The Lusitania Murders

He shook his head and the thicket of black beard bounced. “These are wartime conditions-bunch of damned ostriches, heads in the sand. You know, I complained directly to Captain Turner.”

“You did?”

“I did-the daft old bastard. I went right to his day cabin and bearded the lion in his den-said, ‘I think it would be an excellent idea if each passenger was given a ticket listing the number of the lifeboat he’s to make for.’ ”

“How did Turner take it?”

“He just looked at me-like a shaved walrus. I said, ‘You know, Captain-just in case anything untoward happens.’ Finally he told me Cunard had already considered this idea-it had come up after the Titanic disaster! But it was rejected as too impractical.”

“I would imagine this response disappointed you.”

“It did, and I told the old boy so! And he just replied that he did not have the authority to act on my advice- even if he wanted to! Bugger him, I say.”

How I wished this could go into my News articles. .

“Do you know how Turner spends his time?” Kessler asked.

“Frankly, no.”

“Tying fancy nautical knots, to impress his officers! Challenges ’em to top him. They think he’s a fool, too. . There are women and children on this ship, goddamnit! Have you seen how many tykes are aboard?”

I, of course, had; but somehow I felt Kessler’s prime concern was self-preservation.

“I have the feeling,” I said, “that steamer travel does not suit your temperament.”

“You’re correct, sir-no voyage is too short for me. I get restless-even with that sea air and walks on deck, I have a cooped-up feeling. But it has its positive side-I’ve had numerous good business ideas; sometimes I feel my mind is whirling with new ways to make more money.”

“And to spend it?” I said, with a smile. “Maybe turn the Savoy into the Taj Mahal?”

“Hell of an idea,” he said. But his impatience even extended to me, and this interview. “Well, is that it? Did I give you what you needed? You got the spelling right?”

I told him the interview was over, and that I did indeed have the correct spelling of his name; but that I would like a few more minutes with him. He cooperated, and I explained about Miss Vance-whom he remembered from seeing her on deck with me (“Fine-looking woman!”)-and our fears that a thievery ring might be aboard.

At mention of that, his face turned white. “It’s a good thing I carry a gun,” he said.

“Why is that, sir?”

He leaned closer. “I can speak only in strictest confidence. I would want this repeated only to the Pinkerton agent-so that she might help in a preventative manner.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded.

He stroked the nest of beard. “You might consider me as eccentric as that Hubbard character, in my own way.”

“Why is that, sir?”

“Well. . I am of the belief that a man should not leave his possessions out of his sight.” He tapped the brown valise over which his legs rested. “I have some transactions in mind, in London, that may demand fast financing.”

So the valise must have contained a sizable quantity of cash-much as Frohman’s briefcase bulged with fifty thousand dollars.

“I have two million in stocks and securities,” Kessler said. “Having it so close by. . well, it’s much safer this way, don’t you think?”

And he thought Captain Turner was a fool. .

ELEVEN

Ham Seasoned with Sage

Late that afternoon I again joined forces with Miss Vance. We met in the Reading-and-Writing Room (which was smaller* than the gentlemen’s smoking lounge), a mostly female preserve offering rose-color carpeting that harmonized soothingly with walls panelled in cream-and-gray silk brocade, with finely carved pilasters and moldings. The etched-glass windows boasted embroidered valances and curtains of silk tabouret, and the inlaid mahogany furnishings included settees, easy chairs and writing chairs upholstered in the same rich silk, with a vast mahogany-and-glass book-crammed bookcase that consumed an entire wall. In what better setting could one hope to jot off a note on impressive Lusitania stationery?

I had just completed my interview with George Kessler, while Miss Vance-here in the reading room-had sat chatting with Madame DePage and her friend Dr. Houghton.

“Houghton seems quite innocent,” she said, beside me on a small sofa. Madame DePage and Dr. Houghton had departed to prepare for the first evening dinner sitting.

I frowned. “But they hadn’t met prior to this trip. . he sought her out, she said. . ”

“Yes-they’d corresponded, however, and were in that sense old acquaintances. They spoke in detail about the hospital in La Panne. . went on and on about a nurse named Cavell, in Brussels, from whom madame hoped Dr. Houghton could arrange a pass through German lines.”

“That seems unlikely.”

Miss Vance shrugged. “So Dr. Houghton told her-but madame naively clung to her belief that doctors and nurses ‘transcend the national and the politic of war.’ ”

“Good luck to her with that view.”

With a lifted eyebrow, Miss Vance said, “There well may be, as you suspect, a shipboard romance between them. . madame is a passionate woman, in every respect. . but if Houghton is not the genuine article, he’s a masterful impostor.”

“Still, you will check on him, with your New York office, I trust.”

“Oh yes. And by Tuesday we should have preliminary reports on those crew members, Williams and Leach, as well. . And what did you gather from your conversation with the Champagne King?”

I sighed, leaned back on the comfortable sofa. “Well, he’s a loudmouth who likes to impress others by throwing his money around.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more than the two million dollars in stocks and bonds in that bag of his.”

Miss Vance’s eyes showed white all round. “Do tell! Well, his technique is working-I am impressed.”

I gave her the details, such as they were.

She shook her head. “What a foolish ass. .”

“Nonetheless, the purpose of those names in the stowaway’s shoe becomes clear-it seems unlikely it’s potential assassination targets. Rather, robbery victims.”

Nodding, she said, “That would seem the common denominator-Madame DePage has her war relief funds, Frohman his money to buy new properties in London, and this oaf Kessler has his stocks and bonds in hand-to keep them ‘safe.’ ”

I chuckled. “As if all this food weren’t enough, the Lucy is a virtual brigands’ buffet! Courtesy of a bunch of first-class idiots with their first-class purses full.”

“And what of the Sage of East Aurora?”

She was nodding toward Elbert Hubbard, who sat at a handsome writing table complete with built-in mercury gilt lamp, near another such desk, at which his wife, Alice, perched. Both were intently applying ink to paper, bathed in afternoon sunlight filtering down through the leaded-glass dome almost directly above them.

“Well, it’s time for our appointment,” I said. “Shall we find out?”

Within minutes, introductions had been made, and we repaired to a pair of adjacent couches, Miss Vance next to me, with Hubbard at my left, his wife seated next to him. Plain but not unattractive people, the pair’s shared