The Lusitania Murders

rather more prosaic, I’m afraid.”

“Too bad. Perhaps some day you’ll honor us with your views on the subject. What is your chief area of interest?”

“Modern art, I would say.”

“Fauvism, perhaps? Or Cubist works? Picasso? Braque?”

“Actually, I prefer the Syncromists.”

He frowned, almost if I’d said something distasteful. “Really? Well, to each his own. . I much prefer the Orphist color abstractions of the Delaunays, if such things are to be taken seriously at all.”

“I prefer Synchromism,” I said rather stiffly.

“Well, perhaps the work of that fellow Morgan Russell could be said to have merit. But that hack Stanton MacDonald-Wright. .” And he shuddered.

The artist he had just insulted, of course, was my own brother. . but what could I-that is, S.S. Van Dine- say?

So I echoed his own statement: “To each his own.” And hoped my irritation didn’t show, though I could a feel a flush in my cheeks.

“At any rate,” he said, “it’s a pleasure to have even a brief discussion of art with another devotee. . Now, if you’ll excuse me. .”

He had turned back toward the bedroom, when I called out gently, “Oh, Mr. Williamson. .”

He turned, his patience clearly tried. “Yes, Mr. Van Dine?”

“Would you mind sitting in on the interview? I would appreciate your presence, both as a calming one for your friend, and to ask you the occasional question about your views on this ship, and the voyage.”

He nodded another sort of bow. “Certainly. That would be my pleasure.”

When he had disappeared into the bedroom, Miss Vance turned to me with a grin and glittering eyes. “Nicely done.”

“How so?”

“Getting Williamson to stay. We need him just as much as we need Vanderbilt.”

And this was true, of course-Williamson had also been on the late stowaway’s list.

When Vanderbilt entered, followed by his art dealer friend, he was obviously not at his best. His complexion seemed gray, his eyes laced with red, and the expression he wore when introductions were made-and I stood to shake his hand-seemed fraught with melancholy, despite his polite smile.

“Forgive my informal attire,” he said, referring to his brown silk dressing gown.

He and Williamson were in chairs facing us as we sat on the comfortable settee.

“We understand you’ve received sad news,” I said, “and we would like to express our condolences.”

“Oh, yes,” Miss Vance said, sitting forward, hands clasped. “We would certainly understand if you wished to put this interview off-”

“No,” the millionaire said, raising a hand in gentle interruption. “The distraction is a welcome one-and I’m sure you’ll make pleasant company. . more pleasant than I, I’m afraid. I beg your patience.”

“Not at all,” I said. “Would you like to say anything about Mr. Davies, for the readers of the News?”

“You may quote me that I have known no finer, kinder man.” His eyes looked into memory. “We were classmates at Yale. . travelled extensively together. He and my sister Gertrude were almost married. . but that’s not why you came.”

“Nor do we mean to pry,” I said, and I began with unoffending queries about the Lusitania, and what it was about the ship that made it a favorite of his. I scribbled this pap down into my notebook, dutifully, for perhaps five minutes, before venturing into more significant waters.

“I take it you’re making a point of it,” I said, “travelling to attend the International Horse Show Association meeting in London. . despite the war, I mean.”

“You may be misinterpreting my actions,” he said patiently. “This war is a very real thing-we can’t pretend that our lives can go on, unaffected.”

“I understand last year’s annual meeting was cancelled, due to war concerns.”

“Yes. Last year’s show was cancelled, also, as you may know. But the general feeling over there, now, is that the war is going well enough to resume the fall event.”

“You must agree with that view, if you’re attending, sir.”

“I respect it.” He paused, and seemed to be mulling something over; then he glanced at Williamson, who shrugged. “As a favor to my friends at Cunard, I could give you a small piece of news. . if you would agree not to wire it home, until after the association’s meeting next Tuesday.”

“Certainly.”

He drew in a deep breath. “I will be announcing, at the annual meeting, that I will not be racing this season. There’s a war on, after all-and while perhaps giving up four-in-hand racing doesn’t compare to the sacrifices of some, it is a symbolic gesture I can make.”

I nodded, and put on an expression of admiring seriousness; but in truth, I felt him a silly ass-how typical of the rich to take their petty passions so seriously as to think giving up horse racing had any significance to either the average man or the war effort itself.*

“This of course hardly compares to my sister Gertrude’s contribution,” he admitted. “She’s really a tireless philanthropist, Gertrude is. At her urging, we’ve established a hospital unit in France, to care for wounded soldiers. . Miss Vance, I believe you’re travelling with Madame DePage-she can confirm my sister’s contribution to the Allied cause.”

Miss Vance nodded, indicating she already knew of this.

But I said, “Doesn’t that put you at risk, Mr. Vanderbilt, travelling to Europe through the war zone?”

He frowned. “How so?”

“If the Vanderbilts are aiding the Allies, mightn’t the German side wish to make an example of you?”

Vanderbilt snorted a laugh. “I could not care less. Let that bunch of damned Huns try.”

Glancing first at Miss Vance, and then back at him, I said, “Mr. Vanderbilt, we are here for two reasons.”

Another frown. “Really?”

I explained Miss Vance’s role as ship’s detective, and our concern for the prominent passengers who had received warning threats via telegram at the dock.

“That would include you as well, Mr. Williamson,” I said to the art dealer.

Williamson said, “My reaction is the same as Alfred’s-those telegrams were the work of a jokester.”

“A jokester with damned poor taste,” Vanderbilt put in. Then to the lovely Pinkerton agent he said, “You’ll forgive my deplorable language, Miss Vance.”

“Understandable in these times,” she said, “and in your personal situation.”

Vanderbilt thanked her for this consideration, and asked me, “You don’t think the Germans would target this ship for destruction simply because I’m on it? To make an example out of me?”

Well, it seemed to me to make more sense, as symbolic gestures went, than a millionaire quitting horse- racing; but I kept this thought to myself, saying, “Perhaps not you alone, Mr. Vanderbilt. But we also have Elbert Hubbard aboard. . you’re familiar with his widely published anti-Kaiser article?”

“Oh yes,” Vanderbilt said. “And I suppose Madame DePage, as well, could be viewed as a personality associated in the public’s mind with the Allied cause.”

“Yes. And the Lusitania herself has potential military applications-has even been rumored to carry munitions-and certainly could be viewed as a symbol of Britain’s supposed mastery of the seas.”

Vanderbilt was smiling, a little, nodding, too. “You have a sharp mind, Mr. Van Dine. I must say I admire your intellect.”

“Thank you, sir. . You should also be aware that Miss Vance and I have reason to believe a band of thieves may have boarded the ship, as well.”

Williamson sat forward. “Thieves? Does that even make sense? Where could they run, how could they hide, in such an enclosed space as this? How could they hope to take their booty off the ship with them?”

“They might go over the side,” I said, “in a lifeboat.”