Murder on the Mauretania by Edward Marston

Author:Edward Marston
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2021-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

The message was unsigned, and that only served to make it rather unsettling. Genevieve wondered who sent it and why it had such an aggrieved tone. She had made no arrangement to meet anyone in her cabin. It troubled her that someone had come here in expectation of seeing her alone. Had the note been written by Harvey Denning? He seemed the most likely correspondent. Or had Donald Belfrage somehow slipped away from his wife to visit her cabin while she was in second class talking to Dillman? Only one other possibility came to mind. Perhaps the message was referring to the fact that she did not appear in the dining saloon that evening. Unaware of her invitation to join the Belfrages in their regal suite, had someone missed her enough at the table to register a protest by means of an anonymous note?

That brought the name of Orvill Delaney to mind …

Dillman’s perambulations were not without incident. He patrolled the ship for well over an hour, during which time he directed three hopelessly lost passengers back to their cabins, rescued a drunken man from spending the entire night asleep in an alcove, and acted as the peacemaker between a furious wife and the repentant husband whom she had locked out of their cabin. What the detective did not see was anything that gave the slightest grounds for suspicion. There were no trespassing Welshmen pretending to have gone astray, and no bald-headed thief with a briefcase in his hand. Dillman decided to call it a day and retire to bed.

On Tuesday morning, while the Mauretania was still feeling the effects of the storm, Dillman was being reminded of his part in the securing of the spare anchor. The muscles in his arms and shoulders ached and there were sharp twinges in his back. In spite of the discomfort, he was up at the crack of dawn to pursue his enquiries. Having located the steward who was responsible for Max Hirsch’s cabin, he took the man along with him and pounded on the door. There was no answer.

‘Maybe he’s still asleep,’ said the steward.

‘Knock harder.’

The steward, a beefy little man with a red face, used his fist to beat on the door, but the noise produced no response. At a signal from Dillman, he used his key to open the door and step deferentially into the cabin.

‘Good morning, Mr Hirsch,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to intrude, but there’s a gentleman who’s anxious to see you.’ He looked over at the bed. ‘He’s not here, Mr Dillman.’

‘Are you sure?’ said the other, coming into the cabin.

‘Look, sir. The bed hasn’t been slept in.’

‘Did you turn it down last night?’

‘Yes, sir. Usual time.’

‘Was the cabin empty then?’

‘Completely.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dillman, gazing around. ‘I’ll take over here now. You have other things to get on with, I’m sure.’

‘Oh, yes. Lots of them, sir. Excuse me.’

Letting himself out, the steward closed the door after him. Dillman began a systematic search. He went carefully through every drawer and cupboard, paying particular attention to every item of clothing in the wardrobe.

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