The other two stowaways were still inside the cell, though the barred door yawned open. They were asprawl on the floor-the tall, skinny, brown-haired one to the left, the average fellow with lighter brown hair on the right. Even from just inside the room, the dark red-almost black-splotches could be seen on their white stewards’ jackets, over either man’s heart, like badges of blood.
Miss Vance and I exchanged troubled looks, and she entered and knelt over either man. Strangely, she leaned near and sniffed the open mouths of each corpse, as if checking their breath for the scent of something. . although neither had any breath left, obviously.
She rose, and stood there surveying the carnage, pistol at her side.
“Knife wounds?” I asked.
She nodded and exited the cell, approaching me; I was standing near the unattended desk. “What would you say happened here, Van?”
I walked toward the cell, looked in through the bars, studied the position of the bodies, and tried to reason it through.
“Think out loud,” she suggested.
“Well, perhaps the knife. . does it appear, from the wounds, to be the same weapon? The hunting knife in the corridor?”
She nodded.
I began again. “Perhaps the knife was smuggled in to them by a comrade among the crew. . or possibly, somehow, they managed to sneak that weapon past the searches of their persons, unlikely as that might seem.”
“Continue.”
I offered a sigh, a shrug and the following speculation: “I would say Klaus and his stowaway associates had a falling-out-when I interviewed them, signs of such a conflict were apparent. My guess is that these two wanted to cooperate with the shipboard authorities, possibly reveal not only the nature of their mission but where. . perhaps. . a ticking bomb might be found aboard.”
Her expression indicated my reasoning seemed sound enough to her.
Encouraged, I went on. “So we have three stowaways and one knife-with two stowaways at odds with their leader. A struggle ensues, and one of them stabs Klaus in the back. . but Klaus is a tough, brawny exemplar of the fatherland, and, though wounded, he manages to take that knife away, and stab his assailant. . and then he stabbed the other would-be traitor, and left them to die.”
Miss Vance sighed; she began to pace. “This presumes that Klaus could have survived such a wound long enough to get to that first-class corridor.”
“Relatively speaking, it’s not that far away-one floor up.”
Still pacing, she said, “We’ll ask the ship’s doctor his opinion, based upon examination of the wound. . but the blood droplets, and the apparently discarded knife, seem at odds with your theory.”
I raised a lecturing finger. “Perhaps you’ve read the evidence incorrectly. . meaning no disrespect to your professional standing. Perhaps that trail of blood led in the opposite direction you assumed-perhaps it was Klaus who discarded the bloody knife, and staggered down the hall, in the direction of your room, his wound leaving a trail of liquid rubies for you to find.”
“And the commotion you heard in the hallway?”
I shrugged rather elaborately. “Klaus succumbing to the wound. . losing his balance. . falling unconscious, like the deadweight he had become, to the floor.”
She smiled. “That’s not bad, Van. . Very nicely deliberated. But you may be falling into a trap of sorts.”
“How so?”
Her eyes tightened. “I believe these bodies were
“This is somehow staged? How do you ‘stage’ murdered men? They’re really dead, after all.”
“Oh, they’re dead all right. . Step inside that cell, Van. Take a closer look.”
With another shrug, I did as she suggested, and followed her lead and knelt over the skinny corpse, who- upon examination from this proximity-revealed an interesting further fact.
“His skin is a rather dreadful shade of light blue,” I commented.
“If you take a look at his friend,” she said, “you’ll see he shares the same condition.”
I did, and he did.
“Now sniff around his mouth,” she prompted.
I was with the smaller of the pair, the darker-haired corpse, whose mouth-like his vacant eyes-was open.
“Hmmm,” I said, and rose, doing my best to hide my revulsion at the examinations I’d just been asked to make. “I would characterize that scent as. . well, it is familiar.”
“Almonds,” she said. “Bitter almonds.”
I exited the cell and approached her, where she stood near the desk. “You’re the detective-what’s the significance of that?”
“Well, I’m a detective, and we would need a doctor, willing and capable of performing a full scientific postmortem examination, to confirm my suspicion. But those symptoms-the blue-tinged skin, the scent of bitter almonds-would seem to indicate cyanide poisoning.”
I tried to process this information. “These men were poisoned, as well as stabbed?”
“I would say they were poisoned. . and stabbed after their deaths, to cloud the issue.”
Now I was the one pacing. “But what can it mean?”
“I am not certain. But I have a suggestion that you may reject.”
I stopped and planted myself in front of her. “Let’s hear it.”
She raised a cautionary palm. “Let’s keep our speculations to ourselves. No, on second thought. . you
“Why on earth? Your analysis, bizarre as it is, makes a hell of a lot more sense.”
She walked to the cell and looked through the bars at our dead stowaways. “If those men were poisoned, it was by someone on the crew-possibly Leach bringing them food, or Williams, or someone else with access to this brig. . Anderson himself, included. I would not like to alert our suspects, at this point, that we have these suspicions.”
“I see. . You wish to give them a false sense of security.”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, and as the only trained investigator aboard this ship, I am up against a murderer who is very likely also a German spy. . a clever murderer, able to manipulate evidence in a most confusing manner. There may be, as you have indicated, a ticking bomb on this ship at this very moment. . and I prefer to stay one step ahead of our prey, while seeming to be several steps behind.”
I saw the sense of this, and agreed to be her accomplice in cover-up as well as crime solving.
We heard some noise in the corridor, and stepped out to have a look-Williams and another crew member were carrying the deceased Klaus, covered by a white sheet commandeered from somewhere or other, down the corridor. A slender dark-haired, flush-cheeked boyish fellow in his early thirties-wearing a brown suit and no tie, indicating perhaps haste in dressing-was unlocking the door of the room next to the brig.
Anderson rounded the corner, picking up the rear of this little procession, and as the rosy-cheeked fellow opened the door, and the stretcher disappeared inside what was obviously one of the hospital rooms, the staff captain approached us outside the brig.
“So far,” Anderson said, “no sign of the other two stowaways.”
“I would have to disagree,” I said, and I gestured rather grandly to the open door of the brig.
Anderson stepped inside, and then exploded, delivering several salty phrases, before turning to apologize to Miss Vance, who had followed him in. I was just behind her.
Now it was Anderson thinking aloud, and he came to the same conclusion that I had: A falling-out among the stowaways had led to the “winner” of the struggle managing to stumble to first class, discard his knife, and stagger to his death.
“That’s a reasonable explanation,” Miss Vance said.
“And,” Anderson went on, adding a detail that frankly had not occurred to me, “I can tell you why he chose
