The captain's quarters in the Montrose shone with teak, brass and leather, in the style of supreme marine comfort. The ship was ten years old, 250 steerage passengers segregated by sex with bunks in her converted hold, twenty saloon class with cabins and meals at the officers' tables. She had sailed two days before, from Antwerp for Quebec.
'Mr John Robinson and Master Robinson.' Captain Kendall swivelled in his leather chair. He was middle-aged, square-jawed with a long mouth and protuberant ears. 'Have you noticed anything about them?'
'The son is a wee bit overweight,' observed the doctor over his whisky. 'I saw a couple of safety-pins holding his trousers together at the back. He's going to California for his health. I haven't been invited to inspect his chest.'
'I should think not!' exclaimed the captain. 'They booked through our Brussels' agents, just before sailing. Their luggage consists of a handbag bought in Belgium. Their clothes, the brown suits and canvas shoes they stand up in. I examined their hats while they were at lunch yesterday,' he continued significantly. 'The rim of the boy's is packed with paper.'
The doctor thought it odd that the captain should go about spying on passengers' hats.
'My suspicions were aroused before we left the Scheldt. I saw the boy squeezing the father's hand immoderately upon the boat deck. Unnatural for two males.'
'Unnatural, but not unknown.'
The captain leaned towards the doctor, who sat on a leather bench against the bulkhead. 'When I spoke to Robinson just now, he said they'd laughed all night over the comic ditty at the smoking-concert, _We All Walked Into the Shop.'_
Smiling, the doctor recollected in song, _'One night while out with several pals, 'Twos raining hard outside, we saw a card in a milkshop window, Families Supplied…_ How's the chorus go…? _We ordered a couple of kids apiece, Then we all walked out again…We all walked into the butcher's where The Meat was hung on pegs, The fat old butcher kept shouting out, I've got some lovely legs-'_
'I told Robinson a funny story,' the captain interrupted. 'To make him laugh,' he explained. The doctor looked lost. 'To see if he had false teeth. And he had,' said the captain triumphantly. 'He has no moustache, but is growing a beard. It makes him look more like a farmer every day. His nose has marks. Yet he wears so spectacles. Well, doctor? What do you make of that?'
'I can't make anything of it, sir.'
'I make of it that Master Robinson is a girl.' The captain folded his arms. The doctor said nothing. Like many captains, his was a spasmodic eccentric.
'A girl,' Captain Kendall repeated, delighted with the mystification. Insatiable with detective stories, he revelled in playing the detective. As a junior officer, he was scourge of the ship's card-sharpers. 'Haven't you seen the "boy's" hands? Soft and white. Nails carefully manicured. And how refined and modest he is, how under his father's thumb. And his endearing smile?'
'Well, I noticed the father cracks nuts for him.'
'This morning I called, "Mr Robinson!" on deck. He paid no heed, till the boy had the presence of mind to make him turn.'
Captain Kendall tapped the pile of crumpled newspapers Dr Stewart had observed on his desk. 'Why do you suppose I had the chief officer collect every English and Belgian newspaper on board? They must not suspect their deeds are discovered-they might do something rash. They must not suspect what I suspect. That the Robinsons are _Dr Crippen and Miss Le Neve.'_
'Good God,' exclaimed the doctor. 'Shall you put them in irons?'
'On the other hand, they may not be,' the captain admitted lamely. 'Which could land me in all sorts of trouble with head office. So I prepared this for the Marconi operator.'
The doctor read the pencilled form from the captain's desk drawer.
PIERS LIVERPOOL HAVE STRONG SUSPICIONS THAT CRIPPEN LONDON CELLAR MURDERER AND ACCOMPLICE ARE AMONG SALOON PASSENGERS MOUSTACHE TAKEN OFF GROWING BEARD ACCOMPLICE DRESSED AS BOY VOICE MANNER AND BUILD UNDOUBTEDLY A GIRL BOTH TRAVELLING MR AND MASTER ROBINSON KENDALL.
'This very morning,' Captain Kendall continued impressively, 'Robinson-Crippen-sat looking aloft at the wireless aerial, with the crackling electric spark of the messages, and said, 'What a wonderful invention it is!' But time is running short. Our wireless has a range of 150 miles. We are already 130 miles west of the Lizard. Should I send it?'
'Undoubtedly,' urged the doctor. 'Now you mention it, I have noticed how the girl's under his hypnotic influence, how she follows him everywhere. Though from her lack of distress, she must surely be utterly ignorant of the horrible crime committed?'
'Do you know what he's reading?' The captain grinned. 'A shocker by Edgar Wallace, _The Four Just Men._ It's about blowing up Parliament. The villains have Ј1000 on their heads-two-hundred and fifty apiece, the same as our friends the Robinsons. Another peg?'
'Thank you, sir. Only a chota peg.' It was seafarer's Hindustani for a small drink.
The Morse of Captain Kendall's message was received at 3.30 that Friday afternoon by Crookhaven Wireless Station on the coast of County Cork, which passed it to the Canadian Pacific office in Liverpool, which passed it to Scotland Yard, which dispatched Chief-Inspector Dew the next morning by the White Star Laurentic from Liverpool as 'Mr Dewhurst' on 'Operation Handcuffs', unbeknown even to his wife.
The life of a secret with a fortune in its pocket is short among the brigands of Fleet Street. Monday morning's papers announced that Dew had left. He was aboard the Allen Line's Sardinia to New York from Le Havre. Crippen had fled, disguised as a cleric with an effeminate son. By Tuesday the _Liverpool Courier_ laid hands on Kendall's message. Crippen was _trapped by wireless!_
The Montrose carried the marvellous instrument, which a member of Parliament had tried a fortnight earlier to make compulsory on all ships, but was defeated on the argument of expense. Crippen was under restraint. Miss Le Neve had confessed. No, he was not, and she had not. The only sure news was their sailing westwards unaware of Dew overhauling them in a liner three knots faster. It caught public imagination like a race to the moon.
The front pages had Atlantic maps, the two ships' positions marked daily. The world first learned of Father Point, near the New Brunswick port of Rimouski. '"Dr" Crippen will arrive home in ample time for the adjourned inquest on August 15,' observed _The Times_ cosily. CRIPPEN'S LIFE AT SEA DESCRIBED BY 'WIRELESS', said a special edition of the _Weekly Dispatch,_ above photographs of Crippen with his round glasses and moustache, Belle Elmore, Inspector Dew, Captain Kendall in oak-leaved cap, Ethel looking soulful, and even Charlotte the first Mrs. Crippen, short-haired and pudding-faced, who had died in fits at Salt Lake City. Mr Eddie Marr, backer of Aural Remedies, appeared at its Kingsway Office and scraped Crippen's name from the glass front door.
The world held its breath-the Laurentic was slowed by fog in the mouth of the St Lawrence. Perhaps the pursuit of Dr Crippen might reach the ears of the only couple in civilization still ignorant about it? Perhaps they would jump over the side, and ruin the fun? The Laurentic reached Quebec on Friday night. Inspector Dew was cheered from the dockside. At 8.30 on Sunday morning, in a white hat and blue suit disguised as a pilot, a lifeboat rowed by sailors took him to the newly-anchored Montrose off Father Point quarantine station.
The two men met on the boat deck, abaft the funnel. 'Good morning, Dr Crippen.' Ethel was in her cabin, reading Georgie Sheldon's _Audrey's Recompense._ She was arrested, screamed and fainted in Dew's arms.