Cherry Ames 09 Cruise Nurse (18 page)

“That’s what I think,” Cherry said. “He’s hardly coughing at all now and he’s not nearly so hoarse.” Kirk Monroe chuckled. “If he didn’t insist upon talking so much he would probably have gotten over his laryngitis much sooner. He’s a regular magpie, that one!”

He’s like a magpie in more ways than one,
Cherry thought, remembering the letter Tim had fi lched from Henry Landgraf’s pocket. She fl ushed guiltily. That letter was still in her own pocket. Ethically speaking, she should return it to the purser at once. But she didn’t like to do that until she had shown it to Jan.

Suddenly it struck Cherry that the letter shouldn’t be given to either Ziggy or Jan. She should take it straight to the captain herself. For it was irrevocable proof that Mr. Henry Landgraf had taken it from the purser’s offi ce the night before.

But
there was good old Rule 6:

“The ship’s nurse must always be diplomatic, cooperative and courteous in her relationship with a passenger, an offi cer, or a member of the crew.”
And,
the next one: “When an equivocal question arises, the nurse must not assume any responsibility

MILK OF MAGNESIA

169

whatsoever. She must immediately refer the passenger, the offi cer, or the member of the crew to the ship’s surgeon.”

Before she knew it Cherry had handed over Ziggy’s letter and was blurting out the whole story.

“Ambergris!” Kirk interrupted once.

“Yes, ambergris,” Cherry said. “Fantastic, but true.”

“It’s a fantastic substance all right,” Kirk agreed.

“Especially the much-sought-after fossil ambergris.

They say that effete Oriental potentates value highly the fl avor of a drop of the tincture in their hot coffee. And there’s a legend in the Indies and Moslem countries that it has the same life-giving qualities that Ponce de Leon’s Florida Water was supposed to have.

In olden times the maharajahs treasured it in sealed caskets as they did their gold and precious stones. Their descendants can now sell this form of superrefi ned ambergris for fabulous sums.”

“Then Jan’s
ambre blanc,”
Cherry put in, “may be very valuable?”

“I imagine so,” Kirk agreed. “You see a little of the pulverized stuff goes a long way. When I was a kid a chemist friend of mine let me watch him prepare the tincture. First he crushed a small stone of it with mortar and pestle. Pretty much the way you prepare Tim’s sulfa.” He smiled. “Then he added alcohol at 96° in a proportion of 8 liters to 1,000 grams of powdered ambergris. The mixture was allowed to stand, with occasional stirring, in an open container for eight days. Then the alcohol was poured off and another 170
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AMES,

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NURSE

8 ounces poured over the residue. After eight washings, my chemist friend had 40 liters of the tincture which he fi ltered into another container and left to age in a warm place for about six months. Then he started all over again with the settling.”

“You mean what was left of the original 1,000 grams?” Cherry demanded incredulously.

“That’s right,” Kirk grinned. “It goes on almost endlessly like the story of the ants who kept going into the granary and bringing out another grain of wheat.

After the chemists exhaust the settling—and I do mean exhaust—it is dried and ground and then used in sachet powders. They literally don’t waste a grain of it.” Cherry sighed. “Well, I’m glad you know all about it.

I couldn’t quite believe it was as valuable as Jan claims it is. What does it smell like, Kirk?”

“That depends on the quality,” he told her. “A highly refi ned lot of
ambre blanc
would be faintly reminiscent of incense in a church, plus the seaweedy mustiness of the tide on the high seas. That’s a much more exotic odor than the tide on a beach, you know. There’s a muskiness through it all and sometimes a trace of an aroma that makes you think of expensively blended tobacco.”

Cherry went on with her story then. Kirk listened soberly and when she had fi nished he said, “There’s nothing we can do, Cherry, except advise Jan to cable the lawyer at once to come aboard in person and get that sealed envelope. A messenger might be intercepted.”

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“But,” Cherry protested, “why can’t we lay the matter before the captain? Make him put the package in his own safe? Surely, he would when we tell him it contains priceless ambergris!”

