Murder on the Celtic (20 page)

“That's a natural reaction. Most of us would feel the same.” His sympathy was tempered with quiet resolve. “I'm terribly sorry this has happened, Mrs. Hoyland, and I can assure you that we'll get on the trail of the thief at once. The one thing I need from you, however, is a description of the stolen item.”

“Oh, I can do better than that.” She opened her purse to take something out. “I have a photograph. We had it taken for the purpose of insurance.”

“Very wise.” When she passed it to him, he looked at the sepia photograph and saw the impressive array of diamonds. “May I ask for how much the necklace is insured?”

“Fifteen hundred guineas,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “My second husband worshipped me.”

Genevieve did not have to search for him. As soon as she entered the lounge, Joshua Cleves got up from his seat and came across to her.

“Good morning,” he said. “I missed you at breakfast.”

“I had it in my cabin.”

“It would have been even more delightful to share it with you there.” He flashed a smile at her. “Will you at least join me for coffee?”

“That would be very nice, Mr. Cleves.”

“You simply must stop calling me that. It's so formal.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, wanting to win his confidence. “From now on, Joshua it shall be.”

“Thank you, Genevieve.”

When they had sat down, he summoned a waiter with a flick of his fingers and ordered coffee. Then he appraised her with a mingled curiosity and doubt.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“I'm not sure,” he said. “I feel as if I'm looking at a magnificent portrait and wondering if there's a tiny flaw in it.”

“Why should you wonder that?”

“Because of that meeting you went to last night.”

“Ah, I see. You found out.”

“Rupert told me. Apparently, his wife heard about it from their steward. I have to admit that I was rather shocked by the news. What on earth persuaded you to go to a séance, Genevieve?”

“I was invited and thought it might be fun.”

“Fun? You must know the whole thing was an elaborate hoax.”

“But it wasn't, Joshua.”

“What did the lady do?” he teased. “Conjure up the devil? Or make a ring of fairies dance on a pinhead?”

“Mrs. Burbridge simply acted as a conduit for messages.”

“Messages from the dead, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“And who made contact with you — the spirit of Queen Victoria?”

“If you're going to sneer,” she said tartly, “then we'd better not discuss the subject.”

“No, no, I'm not sneering,” he claimed. “I'm quite sincere. I want to know why someone as sensible and well educated as you could be drawn into such a dubious gathering.”

“You're quite right. It was dubious. I went into the cabin with the greatest reservations. I
expected
to be tricked in some way. Yet I wasn't, Joshua. I witnessed something I'd not have believed possible.”

“How much did the medium charge you?”

“Nothing at all.”

“What about the others?”

“The only clients who pay her are those who are put in touch with someone from their past, and they decide for themselves what the fee is. I paid nothing, and neither did Sir Arthur and Lady Conan Doyle. Mrs. Trouncer was the only person who felt obliged to offer some money.”

“Why was that?”

“Because the messages came from her husband.”

“Did you honestly believe that?”

Genevieve chose her words with care. “I did so at the time.”

“But, on reflection, you realize you were all bamboozled.”

“That's not what I said.”

“Then you've discovered that this Mrs. Trouncer and the medium are actually confederates who work together to exploit
impressionable people. That's why these so-called messages rang true.”

“Sophie Trouncer is traveling with her mother. She'd never met Mrs. Burbridge until this voyage. If they're in partnership together,” said Genevieve crisply, “they didn't do very well last night. The only money seen was the amount exchanged between them.”

“That was a clever ruse to draw the rest of you in. At the next séance, these fake messages will be for you and the others.”

“There's no chance of that, Joshua.”

“Oh?”

“According to Mrs. Burbridge, there'll be no more sittings.”

“What a pity!” he said. “I'd have been sorely tempted to come along myself and expose the medium as the fraud she is. But I'm relieved to hear that you won't be duped for a second time.”

“Perhaps I was,” she conceded, wanting to move away from the subject, “but it was nevertheless a fascinating occasion.” She looked around. “But I expected you to be in here with Lord Bulstrode. He seems to have adopted you.”

“There's a limit to how many games of chess even I can play.”

She looked him in the eye. “I thought you were playing one at this very moment, Joshua.”

“Can you blame me?” he said with an appreciative laugh.

“That depends on what the rules are. For instance, how many of us are actually involved in the game?”

“Just the two of us, Genevieve. Who needs anyone else?”

“Mr. Spurrier appears to think that I do.”

He chuckled. “What's Frank been up to now?”

“You can answer that,” she said, watching him. “When I'm not talking to you, I keep finding him at my elbow. It's almost as if you take it in turns and I have to say that it's very annoying. Perhaps you'd be kind enough to tell him that.”

“Tell him yourself,” he advised. “Frank and I are only business acquaintances. If he's bothering you, speak to him about it. My guess is that he's jealous because I've had more attention from you.” Seeing the expression on her face, he corrected himself. “Or, to be more precise, it's because of attention you've been receiving from
me
.”

“How well do you know him?”

“Moderately well.”

“So you don't know much about his private life?”

“He keeps that very secret.”

“Does he have something to hide?”

“We all do, Genevieve — even you, I suspect.”

His gaze was searching but she met it. A tension was suddenly hanging in the air. She was grateful when the waiter arrived with a tray of coffee to dispel the uncomfortable sensation she experienced. He stayed long enough to serve the coffee, then backed away.

“Frank Spurrier is like a chameleon,” Cleves volunteered. “He can change color to suit any occasion.” He raised a hand. “I'm not decrying him in any way. It's an art I wish that I could master.”

“He always seems so devious to me. And there's something about him that's quite chilling.”

“Yet he regards himself as essentially a ladies' man.”

