Dead Man’s Shoes (3 page)

Prosper had bought champagne that evening, as it was
their last dinner on board, and Gunner made the mistake of pouring out a glass for Larkin.

“Steward!” Larkin shouted. “What is this?”

“Champagne, sir. With Mr Prosper.”

“Take it away and pour it down the sink. I don't rot my gullet with filth like that.”

Gunner remained quite equable and took the glass.

“I'll drink it myself,” he said with his usual grin.

“You'll do nothing of the sort. You'll obey my orders and pour it away.”

“Couldn't do that, sir. Lovely wine like this. It would be a sin.”

Larkin jumped to his feet and knocked the glass out of Gunner's hand, wetting the steward's clean white jacket. Gunner did not completely lose his temper, but he was angry enough to ignore all the usual conventions.

“You keep your hands to yourself, cock,” he said, “and don't start anything with me, else you
will
be in trouble. Sorry about the wine, Mr Prosper.”

Larkin turned to the Captain.

“Do you allow your steward to insult passengers like that?” he asked.

“I'm afraid you rather asked for it, Mr Larkin,” said Captain Bidlake, and when Larkin had made a violent noise with his lips he sat down and said no more.

Six hours later, at about two a.m., Appleyard was on the bridge with one of the apprentices, Dickie Bryce. It was a dark, rough night, blowing up for bad weather with already half a gale running and a thin sleet.

Appleyard went down to the saloon and found it empty except for Gunner.

“They've all gone to bed, thank God,” said Gunner, more devoutly than blasphemously. “The whole lot of them. It's a treat to have them out of the way, isn't it?”

The Captain was the only officer whom Gunner addressed as ‘sir'.

“You're right. No sound or sign of Larkin?”

“No. The bastard. Hear what he said to me tonight? I should like to ‘do' him. But we're quit of him tomorrow. He turned in about ten. Always locks his cabin door.”

Appleyard ate some sandwiches and returned to the bridge. Young Bryce was on the starboard wing of the bridge and remained there. Appleyard hoped that he would get some decent weather ashore this trip. He would only have about forty-eight hours at home and he wanted to put up a pergola in the garden. He was thinking of this when suddenly above the wind he heard a high-pitched shout.

“Man overboard!”

Young Bryce yelled at him: “There is. I saw him go.”

Appleyard told the helmsman to put the helm up. He then rang down to the engine-room “Stop”, and reported to the Captain on the speaking-tube.

“Man overboard, sir.”

“You've stopped engines?” said Bidlake and began pulling on some clothes.

Though he knew already that it could only be a piece of routine, Appleyard gave the order to the bo'sn to prepare a boat's crew. He then went down to the saloon. Gunner was alone there.

“Who shouted?” Appleyard asked.

“Don't know. Someone on the starboard deck. I was in the galley, and when I came out there was no one in sight.”

“Check up the passengers,” said Appleyard and hurrying back to the bridge sent Bryce to check on the crew. The Captain had come out on the bridge.

“Nothing to be done,” said Bidlake. “We'll put the searchlight over the water, but it's hopeless and I'm going ahead in five minutes. Whoever it was has had it. Shouldn't think of lowering a boat in this sea and it's no use turning about.”

“No, sir. Nothing we can do.”

The two of them were shouting at one another in the wind and sleet.

“Young Bryce says he saw him. I can't understand how he could have seen much. Someone shouted, but we don't know yet who it was.”

“Hell! It only needed this.”

The searchlight played on the rolling black Channel waters, but revealed nothing.

“What's the use? We're wasting time.”

“Shall I ring down to the engine-room, sir?”

“We'll give them a few minutes more. It'll look better in the report. But any fool could see it's hopeless.”

Gunner came up on the bridge, still in the wet rags of his white jacket.

“It's Larkin!” he bawled. “His cabin door was unlocked and he's gone. There's a note on his table.”

Bidlake turned to Appleyard.

“Full steam ahead,” he said.

