The False Inspector Dew

'We sure do,' said Marjorie.

'There's almost certainly nothing in it,' Walter tried to assure them, in fact, you can clear him of all suspicion if you know where he was after the fancy dress parade last night.'

'He was in the parade,' said Marjorie. 'Don't you remember? Paul and Barbara came as Pilgrims.'

'Honey, he said after the parade,' said Livy.

'After it? Why, that was when the two of them went off on their own and he proposed to her.'

'We've only got Barbara's word for that,' said Livy.

'Oh.no!'

'What else have you got against the boy?' Livy asked Walter.

'Nothing definite at all. It was probably coincidence that he was playing cards with the lady who was murdered on the night she died.'

'So was my daughter Barbara,' said Marjorie, close to tears. 'You don't think she had anything to do with it?'

'Take it easy, Marje,' said Livy. 'Listen, Inspector, I was in the smoking room on Saturday evening. I talked to Paul. He was buying coffee for the lady and Barbara was at the table being kind to her. Is that the action of people with murder in their minds? I think you're making a mistake. No disrespect, of course.' He put an appeasing hand on Walter's shoulder.

Walter gave a yelp of pain.

'Shucks, I forgot,' said Livy as he jerked the hand away, inspector, I'm sorry. Would you like to sit down?'

'No, it's all right. I was about to leave.'

Marjorie came across the room, her face quivering with emotion. 'But you can't leave yet. You haven't told us why you think Paul is strange.'

'Forget it, Marje,' murmured Livy.

'How can I forget it when you're about to give my only daughter to a crazy?' Marjorie sobbed.

'You blame me now?' said Livy, his voice pitched high with disbelief.

'You don't care about Barbara,' Marjorie declared as her anxiety turned to malediction. 'You don't even care about me. It's self, self, self with you, Livy Cordell, and I should have seen it years back. All you ever do is talk about the old days and make smart-ass remarks at my expense. Well, I've had enough of it.'

'Do you think / enjoy it?' retorted Livy.

Walter said, i must go.'

'No you don't,'said Marjorie, reaching out to grab his arm — fortunately his good one. i want the truth from you, Inspector. I've spent four years of my life married to a phony, and I don't intend to let my daughter wreck her life as well.'

'Did you call me a phony?' Livy demanded.

'Would you rather I called you a small-time crook who chucked it up to trap an innocent lady into marriage and live off her personal fortune?'

'If that's what you think of our marriage, let's forget it.'

'I will — don't you worry your head about that,' said Marjorie. The things she had said had done her good. She had triumphed over her distress. She turned to Walter and almost prodded him with her finger. 'Now for you. I want it straight, Inspector. What evidence do you have that Paul Westerfield is crazy?'

'None whatsoever,' said Walter, reaching for the door again, it was only an hypothesis. I wanted to test it on someone who knows the young man.'

'What did you say?'

'You'd better get out of here, Inspector,' said Livy. He opened the door and pushed him through it.

When it was closed, Marjorie found the words that had temporarily eluded her. 'Did you hear that? It was hypothetical. There's nothing wrong with Paul. Is that what he said?'

'Something like that,' said Livy.

'Why didn't he say so in the first place? What kind of people does he think we are?'

'After what you said, he doesn't need to think. He knows,' said Livy acidly.

'Honey, I didn't mean those things,' said Marjorie, her eyes welling with tears. 'What got into me? How could I have been so hurtful?' She opened her arms to embrace Livy, but he stood his ground.

'Wash your face,' he said, it's a mess.'

'Are you angry with me? I don't blame you, Livy.'

'I'm going to meet that boy.'

'Oh, Lord help us, yes. He must be waiting in the smoking room. You won't tell him about this?'

'I don't shoot off my mouth like some people I know.'

Marjorie sniffed tearfully, i guess I asked for that. Livy, how can we drink champagne with those two young people in love when something like this has happened? It's going to be just awful. They're going to look at us and think that's what they could become. Won't you kiss and make up before we see them?'

Livy shook his head. 'Let's face it, Marje. You and I are finished. I'm doing this for Barbara's sake, not yours. See you at lunch.' He left the room.

Marjorie closed her eyes and moaned.

20

The last social event on the Mauretania was traditionally the concert. It was held in the main lounge, and almost everyone in the first class attended. Captain Rostron had a place reserved in the centre of the front row. For this evening the ship's band was elevated into an orchestra and they played the captain to his seat with a chorus from HMS Pinafore -

Then give three cheers, and one cheer more,

For the hardy Captain of the Pinafore.

The air of gaiety certainly owed something to a feeling of relief that this was the last evening at sea and no- one else had been strangled. If there was disappointment that Inspector Dew had not arrested anyone, it was generally agreed that his presence on the ship had discouraged any more fatalities. There had even been discussion in the concert committee of the possibility of including a second Gilbert and Sullivan chorus in the preliminaries -

When constabulary duty's to be done, A policeman's lot is not a happy one.

But it was felt that any reference to Walter ought to be omitted out of respect to the victim of the strangler.

The entire programme after the interval was given to Signor Martinelli. Before the tenor appeared, Captain Rostron addressed the audience. He expressed the wish that they had enjoyed the crossing in spite of the unhappy incident at its outset. He paid tribute to Inspector Dew's unstinting efforts to investigate the crime and guarantee the safety of the passengers and crew. There was applause at this, and Walter standing at the back, gave a small bow in thanks. The injury to his shoulder was not mentioned.

At the conclusion of the concert, Paul Westerfield remarked to his fiancee Barbara, 'I didn't see your parents here tonight.'

'No', said Barbara. 'I haven't talked to them since lunch.'

'You don't have to tell me that,' said Paul, giving her hand a squeeze. 'I've been with you all but twenty minutes.'

She smiled back at him. 'Maybe they were tired. They seemed a little strained at lunch.'

'They were sad to be giving up their lovely daughter.'

'I don't think that's the way they look at it,' said Barbara.

The smoking room soon filled with its usual clientele and others taking a last drink with friends made on the voyage. The talk was of New York and Quarantine and customs. Trunks still waited to be packed, but it was hard to leave the bonhomie for such depressing tasks.