The False Inspector Dew

'Yes. It's no more than a sort of intuition, but I can't help feeling that Gordon — the unctuous Englishman — planted himself on the young Americans.'

'To cheat them at cards?'

'Ultimately. You see, Westerfield — the American — mislaid his wallet and Gordon picked it up and handed it to the purser. Naturally, Westerfield went to thank him. There was a bond of confidence between them. While they were having a drink Katherine Masters came by, apparently seeking volunteers for the concert. Instead, a game of cards was got up. On the face of it, a perfectly spontaneous arrangement.'

'But you suspect that she was in collusion with Gordon?'

'It crossed my mind. It would be a neat confidence trick. Gordon said not a word to me about the wallet being found.'

'Is that significant?'

'It is if the wallet was lifted from Westerfield's pocket and put somewhere for Gordon to pick up.'

'Who would have done that?'

'A girl called Poppy who came aboard with Westerfield.'

'It sounds a very elaborate fraud, Walter. Did they win a lot of money?'

'They lost.'

Alma shook her head sympathetically. 'It rather knocks your theory on the head, doesn't it?'

'No. As you say, it's elaborate. If there's anything in it at all, they wouldn't be aiming at one evening's cards. They would go through the week raising the stakes, and make their killing on the last night.'

'So they may have deliberately lost.'

'Yes. In fact, they appear to have played quite well for a few hands and then gone all to pieces. She was critical of his play and he reduced her to tears at the end of the evening.'

'Do you think it was stage-managed?'

'It certainly seems to have convinced the Americans.'

'But what was the point?'

'To reassure them that Gordon and Miss Masters didn't know each other, couldn't play very well together and could easily be beaten. The American girl was left comforting Miss Masters and promising to play bridge the next night.'

'It does begin to sound plausible,' commented Alma. 'You really are a detective.'

Walter's face lit up. 'Do you think so?'

'But it doesn't explain why Miss Masters was murdered.'

'No.'

'And now that she is dead it will be very difficult to prove.'

Walter nodded glumly.

'Unless…' said Alma.

'What?'

'You could find out for certain whether she was on the concert committee.'

6

Giovanni Martinelli was in the barber's shop having a manicure and an animated conversation in Italian with the barber. They stopped abruptly when Walter entered.

'Signor Martinelli?' said Walter.

The great tenor raised his eyebrows.

'Forgive me for interrupting. My name is Dew, Inspector Dew, inquiring into the unfortunate death of Miss Katherine Masters. There is one small point that you may be in a position to clarify. I was informed that on the evening of her death Miss Masters was seen to approach certain guests to ask them on your behalf as chairman of the concert committee whether they were willing to participate in the ship's concert. I merely wish to confirm that she was so engaged and was an accredited member of your committee.'

Martinelli said nothing. He simply stared at Walter.

I am merely verifying statements from other witnesses. It is simply a formality.' Walter took out his notebook and pencil to reinforce the point.

Martinelli's face softened into a broad smile. 'Si.'

He took the notebook and pencil from Walter, wrote something and handed them back.

He had written G. Martinelli, Mauretania, 1921.

7

The edginess apparent between Paul and Barbara in their conversation with Walter persisted into the evening. There was dancing after dinner in the dining saloon and Paul joined the Livingstone Cordells at their table. He took the seat across the table from Barbara. He could have moved closer to her when Livy took Marjorie on the floor for a tango, but he did not. He could have talked to Barbara, but he gave his attention to the dancing. Barbara began to wonder why he had joined them at all. When the tango ended and Marjorie came back, she said, 'Aren't you young people dancing at all this evening? You shouldn't let the older generation show you up.'

Barbara said, 'Paul had a very exhausting game of deck tennis today, Mother.'

Paul ignored the taunt. He said to Marjorie, 'When you and Livy go on the floor it makes the rest of us look so wooden.'

'Flatterer,' said Marjorie with a ripple of pleasure that set her sequins shimmering. 'In that case, Livy and I will sit the next one out and give you two a chance to cut a rug.'

It was a waltz. They circled the floor solemnly to I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles. Paul was an adequate dancer, usually able to distract his partner from any imperfections in the movement with amusing conversation. This evening he was unwilling or unable to amuse Barbara. Towards the end of it, she said, 'I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'Because my mother inflicted this on you.'

'She didn't. I asked you myself, didn't I?'

She nodded. A touch on the drums heralded the end of the dance.

'You make a beautiful couple,' said Marjorie when they got back to the table.

They sat out the next two dances and then had an old-fashioned St Bernard waltz too intricate for any dialogue to take place. When it was over, Paul said, 'I think I'll get an early night. I'm not much company for you.'

Barbara said, 'It's not easy with my parents at the table.'

'I'm not getting at them. They're nice people.'

'We could go for a walk on the deck.'

'It's too cold. The wind is getting up.'

'Too bad,' said Barbara. 'I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account.' Immediately she had spoken the words, she wished she had not. They were not meant to carry the rebuke that they did. They expressed her genuine frustration at the awkwardness that had crept between them. She said, 'I'm, sorry. Please don't go to bed.'

Paul's eyes registered bewilderment. He said quietly, 'Barbara, let's draw a line under today, huh? Maybe we can both be in a better frame of mind tomorrow. Goodnight.'

She went back to the table alone. She excused Paul's absence to her parents by saying he had not been feeling well. Her mother gave her a sharp look and said young men were more vulnerable than many women realised. Livy went to get them drinks and came back with the information that Paul was in the smoking room bar. 'I guess he needs a couple of whiskys to make his head better,' he told Barbara. 'Come on, you haven't danced with me yet.'