Cumberland lamb or Wiltshire bacon and Cumberland lamb, with a side of baked apples or pancakes. About that point a waiter offered from a tray of cold cuts an array of ham, beef, smoked ox tongue and capon. And there of course were oatcakes, toasted muffins and scones. . with tea, coffee or cocoa. For those disappointed in such light fare, special orders of steak, mutton chops or chicken were available from the grill.
I ate heartily, despite my knowledge of the corpses sharing the cold storage compartments, and so did Miss Vance, whose pragmatic nature continued to impress.
“Are you planning to attend the morning’s divine services?” Miss Vance asked me, between nibbles of scone.
“My mother and father were deeply religious,” I said, and took a sip of coffee before continuing. “Sober citizens and devout churchgoers. . They saw to it that in my youth I attended enough services to last my lifetime.”
“Captain Turner’s conducting the services in the main lounge,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. “No doubt asking for blessings on the king and all those at sea.”
“A religious service as served up by Bowler Bill surely would have its rewards, as entertainment if not theology.”
Across from us, Miss Pope was discussing religious matters as well, in her own unique way-specifically, the glories of Sir Oliver Lodge, the spiritualist.
“I would imagine,” Miss Vance said, “that as little as the captain likes rubbing shoulders with passengers, the Sunday service must seem one of those ‘perils of the sea’ to which the prayer books allude.”
Keeping my voice a near whisper-the orchestra was silent at breakfast, the only music the chatter of conversion and the clink and clank of china and silver-I said to her, “I believe we need to make amends to Staff Captain Anderson.”
Miss Vance nodded. “Yes-things grew tense last night. Perhaps I made an inappropriate remark or two.”
“In my view, you were all too easy on these Cunard clods. . but we need Anderson on our side, to help our other interviews. Don’t you think that steward Leach should be questioned? And Master-at-Arms Williams?”
With a thoughtful frown, she said, “I do. . but not just yet. I consider them. . and for that matter, Mr. Anderson himself. . suspects.”
I was buttering a muffin. “I assume that is why you withheld certain information from Anderson and Captain Turner last night. . information of a bluish, almond-scented variety.”
Nodding again, she said, “If one of them is either a murderer or an accomplice to the stowaways-”
“Or both,” I cut in.
“-or both. . then better to give that unknown party a false sense of security. After all, we’re stuck on this boat for the better part of a week-no one’s going anywhere, just yet.”
“Particularly not the stowaways,” I said, as those conversing-and feasting-around us remained blissfully unaware of the tragedy and danger in their midst.
Perhaps an hour later, Miss Vance and I were walking on the open-air promenade on the Boat Deck-the fog had been replaced by bright morning sunshine, touching the vast shimmering blue with golden highlights-and quite by accident encountered Staff Captain Anderson.
The square-jawed, burly Anderson was aft of us, and had not yet seen us, being otherwise occupied-he raised a silver whistle to his lips and blew a shrill command. Miss Vance and I glanced at each other curiously, and positioned ourselves along the rail, watching. A handful of crew members suddenly appeared from here and there, like ants sensing sugar at a picnic, climbing into life jackets to which they affixed badges with the number fourteen on them.
The lifeboats were slung from davits above the rail, turning their portions of the generously wide Boat Deck into narrow walkways.* Right now those crew members were clambering up and into the hanging lifeboat-boldly numbered fourteen-which swung a little during the course of the exercise. Soon the sailors were sitting straight and trim within the suspended boat.
Then Anderson blew his whistle again, and the sailors leapt from the boat onto the deck and disappeared like those same ants scurrying back to their hills.
We approached Staff Captain Anderson, who seemed to frown just a little when he saw us, but I could not be certain.
We both bid him good morning, and I said jovially, “You look surprisingly well-rested, after such a long night.”
My remark seemed to put him at ease, and he said good morning to us, adding, “It was indeed a long night, Mr. Van Dine. . However, the two of you look none the worse for wear, I must admit.”
I patted my stomach. “If I can survive all this food. . Miss Vance and I were just walking off a hundred or so courses of breakfast.”
A simple soul, Anderson beamed, proud of his ship and the service it delivered to its passengers. “We do try to keep our guests well-fed. People have come to expect a steamer to be a floating gourmet banquet.”
“The
“Oh, I was conducting a lifeboat drill.”
“It’s all very well drilling your crew,” Miss Vance said, already risking the staff captain’s enmity, “but why aren’t you drilling the passengers?”
His affability remained. “Captain Turner doesn’t consider it necessary for passengers to take part in these drills.”
I said, “What’s your opinion?”
“Cunard doesn’t pay me to have opinions on subjects that the captain has already formed one about.”
Miss Vance was shaking her head. “With all this talk of U-boats and torpedoes, I should think a drill would provide the passengers comfort and reassurance.”
Now the strain was showing in his tightening features. “Captain Turner does not care to have the passengers unduly alarmed.”
The subject seemed closed, so I inquired about Anderson helping me with certain celebrated passengers.
“I’m sitting down to talk with Madame DePage this morning,” I said. “Could you possibly arrange for another interview or two for the afternoon?”
“Certainly. Any preference of order?”
“None.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you.”
Miss Vance decided to press her luck, and asked if she might make a small suggestion.
“Of course,” Anderson said, but not terribly enthusiastically.
“Would you please have the rooms of Mr. Leach and Mr. Williams thoroughly searched? Preferably without their knowledge.”
“I’ve already done so.”
Miss Vance brightened at this news. “Splendid. And?”
The staff captain shrugged. “Nothing untoward was discovered. And we’ve heard nothing from you on the fingerprinting subject-what have you discovered?”
“Oh, the process is a slow one,” she lied. “I won’t know whether that blade has prints for several days.”
“I see,” he said, seemingly accepting that absurdity. He tipped his cap. “Do please keep us informed. . Mr. Van Dine, I’ll leave word with the switchboard about those interviews.”
I thanked him, and he strode aft, disappearing through a doorway.
“Interesting fib,” I said to her, with a smile.
“I was studying him as I spoke,” she said soberly. “He betrayed nothing.”
“Probably because he had nothing to betray.”
She sighed. “Probably.”
We walked amidst the affluent passengers of Saloon Class, on deck decked out in their Sunday finery, fresh from divine services, derbies and boaters on the men, the chapeaus on their ladies no more elaborate than your average wedding cake. The wide open-air deck, narrowing when a davit-slung lifeboat interrupted with a reminder
