impersonality of the phone couldn’t hide the worry. “Any luck yet, mister?”
“None at all, sir. I’ve. A search party lined up. Could I start in five minutes?” There was a pause, then he said, “It has to come to that, I suppose. How long will it take you?”
“Twenty minutes, half an hour.”
“You’re going to be very quick about it, aren’t you?”
“I don’t expect him to be hiding from us, sir. Whether he’s sick or hurt himself, or had some urgent reason for leaving the passengers’ quarters, I expect to find him in some place pretty obvious.”
He grunted and said, “Nothing I can do to help?” Half question, half statement.
“No, sir.” the sight of the captain searching about the upper deck or peering under lifeboat covers would do nothing to increase the passengers’ confidence in the Campari.
“Right then, mister. If you want me, I’ll be in the telegraph lounge. I’ll try to keep the passengers out of your hair while you’re getting on with it.”
That showed he was worried all right, and badly worried; he’d just as soon have gone into a cage full of Bengal tigers as mingle socially with the passengers. “Very good, sir.” I hung up.
Susan Beresford had re-crossed the cabin and was standing near, screwing a cigarette into a jade holder about a foot in length. I found the holder vaguely irritating as I found everything about Miss Beresford irritating, not least the way she stood there confidently awaiting a light. I wondered when Miss Beresford had last been reduced to lighting her own cigarettes. Not in years, I supposed, not so long as there was a man within a hundred yards. She got her light, puffed out a lazy cloud of smoke, and said, “A search party, is it? Should be interesting. You can count on me.” “I’m sorry, Miss Beresford.” I must say I didn’t sound sorry. “Ship’s company business. The captain wouldn’t like it.”
“Nor his First Officer, is that it? Don’t bother to answer that one.” She looked at me consideringly. “But I could be uncooperative too. What would you say if I picked up this phone and told my parents I’d just caught you going through our personal belongings?”
“I should like that, lady. I know your parents. I should like to see you being spanked for behaving like a spoilt child when a man’s life may be in danger.” The colour in the high cheekbones was going on and off like a neon light that evening. Now it was on again, she wasn’t by a long way as composed and detached as she’d like the world to think.
She stubbed out the newly lit cigarette and said quietly, “How would it be if I reported you for insolence?”
“Don’t just stand there talking about it. The phone’s by your side.” When she made no move towards it, I went on: “Quite frankly, lady, you and your kind make me sick. You use your father’s great wealth and your privileged position as a passenger on the Campari to poke fun, more often than not malicious fun, at members of the crew who are unable to retaliate. They’ve just got to sit and take it, because they’re not like you. They have no money in the bank at all, most of them, but they have families to feed, mothers to support, so they know they have to keep smiling at Miss Beresford when she cracks jokes at their expense or embarrasses or angers them, because if they don’t, Miss Beresford and her kind will see to it that they’re out of a job.”
“Please go on,” she said. She had suddenly become very still. “That’s all of it. Misuse of power, even in so small a thing, is contemptible. And then, when anyone dares to retaliate, as I do, you threaten them with dismissal, which is what your threat amounts to. And that’s worse than contemptible, it’s cowardly.” I turned and made for the door. First I’d look for Benson, then I’d tell Bullen I was quitting. I was getting tired of the Campari anyway.
“Mr. Carter.”
“Yes?” I turned but kept my hand on the doorknob. The colour mechanism in her cheeks was certainly working overtime; this time she’d gone pale under the tan. She took a couple of steps towards me and put her hand on my arm. Her hand wasn’t any too steady. “I am very, very sorry,” she said in a low voice. “I had no idea. Amusement I like, but not malicious amusement. I thought well, I thought it was harmless, that no one minded. And I would never dream of putting anyone’s job in danger.”
“Ha!” I said.
“You don’t believe me?” still the same small voice, still the hand on my arm.