Kirk threw back his head, roaring with laughter. “You
are
a landlubber, Cherry Ames! In the fi rst place, the Old Man would have apoplexy if he heard you were probing into the passengers’ personal affairs. In the second, leaving you out of it, he would immediately ask for my res-ignation. Shipboard protocol forbids my activity in any department except the medical department. Reporting our suspicions to him would be like telling him how to avoid a collision at sea. We leave radar to him, and he leaves sick bay to us. We’re subjects of a little autocracy, if you like, but that’s the way it is.”

Cherry sighed. “I’m so afraid Mr. Henry Landgraf will steal that ambergris before we dock on Tuesday. If he does, Jan will have to give up her hopes of becoming an artist.”

Kirk grinned. “You don’t
know
that Mr. Landgraf is the villain in the case. Someone else might have crumpled up that letter and thrown it away, thinking there was no clue in it as to the whereabouts of the ambergris. Mr. Landgraf might have picked it up and read it out of idle curiosity. Seems like a nice enough fellow to me. Spends a lot of time amusing Tim—even offered to carry him up to see the tree this evening.”

“But don’t you see?” Cherry wailed. “He’s just using Timmy so he can have opportunities to search that cabin.”

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“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” Kirk Monroe said mildly. “Tim has impressed everyone who entered his presence into service. He even got me playing ‘hot and cold’ in the search for his Fuzzy-Wuzzy. And to think it was at the bottom of the pool all along.” Cherry sucked in her breath. How much did Dr.

Monroe know about that?

But the surgeon went on easily, “I gather his mother fi nally retrieved the panda last night. Can’t imagine why one of the pool attendants didn’t discover it before.”

“It was lying on the bottom in the shadow of the diving board,” Cherry blurted. Too late, she could have bitten off her tongue.

Fortunately the young doctor did not notice her blun-der. “So that was the answer,” he said incuriously, adding,

“I imagine you want to go along now and have a chat with Jan Paulding about that cable. Unoffi cially, in an advi-sory capacity only, I’ll help every way I can.” He stared thoughtfully down at his hands. “I rather hope, Cherry, that Mr. Camelot won’t fi nd any ambergris in that sealed package. If he does, he will almost certainly report both Ziggy’s and Waidler’s negligence to the captain.” He shook his head. “They both have excellent records as loyal and conscientious employees of long standing. It would be a shame if their careers had to end in disgrace due to such minor infractions of duty.” He pointed to the itemized list in the letter.

“Less honest persons would have dumped that stuff overboard without a qualm.”

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Cherry hadn’t thought about that angle of Jan’s problem. Now she saw all too clearly that this bit of scuttlebutt must never reach the captain’s ears. She took the bull by the horns:

“Kirk,” she said hesitantly, “you can be a big help right now by answering one simple question. If you don’t want to answer me, I’ll get Jan to ask you the same question. Did her uncle say anything before he lost consciousness? Anything at all signifi cant?” Kirk Monroe ran his long, surgeon’s fi ngers along the edge of his glass-topped desk. “Now that you remind me, he did say something which may or may not be signifi cant. At the time I thought his mind was wandering, because shortly after that he lapsed into a coma. At fi rst he merely complained of a pain in his chest, then when his breathing became more labored, he beckoned to me with one hand and pointed to the bathroom with the other. I could hardly make out what he was saying, but it sounded like:

“ ‘Milk of magnesia. Please, Doc, give me milk of magnesia.’ ”

“I remember,” Kirk went on, “Ziggy grunted and tapped his forehead. I felt the same way about the request. What good would milk of magnesia do to a man dying with a blood clot in his lung?”

“Not much,
”
Cherry admitted. “Is that
all
he said?”

“That’s all he had time for,” Kirk told her. “It all happened very quickly, I had hardly time to send for the nurse and Ziggy. Then his lawyer came aboard and 174
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AMES,

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took him ashore. I signed the necessary papers, and that was that.”

Cherry suddenly jumped up. “Oh, Kirk,” she cried.

“Don’t you see? Milk of magnesia bottles are generally made of cloudy, blue glass. You couldn’t tell, unless you examined them carefully, whether they contained a powder or a liquid. The magnesia itself often forms a white powdery crust around the neck of the bottle.