C
APTAIN
B
IDLAKE
was a conscientious man and at once made the most searching enquiries, for the sake of the report he would have to make tomorrow. He went down himself to Larkin's cabin to examine the note which the missing passenger had left. This had been typed on the little portable which Larkin kept on his cabin table and said simply—
“I killed Gregory Willick and am killing myself.”

Bidlake read this without comment. He realized that it was a pretty dubious document. The wording was too direct and simple and wholly uncharacteristic of the Larkin they knew. There was no signature and, of course, anyone could have typed it.

He gave orders that the cabin should be locked until the police came on board and that neither the steward nor anyone else should touch anything in it.

He noticed as he left Larkin's cabin that the four other passengers were in the saloon and he asked them if they would kindly remain there for a short while until he could speak to them.

He then sent for Dickie Bryce.

“I want you to tell me exactly how it happened,” he said.

“Well, sir, I was on the starboard wing of the bridge. I hadn't moved for about half an hour. It was blowing up for nasty weather and there was a cold sleet. I wasn't watching anything in particular, just keeping a general look-out, when I heard this shout.”

“The shout of ‘Man overboard'?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Before
you saw anything?”

“That's the funny part of it. The shout seemed to come
from the starboard deck. I couldn't see much, but after the shout I saw a man in the water. Well, just a black shape, sir. It was only for a second I saw it.”

“Did you see this man actually falling? Actually entering the water?”

“I can't be quite sure, sir. I've tried to remember exactly how it was. It was all in a moment and the sea was rough. I have a sort of idea I saw him going in. I'm sure I saw him in the water for a moment. I think I must have seen him falling. Anyway, he was there all right.”

“You didn't see his face?”

“Oh, no, sir. Nothing. Only a black shape.”

“After the shout?”

“Yes, sir. Quite sure about that. It was the shout made me look.”

“Of course, he could have been in the water before the shout because you're not sure of having seen him fall.”

Dickie Bryce thought hard.

“I suppose he could have been, sir. I don't somehow think he was, though. I've got the idea I saw him going in. But I can't be certain. The sea was pretty rough and it was dark.”

“Now this shout. Who was it who shouted?”

“I couldn't say, sir.”

“You didn't recognize the voice at all? No idea whose it was?”

“No, sir. It was a funny sort of voice. High, sort of, but I don't think it was a woman's. It was as though a man was screaming, if you know what I mean.”

“It only came once?”

“That's all, sir.”

“Nothing else to tell me?”

“No, sir.”

Captain Bidlake went down to the saloon. He found his passengers awaiting him with Gunner in attendance.

“I think we might all have a drink,” he said. “Gunner,
ask what Mrs Roper and these gentlemen would like. I'm sorry to keep you up, but you know there are always a lot of enquiries when anyone is lost overboard, and I would like to have my report ready for tomorrow.”

“You're sure it's Larkin, I suppose, Captain?” asked Prosper.

“I don't think there's much doubt of it. We've checked up on the crew. No one else is missing and there was a note left on Larkin's table. We're making a routine search of the ship, but I regard it as more or less a formality. One of the apprentices saw the man in the water. Not to recognize him, of course. There was not light for that. But he's the only person missing.”

Prosper nodded.

“Yet he didn't seem the sort to commit suicide, did he?”

“One never knows,” said Bidlake. “Now may I ask each of you a few questions. Mrs Roper …”

“Cabin's on the port side. Heard nothing. Saw nothing. Want nothing to do with it.”

“I'm afraid we all feel like that. Were you in your cabin at the time of shout?”

“Don't know. Never heard any shout.”

“Do you remember what time you turned in, Mrs Roper?” persisted Bidlake.

“Went to my cabin about one o'clock. Last to leave the saloon.”

“Did you leave your cabin again?”

“Of course. My cold tub. Can't sleep without it.”

“How did you become aware that anything unusual was taking place?”

“Engines stopped.”

“The first you knew?”

“Yes. Got dressed and came out to see what had happened. Gunner gave me the news.”

