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 Lucy’s present voyage. One of them, a lad not past twenty named Amos Lee, was on duty, so with Martin’s permission Lenox asked the other one if they might meet. The wardroom being occupied, in these daylight hours, in much the way a gentleman’s club on Pall Mall might have been, with the master sprawled in a chair reading and the purser whittling with his boots up on the table, Lenox decided that they might meet more discreetly if they sat in the quiet area at the aft of the Lucy.
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 Lucy while she was in dry dock. The captain is a friend of my father’s. Sir,” he spat out.
“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 cabin: it was time to inspect this medallion once and for all.
To his astonishment, however, his desk was empty. The medallion was gone.
“McEwan!” he shouted.
The steward lumbered in, not surprisingly working a bit of food in his jaw. The whole cabin smelled like cinnamon toast, and Lenox felt a pang of hunger in his stomach.
“Did you take away the basin that was on my desk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you have the medallion that I was cleaning? The one that was in the basin?”
“No, sir. The basin was empty—even the water had been thrown out the porthole, sir.”
“The porthole was open?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lenox felt sick—how amateurish of him to be distracted from a tangible clue. No doubt the water and the medallion had been splashed through the porthole together. By the murderer.
“Lord.”
McEwan looked confused. “I figgered you’d come back and took it away, so I cleaned the basin.”
“This damn naval obsession with cleaning. Listen to me now: Did you look at the medallion, when I left it here earlier? I know you must have been in to sweep.”
McEwan gulped. “No.”
“Deal honestly with me and I won’t be angry.” Lenox paused. “I’m sorry to have spoken sharply, but it’s important.”
“Well, I may have glanced at it, is all, sir, to make sure it didn’t need … cleaning, or polishing, I suppose, the way things do, which is only right,” he concluded, rather lamely.
“Yes, I’m sure. Tell me, then—what did it say?”
“It was a medal given out for service in the Second Opium War. On the front was a picture of the HMS Chesapeake as well as the date, and on the back was the name of the midshipman who received it. And a very little nipper he must have been, too, not past ten or eleven.”
“Who was it?”
“Lieutenant Carrow, sir.”
“Carrow!”
“Yes, sir.”
Lenox went deep into thought for a moment, as McEwan looked anxiously on.
Something strange was happening now; inside and near the body of a murdered lieutenant had been objects that belonged to two of his fellow officers, both presumably stolen, neither there, it would seem, for any particular reason. After all, another knife would have killed Halifax just as well, and in all probability with more efficiency. As for the medallion, it wouldn’t have been torn from Carrow’s breast in a struggle—Lenox’s first thought—because he wouldn’t have worn it on deck.
He would have to have a word with Carrow, to be sure.
“Interesting,” Lenox said at length. “Well, keep it to yourself, please, no talk of it to that Evers chap.”