Murder on the Lusitania (23 page)

“
O mein Gott!
” said Weiss, clutching at his chest.

“Do not say such things, Mr. Halliday,” chastised Ruth Weiss. “My husband has suffered enough as it is. We have not had the strength to leave this cabin since the tragedy. Look at him—he is in pain!”

The purser apologized and did his best to soothe both of them. His words eventually began to have an effect. When he ignited a faint hope in Itzak Weiss, the violinist reached out to grab him by the hand.

“Find it, Mr. Halliday!” he implored. “Find my Stradivarius, please. If you can bring it safely back to me, I will not sue your company or release a word of this to the press. I will be so grateful that I will give a free concert to your passengers in the music room!”

“That’s a most generous offer, sir!”

Charles Halliday smiled, but his stomach was churning restlessly. Too many unanswered questions still remained. He feared that the man they were after would always be a few steps ahead of them. The only real hope lay with George Porter Dillman, and the purser was beginning to wonder if his confidence in the American was misplaced. When he left the cabin, his smile froze and his apprehension soared.

After drinks in the lounge bar that evening with Genevieve Masefield and the Hubermann sisters, Dillman made his way to the dining saloon. Helped by his daughter, Caleb Tolley was lowering himself gingerly onto a chair at a table near the door. When she saw the newcomers, Ellen Tolley intercepted Dillman with a mock frown.

“Seems as if I lost out, after all,” she complained. “And there was Miss Masefield, telling me that I had a clear run at you.”

“Another time, perhaps,” he appeased her.

“Another man, I think.”

“I’m just being sociable, Ellen.”

“I know,” she said with a grin. “And who can blame you? Just
remember that I’m still around, will you? Before this voyage is over, I’m determined that someone is going to take me out on deck for a look at the stars. Don’t let me down, George.”

“It’s a promise.”

The promise was easily given but not so easily kept. Dillman had no wish to be caught in a private tug-of-war between Ellen Tolley and Genevieve Masefield. What might be extremely pleasurable under other circumstances was a major distraction at the present time. All his energies needed to be focused on the task in hand. Dinner with Genevieve and the Hubermanns would be enjoyable but he would use it to scan the dining saloon and to keep watch. As soon as he sat down, he saw something that alerted him. The Anstruthers, the retired couple whose property had now been restored, were coming through the doors with Jeremiah Erskine. Were they walking beside the thief who had broken into their cabin?

Dillman was seated between Genevieve Masefield and Carlotta Hubermann. He suspected that the latter had been in charge of the seating plan. Abigail Hubermann still treated him with mild disdain but her younger sister was much more amenable.

“You have to hand it to the royal family,” said Carlotta. “They do add a bit of tone. Like any true American, I’m a diehard republican, but there’s something so grand about having a king and queen.”

“Only if you have the jack as well,” observed Dillman, gently teasing her. “From the same suit, of course. Do you play poker?”

“No, you naughty man!” she reproached him with a laugh. “That wasn’t what I was talking about, as you know only too well. I think that King Edward is just wonderful. I’m not sure that I’d like him as a house guest, mark you, especially with Abigail around, but I think he looks magnificent in an open carriage. Such style, such dignity. We’ve got nothing to touch it.”

“I disagree, Miss Hubermann. I daresay that President Roosevelt cuts a fine figure when he stands on the steps at the White House.” He turned to Genevieve. “Will you be going Washington at any stage?”

“I’d like to, Mr. Dillman,” she said. “If I can fit it in.”

“We’ll make sure you do, honey,” Carlotta assured her, waving the menu at her. “Have you seen what they’re giving us this evening?”

“A meal fit for a king,” said Dillman graciously, “and for the two queens I have the good fortune to be sitting between.”

Carlotta Hubermann grinned but Genevieve’s response was more muted. Glasses were filled and the meal was served. A couple of hours seemed to float past. Dillman kept up polite conversation while his mind wrestled constantly with more urgent questions concerning a ransom note and a wiring diagram. His gaze constantly roved the room. Genevieve wanted to know why he had given her the spontaneous kiss earlier on.

“Was it so objectionable?” he asked worriedly.

