The False Inspector Dew

and his eyes fixed on Walter with extraordinary intensity. 'You must find the devil who did it, Inspector. He must hang for it.'

Walter nodded. He eased a finger gently round his collar.

'You will catch him?' said Jack.

'God willing,' answered Walter.

'I don't know how you begin to account for a vicious crime like this.'

Walter sat unmoving like the sphinx.

'There was no reason for it,' Jack continued, it was senseless. You're dealing with a maniac'

'Who do you think?' asked Walter interestedly.

Jack blinked. 'I've no idea. I just want to see him caught.'

'You were sitting opposite Miss Masters during the game,' said Walter, 'so you must have seen her hands.'

'What do you mean? I don't cheat.'

'Not the cards, Mr Collins. I mean her hands. Literally, her hands. Do you remember whether she was wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand?'

Jack shook his head. 'She was unmarried. You know she was a spinster.'

'She might have been engaged.'

'She was not wearing a ring.'

Walter made a note in his book. He looked up and said, 'Was there anything else, Mr Collins?'

'Yes, there is. May I have your notebook and pencil?'

Walter's eyes widened, but he handed the book and pencil to Jack.

Jack wrote in his name. He said, 'Just for the record, Inspector.' He handed it back. 'Don't hesitate to ask me if you need any help.'

'Thank you,' said Walter. 'Thank you very much.'

He waited for Jack to leave the lounge. Then he got up and went to ask a steward to point out Paul Westerfield.

Paul was on the boat deck. He was playing in the first round of the deck tennis tournament. This involved throwing a rubber ring over a badminton net. The court had been marked in chalk on the deck. Paul's opponent was a middle-aged Englishman who compensated for his inferior agility by cunning use of the macaroni shot, which caused the ring to wobble distractingly in mid-air. It was also possible that the presence of Walter on the sideline in his bowler hat contributed to Paul's loss of concentration. He lost the deciding game conclusively. He shook the winner's hand. A young woman handed him his sweater.

Walter said, 'Mr Westerfield, if you are not exhausted…'

'No, sir,' said Paul, it was more of a tactical match than a test of endurance. You know my name, then. This is Miss Barbara Cordell, who I guess is also on your list.'

'Oh, yes,' said Walter.

'Would you like to talk to us together?'

'Together? I hadn't considered it.'

'We have no secrets from each other.'

Barbara said, i believe the Inspector wants to talk to you alone, Paul.'

'No,' said Walter. 'This will save time.'

'Fine,' said Paul. 'Shall we go to the Verandah Cafe? I'm pretty thirsty just now.'

The table they chose was beside a trellis screen. As the front of the cafe was open to the wind, Walter asked Barbara whether she minded sitting in a draught.

'It's nice while the sun is out,' she told him, 'and I have my cardigan with me if I get cold. Aren't you going to take off your hat, Inspector?'

Walter took a look round the cafe, i couldn't decide whether we were inside or out,' he explained as he placed the bowler on the seat beside him.

'Does it matter?' asked Paul.

'One likes to do the proper thing,' answered Walter confidentially. 'Perhaps I'm a little out of date. It's a few years since I last crossed the Atlantic'

'We heard about that,' said Paul. 'Well, who hasn't? It's passed into maritime history now.'

Walter drew back slightly in his seat. He said guardedly, 'Yes, but how did you know about me?'

Paul exchanged a glance with Barbara. This could only be the English sense of humour at work. He said, i guess you're quoting Dr Crippen now.'

'Ah,' responded Walter with more enthusiasm.

'I can remember seeing a picture in the New York Times of you and Crippen stepping off the gangplank when you got back to England, and you were wearing the hat. I can't say that I recall which ship it was.'

'The same one, in fact,' said Walter.

'The Mauretania?'

'The hat,' said Walter, picking it up. 'The same hat. Now, if I could trouble you with more recent recollections, what can you tell me about the lady who was killed on Sunday night?'

'Katherine? Not a lot, Inspector. We only met her that evening. She asked us if we would like to play whist.'

Barbara interrupted. 'She didn't ask me. If you remember, Paul, you invited me to join the game after it was arranged.'

'Yes,' said Paul, is that important? Well, if you want the whole story, I was having a coffee and a brandy in the lounge after dinner with an English guy by the name of Jack Gordon. Katherine — Miss Masters — came up to us and asked us if we could do anything in the concert. She was recruiting on behalf of Mr Martinelli, the concert chairman, whose English is not so good. She wanted people to play parts in a sketch. Jack made some kind of humorous remark to the effect that the only thing he could play was whist. Katherine took him up on it, and that was how we fixed the game.'

'I was still in the dining saloon with my parents,' said Barbara. 'Paul came in and asked me to join the game.'

'We knew each other at college,' added Paul.

'And we happened to be staying at the same hotels in Paris and London,' said Barbara.

Walter produced a notebook. 'I'd better get some of this down. Would you care to order? I think the steward is coming.'

'Sure,' said Paul. 'What's yours, Inspector?'

Walter frowned.

'What will you have to drink?'

'Oh. Tea, if you please.'

'Milk and sugar?'

'No sugar. It causes cavities. Now, Miss Cordell, how do you spell your surname?'

'B-A-R-' began Barbara.

'No, your surname, my dear,' broke in Walter. 'Cordell.'

'That isn't really my surname at all,' said Barbara, it's Barlinski.'

Walter looked as if he was not prepared to believe it.

'Livingstone Cordell is my stepfather,' Barbara explained. 'He is my mother's third husband. She divorced Daddy when I was seven years old. It's too much to keep explaining, so when people call me Cordell I don't usually correct them. Shall I spell Barlinski for you?'

Walter pushed the pencil and notebook across the table. 'Perhaps you would write it down instead.'

'Shall I write Paul's name as well?'

Walter looked like a man who has been caught once too often. He nodded. When Barbara handed back the notebook he studied it closely.

'Did you want to hear about the card game?' asked Paul.

'Not really. I had an account of it from Mr, er,' Walter checked his notebook — 'Gordon. Tell me about him.'