“Thank you, Mrs Roper. Mr Prosper, your cabin is next door to Larkin's, isn't it? What did you hear?”

“I heard the shout of ‘Man overboard'. That's all, really.”

“You've no idea who shouted?”

“None. It was an extraordinary shout. Sounded hysterical, somehow.”

“A man's voice or a woman's?”

Prosper thought.

“It could have been either, I suppose.”

“And after it—nothing? You didn't hear anyone moving or anything?”

“No. I've a vague impression of a door slamming. Nothing more. Like Mrs Roper, I got dressed and came out to see what was happening.”

“You couldn't at any time hear Larkin's typewriter from your cabin?”

“No. But I know he used it. I've heard it as I've passed his door.”

Captain Bidlake thanked him and turned to Jerry Butt and Ronald Ferry. They could give him no information at all. Both had been asleep and would have been so till now if Gunner had not roused them. Nor did he elicit anything from his officers or the crew. Kutz was fully dressed and had been reading, he said, until the engines were stopped.

He returned to Appleyard on the bridge.

“Wretched business, this,” he said. “Police on board and the Press too, I suppose. I've got what information I can. Call me when the pilot comes alongside.”

It was even worse next day than Captain Bidlake realized. The police, it is true, were not at first unduly obtrusive. Two Detective Sergeants in plain clothes, who had come to take Larkin in for questioning, remained to make a thorough examination of the whole situation. But as soon as they realized what had taken place they telephoned for finger-print experts and photographers and placed a policeman on duty on the gangway and generally took over the ship.

Pressmen were no less pertinacious. A dozen at least were on board and no one, passenger or crew, evaded them entirely. Cameras clicked and shorthand notes were made, drinks were stood and stories elicited.

Before any of the passengers could leave, each was questioned not only about the events of last night but of the whole voyage, and before long the sorry story of Larkin's abominable rudeness and brutishness and the reactions of those on board filled pages of police notebooks.

Then the officers and crew were closely questioned, and Gunner's statement alone ran to half a dozen pages.

“Do you know what I think?” Gunner asked the cook afterwards. “I think they think it was murder.”

The cook, a beefy and cross-eyed cockney, said, “Go on. Do you really?”

“The way they asked about things.”

“D'you think it could of been?”

“I'd like to have done him myself; I know that.”

“Perhaps someone did. Shoved him over the side, I mean.”

“He'd have raised hell. With that voice? I don't see how it could have been.”

“Unless he was unconscious at the time.”

“Then how's anyone to drag him out on deck and get him over the rail? He was a big man.”

“What about if there was two of them?”

“Ah,” said Gunner thoughtfully.

At last, the passengers, having given particulars of their addresses, were allowed to go ashore and the ship began to be itself again. The police left after warning Captain Bidlake that they would probably return tomorrow. The finger-print experts and photographers took their gear ashore. The pressmen asked their last questions, poured out their heartiest ‘old man' to this or that victim, and ran to their telephones. The Customs men departed and the owners' agent, after shaking his head sadly over what he
called ‘these unfortunate circumstances', left Captain Bidlake in peace.

Just as he was feeling relieved at finding his ship uninfested with officials and visitors of every sort, Bidlake was called below to the saloon. A gentleman, it appeared, had come aboard and wanted particularly to speak to him. Suspecting that the Press had returned, Bidlake hesitated, but eventually went below.

“I hope you remember me,” said the visitor. “My name's Lance Willick and I travelled on your ship about a year ago.”

“Oh yes. I remember you, Mr Willick.”

“I came down today to see Wilbury Larkin, but I've heard, of course, what has happened.”

“Most unfortunate.”

“You know that he was suspected of killing my uncle?”

“Yes. I hadn't realized the connection though, Mr Willick. I remember you coming home with us from Tangier last year, but the name never linked up. I'm sorry to hear about your uncle.”

“Damned shame. He was a grand old boy.”

“Do you think it was this Larkin who murdered him?”

“Well, I didn't, but it does begin to look like it, doesn't it? If it was suicide, that is.”