The Lusitania Murders

confederate in first class, for full instructions.” Her smile outsparkled the sea. “You caught them, Van, ants in their pantry-speaking German with a camera in their hot little hands.”

“And Mr. Leach panicked, with the stowaways taken into custody. . Two of the Germans seemed anxious to talk, to make a deal, which would have meant the end for Mr. Leach.”

“So,” she said, picking up my thread, “he fed them a cyanide-spiced dinner. . but only two of them. Their ringleader was loyal to the cause, and went along with Leach’s improvised plan, to stab the corpses, and (he hoped) cover up their murder by cyanide.”

Now I picked up her thread. “Leach then accompanies Klaus to first class, where they meet with their confederate. . But why was Klaus stabbed? He had complied with Leach’s murder of the other two, after all.”

Her eyes stared unblinkingly into her thoughts, which she collected for several long moments. Then she said, “I believe their ally in first class saw no use for Klaus-the plan was now defunct, after all. Our first-class conspirator would recoil at the suggestion that Klaus be hidden in his room! The German was of no further use, and eventual questioning of Klaus in Britain by the secret service might well expose the conspirator’s aiding and abetting of sabotage.”

“A capital crime,” I said, with an arched eyebrow and a nod. “So. . after Leach escorts Klaus to first class, a discussion ensues in the hallway. . an argument?”

Miss Vance shrugged. “Possibly Leach and his accomplice offered Klaus the opportunity to take a lifeboat into the sea. But Klaus may have objected-without a U-boat waiting, that was near certain death. Or possibly Klaus was a good German, and wished to finish his mission of sabotage, before departing, however much danger he put them all in.”

“Then we were wrong that this was a matter of robbery.”

She shook her head forcefully. “No-we were right that this is about both sabotage and robbery. Leach’s accomplice in first class-the brighter of the two by far, possibly a criminal mastermind-was in this only for the money.”

“What was their plan, do you think?”

She leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. “It was much as we’ve speculated, I should think: Near journey’s end, a bomb goes off, off the Irish coast, and in the confusion, stewards loot the key staterooms. . the names on that list from the stowaway’s shoe.”

I considered that. “Or they might have used tomorrow night’s parties, as an opportunity.”

Now her eyes widened; she nodded. “Good, Van! That’s an interesting line of thought. . Go on.”

Like a puppy whose master had patted his head, I tried further to please. “Every potential target on Klaus’s list will be at one of those two parties tomorrow night-two of the names on the list are throwing the affairs! This, of course, assumes that our accomplice knew of these parties in advance.”

“A reasonable enough assumption. Invitations to both affairs had been printed up beforehand. . Go on.”

“If their accomplice is indeed one of the prominent names on that very list, he or she could have kept an eye on the robbery victims at the parties, keeping them busy, paving the way for plunder by his co-conspirators.”

Now she seemed doubtful. “But the robberies would be discovered.”

“Ah, but this is a big ship. . plenty of places to hide the loot. It’s doubtful, this close to the end of the voyage, that the ship would be searched in any rigorous fashion at all. Remember, we’re talking millions, here, in cash and securities.”

Now I had her again; she was smiling, nodding. “Yes. . yes. The authorities at Liverpool would seal off the ship, no passengers would be allowed to leave, until the booty was found. . and every suspect on the ship questioned, all twelve hundred of them!”

But that had me doubtful, suddenly. “Would Cunard put up with such an embarrassment?”

She waved off my uncertainty. “They would have no choice. It’s a matter of law enforcement. . and stir into the soup the presence of enemy agents during wartime, and you can bet the passengers would be stuck on this vessel for days-the closest to dry land they could get would be looking out a porthole!”

And of course the band of looters/saboteurs could not withstand what would await them at Liverpool. .

“So,” I said, “now we’re back to a bomb.”

“To a bomb,” she said with a nod. “Before the ship reaches an English port, our saboteurs-in-stewards’- clothing set off another of those pipe bombs-just off the coast of Ireland. . and you know the rest.”

As the crew hustles passengers into lifeboats, during the commotion and perhaps the panic, the villains retrieve their booty and go over the side, picked up by pro-German accomplices. The first-class conspirator most likely stays aboard, and receives his share at a later, safer date.

“And a good plan it was, too,” she admitted. “Either version. . Only, they’ve been interrupted in their efforts.”

“Death can be rude, at times. . but what if you’re right, Vance? What if the accomplice in first class is something of a criminal mastermind? Perhaps the crooked chef who cooked up the twisted recipe in the first place?”

Again her eyes narrowed. “You mean. . our first-class felon might continue improvising?”

I jerked a thumb toward the ship. “He. . or she. . shows every sign of such an inclination, starting with Klaus’s murder, and that pipe bomb deposited in my cabin, yesterday. . Or was that Leach’s independent handiwork, d’you think?”

She shook her head. “I believe not-I think your first instinct is correct. I think we have a murderous thief aboard who will likely try to gather his millions, yet.”

I studied her-studied her like a modern art painting I was trying to fathom. “You. . you know who it is, don’t you?”

Her smile was tiny and smug; so was her shrug. “Yes-don’t you?”

I admitted I didn’t.

She leaned forward, locked her eyes with mine. “Think for a few moments, Van, and you will. You have all the clues you need.”

“Really! Such as?”

She ticked them off on her pretty fingers. “First, the threatening telegrams-what was their real purpose? Second, the sequence of the names on the list in Klaus’s shoe-is it truly random? Third, the planting of the bomb in your cabin yesterday-why was that done, and at that particular moment? Finally, why did Klaus die on the portside of the ship?”

I confess my mind was reeling, but as we continued to discuss the matter, the clearness of it-the sheer obviousness of it-did present itself. .

. . as did our best course of action, which most certainly was not to present our findings to the two captains.

Instead, we would go to the two parties-that is, cocktail parties, thrown by Frohman and Kessler, tomorrow evening. She would go to one, and I would go to the other.

And before the final concert of the voyage, we would have our thief. . our murderer. . our answer.

By Thursday morning, when Miss Vance and I were strolling the Boat Deck’s open-air promenade, the Lusitania had experienced a change, however subtle. During the night, the ship had crossed into the war zone, signalling new precautions-we could see that the lifeboats had been swung out in their davits; and stewards were rigging more elaborate blackout curtains over doors and port-holes.*

Visibility was splendid, and the morning foretold a day as lovely as the previous several-sunshine, cool breezes, with the promise of a crisp evening. By the time evening arrived, however, I admit my nerves were on edge. We had spent the day in typical shipboard tomfoolery-food and strolls and even some time behind closed doors. But the task ahead was one for which a Pinkerton operative-even one as beautiful and feminine as Miss Vance-was far better suited than a man of letters.

Both cocktail parties began at six P.M. Approximately ten minutes past that hour, I dropped Miss Vance off at the Verandah Cafe, where Kessler was entertaining in the cool, open air, dusk painting the sea a shadowy shade of blue. Among the attendees were ship-builder Fred Gauntlett, the would-be nautical expert Charles Lauriat, the paranormal enthusiast Miss Pope and her young Friend, and several dozen others, most notably Madame DePage and her shipboard companion, Dr. Houghton.

Staff Captain Anderson had dropped by to represent the officers of the ship-Kessler was still giving him a bad time about the lifeboat drills-and I nodded hello to him. I scattered a bit of small talk around the cafe for perhaps