“No, not at all. Just rather unexpected. I suppose that’s all part of being a man of mystery,” she said with a mocking smile. “You do the unexpected. But what did I do to deserve that kiss?”

“A big favor.”

“In that case, I must do you another sometime.”

It was dinner table banter rather than anything more serious, but Dillman was still ignited by the remark. As the meal came to an end, the guests began to disperse. Dillman made an excuse to slip across to the nearby table where Jeremiah Erskine was seated, hoping to engage him in casual chat about his knowledge of German. Before the conversation could get under way, however, he heard a scream of surprise behind him and turned to see Genevieve Masefield staring in distress at her silk evening gown. While gesturing in the course of conversation, she inadvertently knocked over her wine glass and spilled its contents down the front of her gown. She dabbed at it with a napkin then hurried toward the door. Dillman noted her consternation. Carlotta Hubermann came swiftly across to prompt him.

“The lady needs help,” she said with a nudge.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well? Go after her, man.”

Dillman nodded and picked his way through the crowd.
Genevieve had a head start on him but he knew that her cabin was on the deck below. While she would descend by means of the grand staircase, he headed for the narrow companionway that would afford him a shortcut. It was at the end of a long corridor and he hurried toward it. In his haste, he did not realize that he was being followed.

Reaching the top of the steps, he was about to descend them at speed when someone gave him assistance. Two strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him with vicious force. Dillman went headfirst down the companionway, turning somersaults and buffeting himself hard on the walls. His head struck the floor at the bottom of the stairs and he lost consciousness.

Genevieve Masefield was very annoyed with herself. Having removed the silk evening gown, she laid it on a towel in the bathroom and sponged the wine stain with cold water, hoping that it would save the dress. A loud bang on her cabin door made her look up. When it was followed by a second, even louder, bang, she put a dressing gown on over her underwear and answered the door.

“Mr. Dillman!” she cried. “What’s happened to you?”

“Fell down the stairs.”

“Your head is bleeding!”

“Banged it as I came tumbling down. Any chance I could come in?”

Genevieve helped him inside at once. Her visitor was clearly dazed and barely able to stand. His tie had come undone, a button was missing off his tailcoat, and he looked thoroughly disheveled. Sitting him on an upright chair, she closed the cabin door and rushed back into the bathroom. Dillman’s wounds took priority over the stain on her dress.

“How did it happen?” she asked, bathing the gash on his temple.

“I tripped.”

“But why were you coming down the stairs in the first place?”

“It was Carlotta Hubermann’s idea,” he explained. “When you rushed out, she dispatched me after you to lend assistance. I tried to cut you off by coming down a companionway used by the staff but I made a faster descent than I intended.” His head was clearing. “Now I know how Jack must have felt.”

“Jack?”

“In the nursery rhyme. Remember Jack and Jill? Isn’t there something to the effect that Jack fell down and broke his crown?”

“And Jill came tumbling after! I should forget that, if I were you. Unless you wanted to have your head mended with vinegar and brown paper.” Having bathed the wound, she stemmed the bleeding with a handkerchief, using a scarf to bind it into position. “If you go to the surgery, they’ll bandage that properly.”

“I’d prefer you as my nurse any day.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.”

“You were really groggy when you first came in.”

“A glass of water and I’ll be as good as new.”

She fetched the water and watched him drink it. He was rallying.

“Now, suppose you tell me the truth, Mr. Dillman.”

“About what?”

“That little tumble you took. You look like one of the fittest and most surefooted men on this boat. And you’ve spent many years going up and down narrow companionways on your father’s yachts. It’s second nature to you, isn’t it? You didn’t fall, did you?”

“I’m not sure. It all happened so quickly.”

“Please, Mr. Dillman. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“All right,” he admitted, “maybe somebody did help me on my way.”

“Why?”

“Who knows? Jealousy, perhaps. Someone saw me rushing off to your cabin and tried to stop me. That’s all I know.”

Genevieve set his glass aside, then took him by the shoulders.

“Why don’t we stop fencing?” she said. “I told you that we had
an affinity. Both of us have something to hide. I know what my secret is, but what’s yours? Haven’t I earned the right to share it by now?”

