She meant the pantry.
“That’s true,” Anderson admitted.
“They had plenty of time to secrete a weapon or even an explosive device. You may have just thrown Brer Rabbit into the briar patch, Captain.”
I have to give Anderson credit: Some men wouldn’t have taken such criticism, coming from a woman; but the staff captain was a bigger man than that.
“You’re correct,” he said, shaking his head. “I was a fool. . Williams!”
The master-at-arms, short but sturdy with dark eyes and dark thick eyebrows, snapped to; he had the confiscated camera in hand. “Yes, sir.”
“Get your revolver.”
The dark eyes flared, but the man said, “Yes, sir.”
“Handcuffs, too.”
“Yes, sir.”
Miss Vance was nodding approvingly.
We were clustered in the compact hallway, a group of men providing a court for this commanding woman. In addition to myself and the staff captain (and the now absent Williams), steward Neil Leach-a brown-haired, blue- eyed, pasty-white fellow in his middle twenties with crooked front teeth and an eager manner-stood on the periphery.
“Who is allocated to this pantry?” Miss Vance asked.
Leach spoke up. “I am, ma’am. . Actually, I’m in charge of the children’s dining saloon-this is their pantry.”
She nodded. “And do you keep a supply of stewards’ uniforms in there, along with foodstuffs?”
The hint of sarcasm-laced accusation in her tone was not lost on Leach, who blushed and began to fluster. “Why, no, ma’am, of course not. .”
Anderson stood up for the lad. “A supply closet is a few steps from here, Miss Vance. And various stewards’ offices are all in this area of the ship.”
“That’s right, ma’am,” Leach said, still flushed. “And our sleeping quarters, all of us stewards, are only one floor down. . just forward of where we stand.”
“Mr. Leach,” Anderson said to the shaken steward, “perhaps you should get back to your duties.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sound of children making their usual squall indicated Anderson’s decision was a wise one.
When Leach had gone, Anderson said to Miss Vance, “I can vouch for Mr. Leach. His uncle is a good friend of mine.”
Miss Vance seemed unimpressed.
Anderson went on: “The boy’s a law student-he got stranded on vacation in New York, and I’m helping his uncle, or rather young Neil, to get to England to take his final examinations.”
“That’s all well and good,” she said. “But these stowaways were waiting in your trusted steward’s pantry, wearing stewards’ uniforms themselves.”
“For pity’s sake, Miss Vance,” Anderson said, clearly exasperated. “His father’s an English judge.”
Anderson could not understand that Americans like Miss Vance (and myself) were not as impressed with pedigrees as the English.
“Is Mr. Leach an experienced hand?” she asked.
“No-this is his first voyage.” Anderson explained to her what he had to me: that he was short-staffed, that many able-bodied seamen had been shanghaied, in effect, by the Royal Navy.
“Then we’ll keep an eye on young Leach,” she said. “After all, these three got aboard somehow. . Where’s your brig?”
“On this deck, aft,” Anderson said. “Down near the hospital rooms.”
“How many cells?”
“One large cell, four bunks.”
She nodded her approval.
“What did you mean,” I asked, coming in off the sidelines, “they may have explosives?”
“It’s entirely possible,” she said, “that spies such as these, in addition to using their camera to take pictures, say, of the rumored guns aboard-”
“There are none,” Anderson interrupted, obviously peeved.
“They wouldn’t know that, Captain,” she said. “In any case, spies who had taken their incriminating pictures, with the aid of greedy crew members, might well plant a bomb aboard a ship like this one, and then-stowaways and crew conspirators, alike-jump ship.”
“What, in the middle of the Atlantic?” Anderson asked, as if all of this seemed patently preposterous.
“No,” she said calmly. “Just off the shore of Ireland. . close enough to be picked up by rowboat, or even to swim for it.”
Anderson had nothing to say to this all too plausible theory.
“They could have already placed their explosive,” I pointed out.
She brushed a blonde tendril from her face, as if she were impatient with it-or was that with me? “Yes-but I doubt they’ve engaged any timing device, as yet. Too many uncertainties about exactly when we might arrive.”
It was obvious Anderson was taking all of this seriously now. He said, “You omit one rather dire possibility, Miss Vance.”
“And what would that be?”
“Perhaps they aren’t planning to wait until they near shore. Perhaps they have already planted their device, and set their timer. . because they intend to go over the side in a lifeboat, and be plucked from the seas by a U- boat.”
I frowned. “That’s a bit romantic, isn’t it?”
But both Anderson and Miss Vance gave me sharply sober looks that said otherwise.
“With all due respect,” I said, “surely you’re leaping to unfounded conclusions.”
“These are not conclusions, Mr. Van Dine,” the female private detective said. “They are possibilities. . all too credible, I’m afraid.”
“But this is a passenger ship,” I insisted. “I’ve seen for myself that there are no guns aboard.” I looked imploringly at Anderson. “Please tell me the
“We are not,” he said. But then he added, “We do have limited materials that might be considered contraband, by some. .”
That was a fascinating admission; under other circumstances, I would have been grateful for it.
“. . but the point is, the Germans are desperate to halt the export of munitions and other war supplies to Britain and her allies. Just because this ship is not at this moment doing so, that doesn’t remove the threat of such in the future. . or of the
“Disabling a British steamer of this size,” Miss Vance said, shaking her head somberly, “would be most desirable for the Germans. . making this ship an obvious target for saboteurs.”
I was pondering that disturbing fact-and it seemed a fact to me now, not just an opinion-when Master-at- Arms Williams returned with his revolver. He seemed nervous, his forehead beaded with sweat.
Miss Vance held out her hand, and smiled sweetly at him, as if accepting a dance at a ball. “May I?”
Williams looked curiously at the staff captain, who said, “Go ahead-she’s the ship’s official detective, after all.”
She took the revolver into her graceful, ungloved hand, and the bulky weapon seemed shockingly at home there. She even smiled down at it, as if welcoming an old friend.
“When I have the drop on them,” she said to Anderson softly, almost a whisper, “I’ll stay in the doorway. You and Mr. Williams and Mr. Van Dine rush in and quickly search the men, head to foot-pat them down for weapons.”
Startled by my inclusion in this raiding party, I asked, “And if I should find any?”
She beamed at me and the blue eyes sparkled. “Why, remove them.”