“Of course I believe you,” I said unconvincingly. And then I looked into her eyes, which was a big mistake and a very dangerous thing to do, for those green eyes, I noticed for the first time, had a curious trick of melting and dissolving that could interfere very seriously with a man’s breathing. It was certainly interfering with my breathing. “Of course I believe you,” I repeated, and this time the ring of conviction staggered even myself. “You will please forgive my rudeness. But I must hurry, Miss Beresford.”
“Can I come with you, please?”
“Oh, damn it all, yes,” I said irritably. I’d managed to look away from her eyes and start breathing again. “Come if you want.”
At the forward end of the passageway, just beyond the entrance to Cerdan’s suite, I ran into Carreras senior. He was smoking a cigar and had that look of contentment and satisfaction that passengers invariably had when Antoine was finished with them.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Carter,” he said. “Wondered why you hadn’t returned to our table. What is wrong, if I may ask? There must be at least a dozen of the crew gathered outside the accommodation entrance. I thought regulations forbade…”
“They’re waiting for me, sir. Benson you probably haven’t had the chance to meet him since you came aboard; he’s our chief steward’s missing. That’s a search party outside.”
“Missing?” the grey eyebrows went up. “What on earth — well, of course you haven’t any idea what has happened to him or you wouldn’t be organising this search. Can I help?”
I hesitated, thought of Miss Beresford who had already elbowed her way in, realised I’d now no way of stopping any or all of the passengers from getting into the act if they wanted to, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Carreras. You don’t look like a man who would miss very much.”
“We come from the same mould, Mr. Carter.”
I let this cryptic remark go and hurried outside. A cloudless night, with the sky crowded with the usual impossible number of stars, a soft, warm wind blowing out of the south, a moderate cross swell running, but no match for our Denny Brown stabilisers that could knock twenty-five degrees off a thirty-degree roll without half trying. A black shape detached itself from a nearby shadowed bulkhead and Archie Macdonald, the bo’sun, came towards me. For all his solid fifteen-stone bulk he was as light on his feet as a dancer. “Any luck, bo’sun?” I asked.
“No one saw anything; no one heard anything. And there were at least a dozen folk on deck tonight, between eight and nine.”
“Mr. Wilson there? Ah, there. Mr. Wilson, take the engine room staff and three A.B.S. Main deck and below. You should know where to look by this time,” I added bitterly. “Macdonald, you and I will do the upper decks. Port side you, starboard side me. Two seamen and a cadet. Half an hour. Then back here.” I sent one man to examine the boat positions — why Benson should have wished to get into a boat I couldn’t even imagine, except that lifeboats have always had a queer attraction for those who wished to hide, although why he should wish to hide I couldn’t guess either — and another to scour the superstructure abaft the bridge. I started going through the cabins on the boat deck, chart house, flag and radar cabins and had Mr. Carreras to help me. Rusty, our youngest apprentice, went aft to work his way forward, accompanied by Miss Beresford who had probably guessed, and rightly, that I was in no mood for her company. But Rusty was. He always was. Nothing that Susan Beresford said to or about him made the slightest difference to him. He was her slave and didn’t care who knew it. If she’d asked him to jump down the funnel, just for her sake, he’d have considered it an honour. I could just imagine him searching about the upper decks with Susan Beresford by his side, his face the same colour as his flaming shock of hair. As I stepped out of the radar office, I literally bumped into him. He was panting, as if he’d run a long way, and I could see I had been wrong about the colour of his face: in the half-light on the deck it looked grey, like old newspaper. “Radio office, sir.” He gasped out the words and caught my arm, a thing he would never normally have dreamed of doing. “Come quickly, sir. Please.” I was already running. “You found him?”
“No, sir. It’s Mr. Brownell.” Brownell was our Chief Wireless Operator. “Something seems to have happened to him.”
I reached the office in ten seconds, brushed past the pale blur of Susan Beresford standing just outside the door, crossed over the storm sill, and stopped. Brownell had the overhead rheostat turned down until the room
