The False Inspector Dew

'Let me put it this way. I know you're not a policeman.'

Walter took a gulp of whisky.

'- since you retired, I mean,' explained the captain. 'So it's a shocking inconvenience, I'm sure, but what else can I suggest? Cordell has to be returned to England to stand trial, and as you're the man who built the case against him '

'But he's an American,' said Walter. 'Can't he stand trial here?'

'Don't you remember your law?' said the captain with a smile. 'He committed an indictable offence aboard a British ship on the high seas. He's got to be taken back. Of course, I'll ask the police to come aboard at Southampton and take him off. No need for you to be on show again. But we will need you for the magistrates' court. Frankly, there's no case against Cordell without your co-operation.'

'But I made arrangements.'

'You'll be compensated generously.'

Walter stared at him in silence.

'There won't be much delay,' the captain said, still trying to soften the blow. 'This is the quick turn-round. We sail again tomorrow.' He put his hand on Walter's arm. 'You'll get a marvellous welcome from the police.'

PART SIX

The Immigrant

1

At midnight of the following day, the Mauretania was towed into the fairway of the North River and swung to face the ocean again. For this eastbound crossing she carried fewer passengers; the season of vacations in Europe was virtually at an end for 1921. The passenger list was largely composed of businessmen. In the second class appeared the name Mr Walter Brown.

Walter had his meals delivered to his stateroom. He took his exercise at times when he knew the deck would be deserted. He was famous now. The fascinating story of Chief Inspector Dew's unmasking of the Mauretania Strangler had made headlines in New York. His picture had been splashed across the front of every paper in the City.

On the captain's orders, elaborate precautions were arranged to spare Walter from inquisitive passengers and the possible intrusion of the press. His only visitor apart from cabin stewards was the doctor, who came each day to dress the injured shoulder. Walter expressed his thanks, but said he felt guilty taking up the doctor's time because as far as he could see the wound had healed.

The doctor said, 'Certainly, it's doing nicely, but we must avoid the smallest risk of infection. You'll need to be completely fit by the time we reach Southampton. You won't want a tender shoulder when the reporters mob you.'

If Walter had any doubts about the reception he could expect in England, they were buried under the mass of telegrams delivered from the wireless room. There were congratulations, invitations and lavish offers from the Fleet Street papers for exclusive interviews.

On Saturday the doctor told him, 'Have you heard? The Daily Sketch has found a chap in Worthing who claims you aren't Inspector Dew at all. He says he's the man who arrested Crippen. The things people will do to get in the papers!'

The same evening Walter had a reassuring visit from the captain. 'You're comfortable, I trust? No-one has disturbed your privacy?'

'Very comfortable and very quiet, thank you, Captain.'

'Good. I expect you've heard about the fuss ashore.'

'A little.'

'Pretty daunting, I should think. Well, Inspector, someone is aware of your predicament. I've received this telegram from the Public Prosecutor's office.'

Walter examined it. Kindly inform Inspector Dew arrangements made to disembark Cherbourg to avoid press harassment.

He said, 'That's very considerate of them.'

'Damnit, that's the least they can do considering the inconvenience this has caused you,' said the captain. 'I expect to reach Cherbourg on Tuesday morning. Presumably they'll have a man to meet you.'

The rest of the crossing was uneventful, and in consequence seemed slow. Walter was on deck late on Monday evening when the light of Bishop Rock appeared on the horizon. Soon after midnight he saw the incandescence of the south coast of England from the port side. Then he went to bed.

In the morning it was raining. Cherbourg was scarcely visible from the breakwater where the passengers transferred to the tender that conveyed them to the inner harbour. Walter pulled up the collar of his overcoat and kept away from anyone who looked like the press. Any thoughts he may have entertained of disappearing among the teeming hundreds on the harbour were scotched at once. A figure in a uniform approached him as he stepped ashore and said in an English accent, 'Excuse me, sir, I believe I am right in saying that your name is Walter Baranov.'

Walter's facial muscles tightened, but he did not deny it. He gave a nod.

'So glad to have found you,' said the man. His uniform was not that of a police officer. It was the peaked cap, high-buttoned tunic and gaiters of a chauffeur. 'Would you come this way? There's just the formality of customs. Your luggage will be collected.'

Walter followed him across the harbour to the customs hall. They were allowed to pass immediately.

Outside, they crossed a pebbled courtyard to a black limousine.

'Where are you taking me?' Walter asked.

The chauffeur opened the rear door. 'Would you kindly step inside, sir?'

Walter inclined his head, put his foot on the running-board, and froze.

A woman was sitting inside. She said, 'Walter darling, or do I say Inspector?'

It was Lydia.

2

'The telegram was very clever, don't you think?' she asked him as they sat together at the open tables outside a bar-restaurant in Caen. 'I even took the trouble to find out the name of the Public Prosecutor, in case there was a query, but they accepted it like lambs.' She laughed. 'I dare say it gave you a bit of a turn, darling.'

'Yes,' said Walter. He was still looking pale. 'How did you find out that I was masquerading as Dew?'

'I saw your picture in the paper. It gave me quite a shock. The first time I saw it, I just turned to jelly, seeing my own sweet husband in the Daily Mail. Then I saw the name Inspector Dew underneath and I thought, well, everyone is supposed to have a double, and this was yours. But a couple of days later the papers were saying someone else had claimed to be Walter Dew, and if he was, then who was the mystery man in the photograph? That was when I knew for sure. I thought, heavens, what has my Walter been up to? It was obvious that you were going to be in the most awful spot when the ship reached Southampton. The press are vultures, darling, to say nothing of the police. So I sent my little telegram. And now they'll never find their mystery man.'

'I hope not. I'm grateful, Lydia.'

She held his hand tightly. 'Darling, it was the least I could do after you had been so gallant.'