Thunderstruck (49 page)

A B
OAT IN THE
M
IST

O
N
S
ATURDAY NIGHT FOG SETTLED
over the St. Lawrence and forced Captain Kendall to slow the
Montrose.
The blue spark of the ship’s wireless lit the suspended droplets and made the Marconi cabin seem as if it truly were a magician’s cavern. Even with the door now shut against the weather, the crack of the spark generator was audible on the deck outside.

Fog during a voyage was never pleasant, but in so heavily traveled a channel as the St. Lawrence, it was especially unnerving. “The last night was dreary and anxious, the sound of our foghorn every few minutes adding to the monotony,” Kendall wrote. “The hours dragged on as I paced the bridge; now and then I could see Mr. Robinson strolling about the deck.”

Kendall told Robinson that he ought to consider getting up early so that he could be on deck in time to watch the pilots come aboard from Father Point. The captain suggested he might find the experience interesting.

At four-thirty the next morning, Sunday, Kendall blew the
Montrose
’s whistle to alert Father Point of the ship’s imminent arrival.

C
RIPPEN FOLLOWED
K
ENDALL’S
suggestion and rose early. He and Ethel had breakfast, then returned to their cabin, where Ethel snuggled up with her latest book,
Audrey’s Recompense
by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, the pen name of Sarah Elizabeth Forbush Downs. Crippen urged her to come up on deck. “I don’t think I will,” she told him. “It’s very wretched up there, and I would rather stay down here and finish this book before lunch.”

Crippen left “quietly,” Ethel recalled, and went up alone. On deck he began to walk. Inside the lining of his vest he had sewn four diamond rings, a pin in the shape of a butterfly, and a gold brooch studded with diamonds that evoked a rising sun.

T
HE SHIP’S SURGEON,
Dr. C. H. Stewart, also came up on deck early. He knew of the trap about to be sprung and wanted to see the whole thing unfold. At around eight o’clock he encountered Mr. Robinson, and the two began to chat. They stood together at the rail on the ship’s port side. The fog had thinned to mist, and now rain began to fall.

Robinson seemed nervous. Stewart noticed, too, that Robinson had clipped off his new beard and had cut his upper lip, apparently while shaving. What most struck Stewart, however, was that Robinson looked nothing like the man in the photographs published in the
Daily Mail.

A boat emerged from the pewter mist and gained definition.

“What a lot of men in that small boat,” Robinson said. He turned to Dr. Stewart. “Why so many?”

Stewart shrugged. “There is only one pilot for the ship,” he said. “Perhaps the others are his friends, who are going to take a little excursion as far as Quebec.”

Robinson asked if the men might be medical officers. Dr. Stewart said he did not think that was the case.

They continued to watch.

K
ENDALL WENT TO HIS CABIN
and found his revolver. As a precaution he placed it in his pocket. He returned to the bridge.

T
REACHEROUS
W
ATERS

E
ARLY THAT MORNING
D
EW AND THE REPORTERS
had gotten up well before dawn. At four-thirty amid the bleating of the foghorn, they heard a ship’s whistle. The reporters raced to board the pilot boat,
Eureka,
and civilian spectators climbed into a flotilla of small boats. The police kept the crowd from shoving off.

Dew realized he would have to change his plan. He had intended to ride the
Eureka
to the ship, but now he saw that all those reporters jamming its decks would give the trap away long before he reached the
Montrose.
There was still a chance the Robinsons were not in fact Crippen and Le Neve. It would be best, he reasoned, if he could board the
Montrose
wearing some kind of disguise, so that he could get a look at Crippen without being detected. A disguise might also prevent the fugitive from panicking and doing something unexpected, like leaping into the river or drawing a gun. Dew and Mitchell had found one revolver at Hilldrop Crescent; Crippen might be carrying another.

Dew asked the chief pilot if he might borrow his uniform and cap. The chief agreed. Dew then arranged to go out to the ship in the company of the regular pilot but not aboard the
Eureka.
Instead they would take a large rowboat. The two Quebec inspectors would come along.

They launched the boat from a location well away from the reporters. Four sailors did the rowing. Soon the liner came into view, its long black hull barely visible in the mist and rain. Dew pulled the visor of his pilot’s cap low over his face.

Crewmen on the deck high above threw over a ladder, which jolted to a rest just above the waterline. The real pilot climbed first. Dew followed, as did the Quebec detectives. All went directly to the bridge, where Dew introduced himself to Kendall. They shook hands and exchanged greetings. At that moment on the deck below a man of slight stature emerged from behind the ship’s funnel. Dew watched him.

Kendall watched Dew. The captain looked for some sign that Dew recognized the passenger below. The inspector said nothing. Kendall led the party to his cabin and sent for Mr. Robinson. A few moments later the man appeared, looking unconcerned and cheerful.

Kendall stood. Discreetly he put his hand in his pocket and gripped the revolver. He said, “Let me introduce you.”

Dew stepped up, still in his cap. The passenger smiled and held out his hand. Dew took it and with his free hand pulled off his cap. He said quietly, “Good morning, Dr. Crippen.”

The expression on the passenger’s face changed rapidly, Dew wrote. First came surprise, then puzzlement, then recognition. Finally, in a voice Dew described as being “calm and quiet,” Crippen now said, “Good morning, Mr. Dew.”

Once the details became public knowledge, all of Britain seemed to agree that the understated drama of this encounter had been equaled only once before, when Stanley caught up with Livingstone.

Now Dew told Crippen, “You will be arrested for the murder and mutilation of your wife, Cora Crippen, in London, on or about February last.”

D
EW’S GAMBLE HAD PAID OFF.
“During my long career as a detective I have experienced many big moments,” he wrote, “but at no other time have I felt such a sense of triumph and achievement.” But he also felt what he described as a “pang of pity” for the little doctor. Crippen, he wrote, “had been caught on the threshold of freedom. Only twelve hours more and he would have been safely at Quebec.”

The Canadian police handcuffed Crippen and led him to a vacant cabin. Now Kendall led Dew to cabin number five, which Crippen and Le Neve had occupied during the voyage.

Dew tapped lightly on the door, then entered. To his great satisfaction, he saw that Ethel was indeed wearing a suit of boy’s clothing.

She looked up from her book.

He said, “I am Chief Inspector Dew.”

The introduction was unnecessary. Despite his pilot’s uniform, she recognized him immediately. She gave a cry and stood, then fell unconscious as abruptly as if someone had struck the back of her head with a crowbar. Dew caught her in midswoon.