Dillman searched her face to see if he could trust her. From the moment he had first seen her on Euston Station, she had exercised a fascination for him, but that did not mean he could safely reveal his true purpose on board the ship. Genevieve saw his hesitation.

“What have you got to lose?” she encouraged. “I’m as close as the grave. Whatever you tell me, it will go no further. Besides, I may be able to help you, Mr. Dillman. We can play Jack and Jill for real, if you like. Now that I’ve mended your broken crown, we can go back up that hill to fetch a pail of water. And this time, neither of us will come tumbling down.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said with a grin. “Let me give you the shortened version. What I said about leaving the family firm and going on the stage was all true. The thing I didn’t tell you was what happened afterwards. I may have failed in the theater but I put my acting abilities to great use elsewhere. Have you ever heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency?” She nodded eagerly. “I became one of their operatives, working under cover to expose all sorts of crimes. You
really
have to act in those situations, Miss Masefield, or it can get dangerous.”

“So I see.”

“Then you’ll also have worked out that I’m now employed by the Cunard Line. How that came about is another story. Suffice it to say that I earned my spurs on an earlier voyage. So I had my passage booked on the
Lusitania
. I was hoping for a quiet trip,” he said, “but it hasn’t worked out that way.”

“I heard there have been some minor thefts aboard.”

“We’ve had rather more serious crimes than that, I fear. And one of them was used to flush me out. I realize that now.”

“Flush you out?”

“The man we’re after knew there’d be a private detective aboard. I see now why he staged one of the thefts. It brought me out of cover. I’d bet my last cent that he saw me going into the victim’s cabin.” He put a hand tenderly to his temple. “This is the result.”

“He attacked you?”

“He’s an opportunist. Been lurking in readiness.”

“Who is he?”

“That’s the problem. I’m not entirely sure. Which means he holds a crucial advantage because he knows exactly who I am.” He got to his feet. “On the other hand, he doesn’t realize that I survived the fall without any broken bones. Plenty of bruised ones, maybe,” he said ruefully, stretching himself, “and one heck of a stiff neck, but I’m still in one piece. The advantage may swing back my way. He thinks he’s taken me out of the game and that the field is clear.”

“For what?”

“That’s one thing I can’t tell you. But, if you want to help me, say that I met with an accident. When you go back up to the lounge, put it about that I had a nasty fall and have been carried off with concussion.”

“If you wish.”

“I do wish. It might lull him into a sense of security.”

“Who? Who is this man?”

“Your turn to provide a few answers, Miss Masefield. I’ve taken you into my confidence,” he reminded her, “why don’t you do the same? I don’t think you’re simply going on vacation, are you?” She shook her head. “You’re on the run, I think. What from?”

“A terrible mess I left behind me,” she admitted, moving to sit on the sofa. “Not entirely of my own making, I may say, but I have to bear much of the responsibility. The name of Lord Wilmshurst will mean nothing whatsoever to you, will it?”

“Does he wear a monocle as well?”

“No,” she said, “he spends most of his time in a bath chair, nursing his gout. And he doesn’t look in the least like an English aristocrat. I was engaged to his son, Nigel. It was quite an achievement, believe me, because I don’t exactly come from a titled family. Let me be honest with you. To some extent, I went hunting for him. I was very fond of Nigel, but I won’t pretend that I was madly in love with him. What really attracted me was his family and his position. I suppose I was infatuated with the idea of sharing
them. To understand why, you’d have to come from my background.” She gave a hopeless shrug. “It all went hideously wrong. I began to have guilt feelings about the whole thing then my fiancé did something which I found unforgivable. It involved another man. We had a fierce row. I snatched off my engagement ring and threw it in the river. At that point, of course, I forfeited control of the situation.”

“Control?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “Technically, I’d broken off the engagement but it was Nigel’s account which was believed. He portrayed me as a callous gold digger, who was only after his title and money. He claimed that he’d found me out and discarded me. There was an element of truth in that, I admit, but it was by no means the whole story and I really had been having second thoughts. Even without the row, I don’t think that I could have gone ahead with the marriage. But Nigel was in control. His version became the official one. I had proof of that on this very ship. I was branded as a social outcast, Mr. Dillman. It seemed to me that the only sensible thing was to leave England and start afresh elsewhere.”