The Blind Barber

4 — A Matter of Skulls

'But didn't you know it?' inquired Peggy Glenn, in her sweetest and most surprised tone.

Her voice was clear in the almost deserted dining-saloon, its lights winking against polished rosewood and its vast height wrenched with ghostly cracklings. The roof writhed in the fashion of tottering blocks; Morgan was not at all sure about that glass dome. To eat (or do nearly anything else) was a sporting performance in which you must look sharp for sudden rushes of the crockery from any corner of the table, from the snake-like dart of the water-glass to the majestic ground-swell of the gravy. Morgan felt like a nervous juggler. The dining-saloon would slowly surge up with an incredible balloon swell, climb higher, tilt, and plunge down from its height with a long- drawn roar of water that dislodged stewards from their pillars and made diners — clutching their chairs — feel a sudden dizziness in the pit of the stomach.

There were possibly a dozen people to stem a clattering avalanche of dishes and silver. In general, they were eating away grimly but cautiously, while a gallant orchestra attempted to play 'The Student Prince.' But none of this bothered Peggy Glenn. Suave in black velvet, with her black bobbed hair done into some sort of trick wave that lent a hoydenish air to her thin face, she sat at Captain Whistler's elbow and regarded him with naive surprise.

'But didn't you know it?' she repeated. 'Of course Curtis can't help it, poor boy. It runs in the family, sort of. I mean, I shouldn't exactly call it insanity, of course… '

Morgan choked on a bit of fish and peered sideways at her. She appealed to him.

'I say, Hank, what was the name of that uncle of his Curt was telling us about? I mean the one who had the fits-and-gibbers or something in his sleep, or maybe it was claustrophobia, and used to give a terrific spring out of bed because he thought he was being strangled?'

Captain Whistler laid down his knife and fork. He had obviously been in an ill temper when he came to the table; but lie had concealed it under gruff amiability and absent-minded smiles. Wheeling round his chair he had announced that he must return to the bridge and could stay only for one course or two. Captain Whistler was stout and short of breath. He had protruding eyes of a pale brown colour, something like the hue of pickled onions, a ruddy face, and a large loose mouth which was always booming a professional and paternal 'Ha-ha' to nervous old ladies. His gold braid blazed, and his short white hair stood up like the foam on a beer-glass.

Now he addressed Peggy with coy heartiness. 'Come, come,' he said in his best nursery manner, 'and what is the little lady telling us now? Eh, my dear? Something about an accident to a friend of yours?'

'A dreadful accident,' she assured him, looking round to make sure the dining- room would overhear. The only people at their own table were the captain, Dr. Kyle, Morgan, and herself; so she wanted to make sure. She described Warren's being picked up unconscious, with a wealth of graphic detail. 'But, of course, poor boy, he isn't responsible for his actions when he gets into those fits… '

Captain Whistler looked concerned, and then rather alarmed. His fleshy face grew redder.

'Ah, hurrumph!' he said, clearing his throat. 'Dear me! Dear me!' — it speaks much for the captain's social polish that he could sometimes force himself to say 'Dear me!' — 'Bad, bad, Miss Glenn! But there's nothing — ah — seriously wrong with him, is there?' He peered at her in gruff anxiety. 'Is it maybe something in Dr. Kyle's line now?'

'Well, of course, I shouldn't like to say—'

'Have you known cases of the kind, Doctor?'

Kyle was not a man of many words. He was methodically disposing of grilled sole — a lean, long-faced figure with a bulging shirt-front, and traces of a thin smile had pulled down the furrows in his cheeks. He glanced at Peggy from under grizzled eyebrows, and then at Morgan. Morgan received the impression that he believed in Warren's lurid ailment about as much as he believed in the Loch Ness monster.

'Oh, yes,' he replied in his heavy, meditative voice. 'Not unknown. I've met it before.' He looked hard at Peggy. 'A mild case of legensis-pullibus, I should think. Patient'll recover.'

In a harassed way Captain Whistler wiped his mouth with his napkin.

'But — ah — why wasn't I told of this?' he demanded. 'I'm master here, and it's my right to be told of things like this… '

'I did tell you, Captain!' Peggy protested indignantly. 'I've been sitting here the whole time telling you; I told you three times over before you understood. I say, what is worrying you?'

