Murder on the Salsette (17 page)

“Are you needing help, Mr. Greenwood?” he asked.

When she shared a table with them in the first-class dining saloon, Genevieve Masefield did not need to ask how they had fared at the card table. Constance and Tabitha were positively glowing with their success, careful to not to gloat but deeply satisfied that they had turned the tables on the Ackroyds. During luncheon, Genevieve did not wish to raise the question of why Paulo Morelli had been dismissed, but she saw her chance at the end of the
meal. The Simcoes lingered so that Constance could be helped back into her Bath chair without too many spectators.

“You've lost Paulo, I see,” said Genevieve.

“That's right,” replied Constance. “We have a new steward, but I prefer Tabby to take me around the deck instead. I haven't had any fresh air all day.”

“Then why don't I wheel you?” volunteered Genevieve.

“That's very kind of you. Are you sure you don't mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you,” said Tabitha, happy to be relieved of the task. “Mother only wants fifteen or twenty minutes out there. We're playing bridge with the Kingtons at three.” She tucked a blanket around her mother's legs. “Keep yourself warm. It's quite chilly on deck. This is so sweet of you, Genevieve,” she went on, squeezing the latter's arm. “You're a real friend.”

“It's a pleasure to help, Tabby.”

Genevieve took the handles and shoved the Bath chair off. The first thing she noticed was how heavy it was. Built of wicker, it had a very solid construction and seemed to be weighted underneath to provide stability. The two large wheels turned smoothly. Constance guided the contraption with the handle that was attached to the small wheel at the front. As she rolled along, she pulled up the hood of the chair to shield herself.

The wind seemed to have eased slightly but it was still keeping most passengers indoors. Constance did not have to pick her way through the crowd that sometimes filled the decks. She inhaled deeply.

“It's an article of faith with me that I get out here at some time each day,” she said. “Even if it rained, I'd insist on my trip around the deck. I don't know how some passengers can stay entombed in their cabins on a voyage.”

“You have a very healthy attitude, Mrs. Simcoe.”

“It's vital. The doctor warned me that I mustn't let these wretched legs get the better of me, or I'd just shrivel up and waste away.”

“I can't imagine that happening to you.”

“I've too many things to live for, Miss Masefield.”

“Like beating the Ackroyds at the card table?” said Genevieve.

Constance laughed. “That did give me pleasure, I must admit.”

“They certainly enjoyed their win against you yesterday.”

“Phoebe Ackroyd is one of those women who likes to crow.”

Genevieve pushed her along the port side of the vessel and watched the waves breaking against the hull. Since her passenger was in such a benign mood, she decided to touch on the subject that really interested her.

“Paulo must have been very upset to part company with you.”

“It was his own fault,” Constance said sharply.

“He always seemed to be very attentive.”

“He was at first. Nothing was too much trouble for him. The problem was that he became overfamiliar, Miss Masefield. I suppose that I'm partially to blame for encouraging him. Well,” she said, adjusting her blanket, “every woman enjoys the flattery of a handsome man.”

“Tabby said that he overstepped the mark.”

“He forgot his place.”

“What did he do exactly?”

“He made some uncalled for comments about Tabby.”

“I'm sure that he didn't mean to give offense.”

“Well, he succeeded nevertheless,” said Constance. “I'm a very tolerant woman but I have my limits. I reached them with Paulo and made my feelings known to the chief steward.”

“No regrets?”

“None at all, Miss Masefield. I wanted the fellow out of my sight. He got to the stage of taking conversational liberties, and I'll not
allow that kind of thing. Paulo had no right to pass remarks about our private life.”

“Of course not.”

“In the final analysis, he's only an underling.”

“Well, yes. I suppose so.”

“He tried to cross the line,” said Constance with asperity. “I'm told that he's only been demoted to second class. If it were left to me, I'd have had him kicked off the ship altogether. I'd have been quite ruthless.”

