Inspector French’s Greatest Case

was, an actress, and we know she is a clever one. Not only was she well thought of when on the stage, but she has recently carried off successfully a far stiffer test than that. She crossed from New York to Southampton on the Olympic, and convinced the people on board that she was English, and then she went on to London and convinced the people there that she was an American. I have seen the people in each case⁠—critical, competent people who know the world⁠—and each lot ridiculed the idea that she was not what she seemed. If she could do that, she could surely manage another impersonation. A comparatively simple disguise would do, as there would be nothing to make you or the purser suspect.”

The Captain was listening with considerable interest, but it was evident that his ruffled feelings were not yet entirely smoothed down.

“That may be all very well,” he admitted, “but you have not taken into consideration the evidence of the bookings. 176 passengers booked from Liverpool, and in almost every case their tickets were taken and their staterooms reserved several days in advance. The exceptions in all cases were men. 176 passengers turned up, Mr. and Mrs. Vane among them. But there were only 174 passengers on board when we left Liverpool. You follow what I mean; that all the other passengers on board are accounted for?”

“I see that,” French admitted slowly, “and you may be right. It certainly doesn’t seem easy to answer what you say. At the same time, in the face of the instructions I have had from the Yard, I daren’t do other than go on and sift the thing further.”

“Naturally, but how?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see my way clear as yet. For one thing, I shall have to meet every woman on board, with the special object of trying to penetrate any disguise which may have been attempted. If that fails I may give up the search or I may try something else. I suppose you can take me on as far as Lisbon at all events?”

“With pleasure.” The Captain seemed to have recovered from his momentary irritation. “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help you. Though I confess I think you’re on a wild goose chase, I’ll give you every facility I can.”

“Thank you, Captain. You will understand that whatever I may think myself, I am not my own master in the matter. The only thing I should like at present is a chat with the purser over the passenger list.”

“That, at all events, is easily arranged,” answered Captain Davis as he touched a bell.

The purser had not observed French’s arrival, and professed amazement on finding him on board.

“I begin to wonder if the ship’s not haunted,” he smiled as he shook hands. “Mr. and Mrs. Vane we leave behind at Liverpool, and you say they’re aboard at Havre. You we leave behind at Havre⁠—I saw you myself on the wharf⁠—and here you are aboard at Leixoes! What distinguished stranger are we to expect to find on board at Lisbon?”

“I hope there’ll be a clearance of four at Lisbon,” French rejoined. “Though it sounds impolite, nothing would please me better than to change to a homeward bounder in company with my Sergeant and Mr. and Mrs. Vane.”

“What? Do you still think they’re on board?”

“The Inspector still thinks so,” the Captain intervened, “and he wants to talk to you about it. Better take him to your cabin and give him any help you can.”

“Right, sir. Will you come along, Mr. French?”

Mr. Jennings, in spite of his obvious competence, had a pleasant, leisurely manner which conveyed to the many who sought his counsel that though he might be busy enough at other times, he was not too hurried at that moment to give them his most careful and undivided attention. So he listened to French’s story, and so he took out the passenger list, and set himself to discuss the personalities of those enumerated thereon.

“I’ll deal with the women first,” French explained. “You say that there are sixty-seven on board, as against about twice as many men. Besides, I have more information about Mrs. Vane than her husband. Now, if you don’t mind, let’s get on with them.”

The purser ran his finger down the list.

“Miss Ackfield is the first,” he explained. “She is a lady of between fifty and sixty, I should say. You can easily see her, but in my opinion there is not the slightest chance that she could be otherwise than what she seems.”

French noted the particulars.

“Right,” he said. “Next, please.”

“The next is Miss Bond. She’s also pretty well on in years, but she couldn’t be your friend because she’s at least four inches taller.”

“Very good.”

“Then there is Mrs. Brent. She is a young girl. Her husband is on board, and they are evidently newly married. She’s too young.”

They worked on down the list, provisionally eliminating the unlikely. Mrs. Cox was too tall, Miss Duffield too short, Mrs. Eaglefield too stout, Miss Felton too thin, and so on. In the end they had reduced the number to ten, of which French had to admit that not one seemed in the least promising.

There was indeed one couple who had at first appealed to him, a Mr. Pereira da Silva, and his daughter, Miss Maria da Silva, because they kept almost entirely to their cabins, mixing but little with the life of the ship. Mr. da Silva, a man of over seventy, Mr. Jennings thought, was an invalid, and had come on board with difficulty, leaning on a stick and his daughter’s arm. He was practically confined to bed, and Miss da Silva was assiduous in her attention to him, reading to him and keeping him company when many another similarly placed daughter would have been on deck or in the saloon, amusing herself among the other passengers. The two had their meals together, and the lady, though friendly enough when she did