palsy, illustrated with anecdotes from Souter's own experience or the experience of literally hundreds of people he's talked to, is related to, or has heard about from second-cousins twice removed, ad infinitum. . . . The man makes Polonius look like a Spartan. If I could have escaped the pilot-house by cutting off my own foot, I'd have done it.
“I was also treated to Lundy's complete biography, with speculative side-trips into the histories of the various boats Lundy—and three other fellows from whom Souter never could tell Lundy apart—ever piloted, plus what Henry Clay said when Lundy—or one of the other three fellows—accidentally swung the
“What did he say?” asked Rose curiously, for she, like January, was a great admirer of the Kentucky politician.
“Something along the lines of ‘Get that thing out of here, we haven't had our coffee yet.' Souter's tales are definitely of the
“Curious,” mused January, “that as badly advanced as Lundy's palsy is, he would still be in New Orleans at all, instead of returning to Maine and his daughters.”
“He returned to New Orleans the week before last, on the
“In the
“Regarding Mr. Lundy's mental condition, I have no data. And if you ask me to question Souter further on that or any other subject whatsoever, I shall throw myself overboard.” He capped the bottle regretfully and tucked it into his coat pocket.
“The
“It makes sense,” said January grimly. “It's only we who can't see the rest of the pieces of the puzzle. Winslow,” he called, and the valet, who was just heading for the stair to be in his master's stateroom when Mr. Roberson returned from supper, turned back with an expression of friendly inquiry.
“We were just talking about poor Mr. Lundy here on board. . . .”
“The poor gentleman with the palsy?”
January nodded. “Now, my old master, who was a surgeon, spoke of a doctor at Transylvania University in Lexington who's done work with the palsy—who's had some remarkable cures—but for the life of me I can't remember his name. Since Mr. Roberson is at the University, too . . .”
Winslow's honest face creased for a moment with thought. Then he shook his head. “Your master musta heard wrong, Ben, or else you got it crossed up with some other university. I know most of the gentlemen in the medical faculty that come out to Mimosa to dinner with Mr. Roberson and there's none of 'em that's worked on the palsy.”
“Hmm.” January shook his head with mild regret. “I coulda sworn, but you're right, I might have heard wrong —Michie Simon always did get one university mixed up with another. Sorry I troubled you.”
“No trouble at all.”
“Angels and ministers of grace defend us,” said Hannibal thoughtfully. “Definite indications that something is rotten in the state of Denmark. But if you can think of a way poor Lundy could have heaved even so minor a specimen as Weems overboard by main strength, I'll give you a sweet. And speaking of sweets . . .”
He fished in a pocket of his too-large silk vest and produced a folded piece of notepaper. The scent of it—a sickly reek of cheap geranium—hit January like a slap in the face with a slightly wilted bouquet. He didn't even need to ask who had sent it.
SIXTEEN
Being no fool, and not trusting Theodora Skippen farther than he could throw January's piano, Hannibal arranged for January to loiter unobtrusively on the wide bow apron of the upper deck, to be on hand should the young lady either produce a weapon or scream rape. “Not that your testimony would be of the slightest use in a court of law in this country,” added Hannibal, setting a large japanned tin tray—pilfered from the galley—on the foot of the bed and balancing on it three tin cups and half a dozen pieces of silverware from the same source. “But Colonel Davis may be disposed to listen to you informally, and draw his own conclusions. I suppose it's the best we can do.”
It being only eight o'clock, and most of the cabin passengers still at dinner, January and Hannibal then descended to the lower deck, where Rose was seated beside the smudge-pot, talking to Cissy. The nursemaid looked harried as usual as she devoured her bowl of rice and beans: “. . . pretendin' to be asleep good as gold, but the fuss they both put up I know it's just pretend . . .”