George Dillman was shocked. When he found Guljar Singh on the main deck, looking so despondent, he thought at first that he was ill. The old man's account of what had happened took him by surprise.

“You were accused of stealing the two purses?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Dillman,” replied Singh. “I was nearby so I must be guilty. That is how the mind of this detective works. Also, of course, I have a brown face so I must be a criminal.”

“I'm sure that Miss Masefield wouldn't make that assumption.”

“How do you know? You have not met her.”

“Would you like me to speak to her on your behalf?”

“What good would that do?” wailed Singh. “She thinks I am the thief. I could see it in her eyes. The only consolation was that nobody else was about when she made these charges. My countrymen
respect
me, Mr. Dillman.”

“I know. I've seen how they treat you.”

“My reputation will be damaged if I am arrested for these crimes.”

“I think I can guarantee that that won't happen,” Dillman said firmly. “I don't believe for a second that you could have stolen those purses, Mr. Singh.”

“What use would they be to me?”

“Exactly.”

“I have all the money that I require.”

“Yes, you told me you had an unexpected windfall.”

“Oh, it was not very much,” said the old man, smiling for the first time, “but it shows that some of us from India do know how to behave. You remember that trick I played on that officer on the first day?”

“Using that sheet of newspaper, you mean? Yes, I do.”

“I outwitted him with the power of the mind. One of the people who watched me was a young Parsi from Bombay. He asked me if he could borrow my trick to use on someone else. Of course, I said that he could. And what do you think happened?”

“He probably won a bet as a result.”

“Twenty whole rupees! That's twice as much as I had off the officer. Only this friend of mine was very honorable,” said Singh. “Since he had learned the trick from me, he insisted on giving me half of his winnings.”

Dillman was delighted to hear it. The explanation removed the faint suspicion of the old man that he had himself entertained. He had never been annoyed with Genevieve before, but he felt his irritation rising when he saw how badly she had hurt Guljar Singh's feelings. In accusing him, she was looking in the wrong direction altogether.

“I'll talk to this detective,” he resolved. “I'm sure that she made an honest mistake, Mr. Singh, and will be only too ready to apologize.”

The old man shook his head. “The English
never
apologize,” he declared. “If you can make this lady say that she is sorry, I will believe that it is
you
who have strange powers and not me.”

Before he spoke, Sylvester Greenwood waited until the steward removed the tray from his daughter's cabin. Lois was pale and withdrawn.

“You didn't eat very much,” he chided.

“I was not hungry.”

“You do realize why I had to punish you in this way, don't you?”

“I like roller-skating, Daddy,” she protested.

“There's a time and place for recreation, Lois. The time is not close to midnight, and the place is most certainly not the deck of the
Salsette
. What on earth were you thinking about? You might have been
seen
.”

“Nobody was there—except Mr. Dillman.”

“Yes,” he said, “that's what I want to talk to you about. Did you tell him that I have a framed copy of my election poster on the wall?”

“I may have done.”

“That was confidential information.”

“It's not exactly a state secret, Daddy.”

“Don't be impudent!”

“Mr. Dillman was interested in your political career.”

“Why?”

“You'll have to ask him that?”

“I did, Lois,” he replied, “and I found him very evasive. There's something about that man that I don't trust. My guess is that he wasn't on deck last night by accident.”

“He's a friend. He came to have a chat.”

“Yes—about
me
.”

“What harm is there in that? Honestly, I just don't understand why you're reacting like this. Anybody would think that Mr. Dillman was a spy or something.” She saw his grim expression. “Is that what you think?”

“Tell me what he said.”

“I've already done that,” she said.

“Only in outline,” he argued. “I want the fine detail now. Tell me exactly what Mr. Dillman asked you, Lois—word for word.”

______

When he caught up with her, they adjourned to his cabin at once. Genevieve had never been put on the defensive in that way before and she was not enjoying the experience at all.