'Eh?' said the captain, jumping a little. 'Worrying me? Rubbish, my dear! Rubbish! Ha-ha!'

'I mean, I hope we're not going to hit an iceberg or anything. That would be dreadful!' She regarded him with wide hazel eyes. 'And, you know, they do say the captain of the Gigantic was drunk the night they hit the whale, and—'

'I am not drunk, madam,' said Captain Whistler, his voice taking on a slight roar. 'And I am not worried either. Rubbish!'

She seemed to have an inspiration. 'Then I know what it is, poor dear! Of course. You're worried about poor Lord Sturton and all those valuable emeralds he's got with him… ' Commiseratingly she looked at the chair which a very sea-sick peer had not yet occupied on the voyage. 'And I don't blame you. I say, Hank, just fancy. Suppose there were a notorious criminal aboard — just suppose it, I mean — and this criminal had decided to pinch Lord Sturton's jewels. Wouldn't it be thrilling? Only not for poor Captain Whistler, of course; because he'd be responsible, wouldn't he?'

Under the table Morgan administered an unmannerly kick towards the shins of his beaming partner. His hps framed 'Easy on!' But undoubtedly a number of diners had pricked up their ears.

'My dear young lady,' said the captain, in an agitated voice, 'for Go — ah — please kindly get that nonsense out of your pretty little head. Ha-ha! You'll alarm my passengers, you know; and I can't have that, can I? (Lower your voice, will you?) The idea's fantastic. Come, now!'

She was appealing. 'Oh dear, have I said anything I shouldn't? I mean, I was only supposing, to sort of relieve the monotony; because it has been rather dull, you know, and there hasn't been anything really funny, dear Captain Whistler, since I saw you playing handball on the boat-deck. But if there were a notorious criminal on board, it would be exciting. And it might be anybody. It might be Hank. Or it might be Dr. Kyle — mightn't it?'

'Verra likely,' agreed Dr. Kyle composedly, and went on dissecting fish.

'But if I did have anything on my mind,' declared the captain, in heavy joviality, 'it would be about your uncle, Miss Glenn. He's promised to give us a full-dress performance of his marionettes at the ship's concert. And that's to-morrow night, my dear. He mustn't be ill for that, you know. He and his assistant — ah — well, they're — they're improving, aren't they?' said the captain, his voice rising to a desperate bellow as he tried to divert her. 'I have looked forward, I have hoped, I have waited for the — ah — pleasure, the supreme honour,' yelled Captain Whistler, of being present at a performance. And now you really must excuse me. I mustn't forget my duties, even at the expense of your charming company. I must — er — go. Good night, my dear. Good night, gentlemen.'

He rolled away. There was a silence. Of the diners left at roundabout tables, Morgan noticed swiftly, only three people glanced after him. There was the sharp-edged, bony, shock-haired face of Mr. Charles Woodcock, the commercial traveller, who peered out motionless with his soup-spoon poised above his mouth as though he were going to pose for a figure on a fountain. At another table some distance away Morgan saw a man and a woman— both thin and well-dressed, their pale faces looking curiously alike except that the woman wore a monocle and the man a floating blond moustache like a feather waving from his lip. They stared after the captain. Morgan did not know who they were, but he saw them every morning. They made endless circuits of the promenade-deck, in absolute silence walking rapidly, with their eyes fixed straight ahead. One morning, in dull fascination, Morgan had watched them make one hundred and sixty-four circuits without a word. At the hundred and sixty-fifth they had stopped; the man said, 'Eh?' and the woman said, 'Ah!' and then they both nodded and went inside. It had occurred to Morgan to speculate how their marital relations were conducted… Anyhow, they seemed to be interested in the movements of Captain Whistler.

'The captain,' said Morgan, frowning, 'seems to have something on his mind…';

'Verra likely,' agreed Dr. Kyle composedly. 'I'll have the tripe and onions, steward.'

Peggy Glenn smiled at him. 'But I say, Doctor, do you think there might be a mysterious master criminal aboard?'

'Why, I'll tell you,' said the doctor, bending his head. His shrewd eyes were amused; under the ragged brows