What a perfect hiding place for a pint of priceless ambergris!”

c h a p t e r x v i

Jan Sets a Trap

dr. kirk monroe stared at cherry. “that’s the answer, of course. Old Mr. Paulding put his ambergris powder into an empty magnesia bottle.” He frowned suddenly. “Wait a minute. Let’s not jump to conclu-sions, Cherry. Mr. Paulding
did
suffer from chronic dyspepsia, especially after meals. He ate like a horse,” Kirk remembered with a grin. “All the wrong things for a man of his age. Had an attack the fi rst night out—

that’s how I got to know him before he was stricken with pulmonary thrombosis. Most of the other passengers—even the ship’s nurse—were seasick, but the old gentleman had nothing but a good old-fashioned bellyache. Ziggy had given him rhubarb and soda before I arrived. However, he insisted that milk of magnesia was the only medication that ever did him any good.”

“Oh,” Cherry sighed disappointedly. “Then you think Mr. Paulding really wanted milk of magnesia when he 175

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asked you for it the day he died? That he thought he was simply having another attack of dyspepsia?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Monroe said slowly. “I gave him a bottle and a package of tablets that fi rst night and he chewed the tablets like candy after that. Was always running out of them and asking for more. It got on Waidler’s nerves, the way the old gentleman was forever chewing those tablets. It was Waidler’s opinion that Mr.

Paulding should be put on a gruel-and-milk-toast diet.” Kirk laughed. “Even the maid who cleaned his cabin complained to me that she got sick of hearing about his weak stomach. It was pretty ridiculous, the whole thing.

If the old man had as much discomfort as he claimed he did, I feel sure he would have eaten more moderately.

But he never hesitated to top off creamed oysters and lobster Newburg with a couple of fried soft-shell crabs.”

“Oh, my goodness.” Cherry laughed. “He must have had a cast-iron stomach.”

Kirk stood up. “He was a queer duck all right, but Ziggy and I liked him. He was fond of spinning yarns about his adventures on the high seas. Timmy would have worshiped the ground—or I should say, deck—he walked on. I hated to lose that patient, but I imagine he had had a fuller and more satisfactory life than most of us.”

He followed Cherry out into the corridor. “Promised to look in on Mrs. Paulding. Wants me to listen to her heart, although I can’t tell you why.”

When Dr. Monroe had assured Jan’s mother that he could hear no murmurs, Jan pulled Cherry into

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177

the other room and closed the door carefully behind them.

“Have you found out anything?” she whispered excitedly.

Cherry, remembering the strict rules about gossip, said cautiously, “I came across some information which proves you were right. Some of your uncle’s possessions were not sent ashore with him. The purser has them in a sealed package in his locked desk.” Jan started for the door. “How wonderful! I’ll get him to give me that package right now.”

Cherry stopped her. “He won’t do it, honey. Legally he must turn it over to your uncle’s lawyer until the will has been probated.”

Jan tensed with disappointment. “Oh, Cherry, I can’t stand it. That means waiting until Tuesday. And suppose the ambergris isn’t in that sealed package? I’ll leave the ship at Willemstad and then I’ll never have another chance to look for it.”

“There’s only one thing you can do,” Cherry told her.

“Cable Mr. Camelot to come aboard as soon as the
Julita
docks. He can open the package then and there.

If there is no sign of the ambergris, your lawyer can put the matter before the captain and have the ship systematically searched.”

“Why didn’t I think of that before?” Jan broke in suddenly. “I can go to the captain right now. Now that I
know
some of Uncle Ben’s things were left behind I can make him open that package. The captain of a ship has supreme authority while at sea.
He
doesn’t 178
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have to wait until the will is probated. Besides,” she fi nished shrewdly, ‘‘he’s responsible for the delay and worry about that ambergris. The steamship line was at fault for not sending everything ashore with my uncle.”

Cherry felt sick all over. If Jan went to the captain both Ziggy and Waidler would be up for sharp reprimands, if not dismissal. Kirk, as the attending physician during the patient’s disembarkation, might well be dragged into it. The jobs of three people might be threatened merely to satisfy the whim of an impatient sixteen-year-old girl. After all, Tuesday was only two days off.

Cherry knew now she would have to break another rule and tell Jan the whole story. She would have to appeal to the girl’s sense of fairness.