“I felt I had enough evidence to act,” she said, trying to justify her confrontation with Guljar Singh. “Mrs. Verney had no doubt that he was the thief.”

“Why—did she actually
see
him steal her purse?”

“Of course not. She was asleep.”

“I see. So she dreamed that Guljar Singh was guilty.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic, George.”

“I've just left the old man. He's in a state of complete dejection.”

“He was
there
,” insisted Genevieve. “In the case of Mrs. Verney and that of Mrs. Gilbert. Don't you find that odd?”

“Not at all. Guljar Singh virtually lives on the main deck.”

“Both times, he was only yards from where the purse was stolen.”

“And what about Mrs. Lundgren?” he asked. “She had her purse stolen on deck. Did she mention a phantom Sikh, waiting to pounce?”

“George!”

“No, she didn't. Neither did Madame Roussell. There are four crimes to investigate, Genevieve, and I'd bet anything that they're the work of the same thief. Whatever his name is,” he urged, “it's not Guljar Singh.”

Genevieve bit back a reply. When he had reproached her before, he had always done it as gently as he could. This time, however, Dillman was letting a touch of anger show. It worried her. For his part, he felt that he had spoken too sharply. He gave an apologetic smile and took her into his arms. The loving embrace reassured her.

“I'm sorry,” he said, holding her tight.

“It was my fault, George. I was too hasty.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You always told me to be absolutely certain before approaching a suspect like that. I suppose the truth is that I was too anxious to solve the crimes. The victims have been bearing down on me for an arrest.”

“I know. They expect instant detection. But that was no excuse for me to chide you,” he said. “I'm sure that you didn't intend to upset Guljar Singh. The trouble is that he's very sensitive to criticism.”

“So am I.”

Dillman kissed her on the lips and hugged her to him. “Forgive me?” he asked. “I don't ever want us to fall out, Genevieve.”

“There's nothing to forgive.”

“I think there is. It won't happen again, I promise.”

“I should have consulted you first,” she admitted. “I see that now. But you were too busy pursuing your own investigation, and I was under such pressure to do something.”

“That was the problem.”

“I was too eager.”

“You had to look into the matter, Genevieve.”

“Yes, but I didn't have to hurt the old man's feelings like that. I tried to be polite but he flew off the handle.”

“I can imagine.”

“Then you come along and take his side.”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I'm fond of Guljar Singh, that's all. I hated to see him so disturbed. But the simple fact is that you're my partner, in every way, and I should always support you.”

“Supposing that he
had
been the thief?”

“Not a chance.”

“But if he had—for the sake of argument.”

“Then I'd have arrested him myself.”

“Even though you liked him?”

“There's no such thing as a likable thief.”

Dillman let her go and brought her up to date with his own movements, telling her about his visit to the medical room, and about his confrontation with Sylvester Greenwood. When she heard mention of the Gurkha who had arrived on the scene, Genevieve was alarmed.

“Don't put yourself in jeopardy.”

“I'll happily do so if it will flush out the killer.”

“You ought to carry a weapon,” she urged. “Ask Mr. Cannadine to authorize the master-at-arms to issue you with a revolver.”

“It hasn't come to that stage yet, Genevieve.”

“What stage
has
it come to?”

“Well,” he sighed, “let's take the thefts first. I've got a feeling that the only way we'll recover the stolen property is to institute a search of selected cabins.”

“That's what I told the purser. He was very unhappy about it, but he accepted that we might have to go to that extreme. Mr. Cannadine is as anxious to catch this thief as we are.”

“He doesn't want to face an irate Madame Roussel, that's why.”

“Oh, I was forgetting. He discovered the most extraordinary thing about her, George.”

“That she runs a bordello in Paris?”

“That, too, is possible,” she said. “No, I asked him to check his records to see when Madame Roussel had sailed on the
Salsette
before. This turns out to be her fourth voyage in just over a fortnight.”