“There's no real warmth there,” said Genevieve, working her way around to the question she wanted to ask. “Mr. Spurrier is cold and unemotional. He looks like the sort of man who never gets really angry or loses his temper.”

“Oh, he does get angry.”

“Not in public.”

“You're quite wrong there.”

“Am I?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was in the lounge with Frank only yesterday when he took exception to a remark made by Mr. Lowbury. He was very angry — and so, I admit, was I.”

“Whatever were you talking about?”

There was a long pause. He tried to cover it with a bland smile but Genevieve had her answer. They had been discussing her.

With his back against the rail, Leonard Rush tried to roll a cigarette. The rain had stopped and the wind had eased, but the roll of the ship made the exercise tricky. George Dillman waited until the man had finally put the cigarette between his lips and lighted it.

“Mr. Rush?” he asked, coming forward.

“Yes,” said the other, “that's me.”

“My name is George Dillman, and though I may not look it, I'm part of the crew. I understand that you sleep on deck.”

“Nothing wrong in that, is there?”

“A great deal, in these temperatures.”

“I bring blankets with me.”

It was encouraging news. Dillman felt that if the man were bent on suicide, he would hardly take such precautions to keep himself warm. Pulling on his cigarette, Rush looked as desperate and haunted as ever. He became suspicious.

“That old man put you on to me, didn't he? Saul Pinnick.”

“I did speak to Mr. Pinnick, as it happens.”

“You've come to talk me out of it.”

“Out of what?”

“Are you the ship's chaplain?”

“No, Mr. Rush,” said Dillman. “I'm not. And I haven't come to talk you out of anything. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?”

“Sleeping on deck.”

“The only way I get privacy.”

“You pay a high price for it. For most of the night, it rained.”

“Why should you care?”

“Because I'm interested in what happens down here on the main deck. You're not alone, I gather. Other passengers do the same thing.”

“We keep out of each other's way.”

“And do you actually get to sleep?”

“Now and again,” said Rush, regarding him with displeasure. “At least, I'm not trapped in a cabin with three other men.”

“You should be used to that, surely. You were a miner.”

Rush was angry. “What else has Pinnick been telling you about me? I told him to mind his own business.”

“He cares about you, Mr. Rush,” said Dillman. “Much more than you care about yourself, by the look of it.”

“You tell him to stay away from me.”

“Kindness is in short supply. You should never spurn it.” Rush gave a reluctant nod of agreement. “Did you see anyone else on the main deck last night? I don't mean fellow passengers who sleep out here. These would probably have been two well-dressed men.”

“It was dark, Mr. Dillman. And I only have one good eye.”

“There might have been the noise of a scuffle.”

“I didn't hear it.”

“Would you tell me, if you had?”

“No,” said Rush flatly.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't poke my nose in where it's not wanted, that's why. I'm not like Pinnick. I mind my own business.”

“That means you
did
see something.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Dillman,” said the other pointedly.

“What was it?”

“Leave me alone.”

“Just answer my question.”

“Leave me, I said. That's not too much to ask, is it?”

“But this could be important.”

“Not to me.”

“I need your help, Mr. Rush.”

“Ask someone else. I'm busy.”

“You could be holding back vital information.”

“That's better than badgering the life out of someone, the way you're doing.” He glared at Dillman. “I saw nothing, heard nothing and smelled nothing. Satisfied now?”

When she received the summons, Genevieve Masefield went straight to the purser's office where she was told about the thefts that had occurred. Jewelry had been stolen from two different women. Unaware of the fact that she was Sophie Trouncer's mother, the first person she called on was May Hoyland. After introducing herself, Genevieve was invited into the cabin. Sophie goggled at her.

“You're a
detective
?” she said incredulously.

“Yes, Mrs. Trouncer.”

“Why didn't you say so?”

“Because I work more effectively if I do so undercover,” said Genevieve. “I'm sorry if you feel that I deceived you, but it's in the nature of my work.”

“Is that why you went to the séance last night?” asked Sophie, glowering at her. “Was it to spy on Thoda Burbridge in case you had to arrest her for fraud?”

“No, Mrs. Trouncer. I was there out of sheer curiosity.”

“What does it matter?” asked May Hoyland. “Miss Masefield is here to talk to me now. That's all that worries me.”

“The purser has given me the details,” said Genevieve, turning to the older woman. “I just have a few additional questions.”

“Ask anything you want.”

“Was last night the first time you wore the diamond necklace?”

“No.” Sophie answered first. “Mother has worn it every night we've been on board.”

“The question was put to me,” said May reproachfully.

“I can't see why it was asked in the first place.”

“It's quite simple,” Genevieve explained. “If it had been on display already, the thief would have had time to take note of it and find out which cabin you occupied. Then he waited.”

May was uneasy. “The very thought makes me shiver,” she said nervously. “Do you think this man stalked me?”

“Let's just say that he seized his opportunity when it came.”

“How did he get into the cabin?”

“He was a professional thief. He picked the lock.”

“That's frightening! I thought we were safe in our cabins.”

“You are, Mrs. Hoyland, I assure you. He only struck when you weren't here. It was the same with the other lady,” Genevieve went on, “though, in her case, the theft took place while she was at dinner. She came back to find the contents of her jewelry box missing.”

“Good gracious!”

“It makes you afraid to wear any jewelry at all,” said Sophie, putting an instinctive hand to the emerald brooch on her dress. “We've been too trusting, Mother.”

“I won't make that mistake again.”

“The main reason your diamond necklace was taken,” Genevieve resumed, “was that it has a high commercial value. A jewel thief will only pick out the best, but to do that he must
have a close look at it. Now, Mrs. Hoyland, can you think of anyone who took an unusual interest in your necklace, someone who complimented you on it?”