discovery of the crime. When they were about to depart, Itzak Weiss’s misery had got the better of his anger. He looked up dolefully into Dillman’s face.

“Tell me the truth, sir. I will get my violin back?”

“Without a shadow of doubt.”

“And this vile thief?”

“Leave him to us, sir.”

“Where will you look for him?”

“Among the audience at the music concert. We’re dealing with a man who loves music, who might even be, or have been, a musician himself. That’s where I’ll start searching for him.”

“But how could he take my Stradivarius if he was at the concert?”

“There was an interval, Mr. Weiss. A long interval.”

“But who exactly is he, Violet? Who is this George Porter Dillman?”

“I told you, Philip. He’s a friend.”

“What sort of friend?”

“One that I can trust,” she said. “I needed help from someone.”

“But why him?”

“Mr. Dillman was the only person I could ask.”

“And what will he expect in return?” asked Philip Garrow.

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“He’s such a considerate man. He was glad to help.”

“I didn’t see any signs of gladness when I met him. He was much too smooth for my liking. Too smooth and too watchful. I began to wonder if this Dillman had designs on you himself.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it?”

“I’ve only known him a few days.”

“So?”

Violet Rymer was almost overcome with disappointment. Expecting to fall into his arms and kiss away their long absence, she had spent most of the time with Philip Garrow arguing pointlessly about the man who had indirectly brought them together. When she stepped into the cabin, she had left all thoughts of Dillman behind her but he appeared to have followed her in. Garrow’s jealousy was turning the meeting into an ordeal. She had never seen him in such an unpleasant mood before.

“Perhaps I’d better go,” she announced.

“No!” he protested. “Not yet. We haven’t decided anything.”

“You seem to have decided something about Mr. Dillman. And I find it very distressing. How could you even think such a thing? After all that we’ve been through together, all the risks I’ve taken
on your behalf.” Her eyes moistened again. “There isn’t a man in the world to touch you. How can you stand there and accuse me like that?”

“I’m not accusing you, Violet,” he said soothingly.

“It’s very hurtful.”

“Then I apologize, I really do, because I’d hate to hurt you in any way. I love you. I’ve missed you. That’s why I’m so on edge. I hardly slept a wink last night.”

“Neither did I.”

“I’ve been dying to see you again.”

“Thought of nothing else,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “When I realized that you were on board the ship, I nearly fainted with joy. It was the last thing I dared hope for.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you certainly did that.”

“And are you happy now, Violet?”

She nodded. “Are you?”

He took her in his arms again and kissed her on the lips. Violet was willing but too inexperienced to put any real passion into the kiss. Still holding her tight, he moved her slowly across the cabin. When her leg touched the side of the bed, she tensed in alarm.

“No, Philip!”

“Why not?”

“I can’t. I daren’t.”

“Won’t you just sit on the bed with me?” She hesitated. “Violet, it’s me. We’re alone together at last. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, but I’m not ready for anything else yet.”

“We have to seize the chance when we can.”

Violet was shocked. “Just like that? With no time to prepare? It’s wrong, Philip. I know I couldn’t go through with it. Besides, I’ll have to get back soon or they’ll start wondering where I am.”

“Let them wonder.” He tried to lower her into a sitting position on the bed but she resisted. “I thought you loved me.”