himself, and for good measure took two deep breaths. “I suppose it might have been stolen from my cabin,” he said.
“Who would have had the opportunity?”
“Sailors are in here occasionally, on errands. Any officer, of course, and their servants, might have slipped into any of the wardroom cabins.”
“The purser’s mate, for instance, or the surgeon’s?”
“Yes. Our cook. There must be twenty people, thirty. More.” Now something occurred to Billings. “But look here—why did you go through that foolery of asking whether I had a penknife?”
“It was a shabby trick, and I apologize. Will you shake my hand?” Lenox asked. “In my profession—I suppose I should say my former profession—it is necessary occasionally to be deceitful. I didn’t believe that you killed Halifax, but I wanted to judge your reaction.”
Billings was perhaps too honest to make a diplomatic reply, but he shook hands and said, “Yes, I see.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll just keep the knife—not for long.”
“It was given me by my father,” said Billings, “when I first sailed. I hold a great attachment to the object, foolish though that may be.”
“I shall take good care of it.”
“Well, if the situation requires it, I can scarcely refuse.”
“Thank you.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“Everyone must be,” said Lenox. “But I don’t think you killed Halifax, no. Nor do I suspect Carrow, for he was on watch, and among men. Nor the surgeon, nor the captain if it comes to it. Everyone else is fair game at the moment.”
“What will you do?”
“Begin interviewing people.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
In his mind Lenox was all but persuaded that someone of the wardroom—a neighbor of his, in other words— had committed this deed. He was open to the possibility that a sailor had murdered Halifax, but didn’t the theft of Billings’s penknife at least suggest proximity to his cabin? Moreover, didn’t Halifax’s midnight rendezvous with his murderer suggest an equal, rather than a subordinate relationship—in other words a gentleman of the wardroom, who might reasonably have asked a second lieutenant to meet him in secret?
For this reason Lenox decided to begin his interviews with the two lieutenants whose names he did not know—now the third and fourth lieutenants, with Carrow assuming Halifax’s role as second, at any rate for the duration of the
The fourth lieutenant was called Mitchell, a very short, very sturdy chap, rather dark-complected, and possibly even surlier than Carrow. He had been quiet at both of the officers’ dinners Lenox had attended.
He met Lenox by the long, hip-high taffrail that curved off the back of the ship, where one could lean on one’s arms and watch the ship’s wake furl back white and die again into its metallic blue. “The captain said you wanted to see me, Mr. Lenox?”
“Yes, thank you. I hope I didn’t interrupt your rest.”
“No,” said the lieutenant, his intonation terse.
“I was wondering what you might tell me about this murder.”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“Asleep in my cabin. I didn’t hear anything about it until the morning.”
“Only Carrow was awake, among you officers?”
“And Halifax.”
“Yes, of course. But you and Lieutenant Lee kip together, I understand?”
“Yes, we have bunks in the same cabin.”
“Was he asleep?”
“As far as I know. I didn’t observe it firsthand because, as I may have mentioned, I myself was asleep.”
Lenox paused. “Is this conversation a matter of inconvenience to you, Mr. Mitchell?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“You don’t care to help discover who murdered Halifax?”
“Oh, the murderer ought to be caught.”
“Is your issue with me, then?”
Mitchell was silent.
“Well?” said Lenox.
“May I speak freely?”
“I should hope you would.”
“It’s a ridiculous use of a good ship, hauling you to Egypt.”
“I understood that the ship was bound for Egypt already.”
“Faugh!”
In other circumstances Lenox might have tried to conciliate him, but the truth was that whether he recognized it or not his time in Parliament—in power—had, perhaps inevitably, made him less tolerant of disrespect, less quick to amicability. Besides, it was worth seeing if this Mitchell had a bad temper.
“And you think you know enough of state, enough of our position in the world, enough of Her Majesty’s government, to pass judgment on what I plan to do in Egypt?”
“No, sir,” said Mitchell—not removing his gaze from Lenox’s, however.
“Then who do you think you are?”
“I asked if I might speak freely, sir.”
“Given which I hope you don’t mind that I shall, too. Your judgments are a fool’s, taken in haste and for clumsy pride’s sake not withdrawn. I would scarcely inform you of how to set a spinnaker, and I advise you that your ignorance of politics is as severe as mine of sailing. Now, answer my questions before I’m forced to see the captain about you—how long had you known Halifax?”
Mitchell’s face was venomous, but he choked out a reply. “Only a few weeks. I was called into the
“Did you kill Halifax?”
This knocked Mitchell down. “No!” he said. “What—no!”
“The newest man on board must be a suspect, of course.”
“I didn’t do it, and I resent the question.”
“It’s shabby to go around stealing penknives, too.”
Mitchell looked genuinely baffled at that. “Excuse me?” he said.
“Never mind. Tell me, what do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. I suppose one of the sailors got angry and took his revenge. They’re a coarse lot—devils on land.”
“Why not kill him in Plymouth?” said Lenox. “Why wait until they were on board the ship?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
Lenox stared at the younger man for a moment. “Thank you,” he said, and turned on his heel abruptly to walk away.
“I didn’t do it,” Mitchell called after him.
Lenox wanted to speak to more of the wardroom officers now, but before he did he stopped into his own
