The False Inspector Dew

'How can you, Walter? You're not really a detective.'

'Oh, but I am.'

'No,' insisted Alma, 'Walter, you are not.'

'Let me finish please. In the eyes of everyone aboard this ship — except for you — I am Dew, and that's what counts. I have satisfied the captain. I have his authority to back me up. You heard him in the lounge this evening. I am the man who arrested Crippen. The safety of the passengers has been vouchsafed to me.'

'Yes, darling, they believe it, but you are not a detective. You don't know what to do. We have four more days at sea. There's a dead woman on the ship and you say she isn't Lydia. That isn't much to work with.'

'A murdered woman.'

'But if it isn't Lydia, how can that be true?'

'Because of the bruising round the neck. The woman was strangled, Alma.'

She caught her breath. How could he sound so reasonable and say these things?

'So there must be a murderer on board,' Walter went on, 'and I really have a duty to the passengers and crew to catch him. There is no-one else to do it now.'

'No,' said Alma passively. 'No-one else.'

'The first thing is to identify the victim. I've been questioning the stewards. It's very simple. They know their passengers by now. All a detective does is verify the facts. It's a matter of looking at things and asking questions. I've done it all my life.'

'You're not afraid?'

'Not now,' said Walter. 'I'm on the side of law and order. People look up to me. I like to be a focus of attention. I wasn't happy with the role of fugitive. That frightened me.' He laughed. 'And there are other advantages. I've been elevated from the second class. I have a first class stateroom just along the corridor from you. 75.' He put his arm possessively around her.

She clutched the cape across her chest. She said, it would be dangerous to be seen together.'

'Naturally.'

'It isn't that I wouldn't help if I knew how.'

They continued to walk along the deck. The sea looked black and evil. Alma looked towards the stars. The ship's wireless masts slid across the white full moon. She said, i think I ought to go to bed.'

'Yes,' said Walter. i'H take another turn around the deck.'

He didn't kiss her. She was thankful. She didn't want to stay a moment longer.

Near her stateroom she met the woman from Baltimore. She stared wide-eyed at Alma. 'Have you been out on deck?'

'Just to get some air.'

'I don't know how you

'I don't know how you could! You could have met the murderer out there.'

In her stateroom, Alma pushed the bolt across the door and turned the key in the lock. She still felt insecure. She pushed the armchair against the door.

Later, in bed, she tried to analyse her fear. Walter had given her a shock when he had grabbed her shoulder, but that had been explained. In the cape she had looked to him like Lydia. It was a moment's aberration and she could understand it. His insistence that the body was not Lydia's could have been another delusion of his troubled mind. It was disturbing, but it did not frighten her. The root cause of her fear was something he had said: In the eyes of everyone aboard this ship — except for you — I am Dew… She had felt resentment in those words except for you. He wanted to be Dew. It was a new identity, thrilling and impressive. Crippen's captor, now the saviour of the Mauretania. There was only one impediment to the illusion, and that was Alma. She knew the truth, and that was why he frightened her.

10

Johnny Finch had not been introduced to Paul Westerfield II, but he was not inhibited by protocol.

'Not a bad morning,' he said when he found him taking a look at the sea from the promenade deck after breakfast on Monday. 'When that mist lifts, we'll be in for a scorcher, if I'm any judge.'

'You think so?' said Paul.

'A chance to put in some practice at deck tennis, old boy. Who knows, you might be the fellow to beat big Bill Tilden. It's a different game altogether from the sort they play at Wimbledon. Or are you more of a shuffleboard player?'

'Are you from the social committee?' asked Paul.

Johnny rocked with laughter. 'No, no, you won't catch Johnny Finch on any committee, least of all that one. I don't go in for deck games myself. Just a little flutter on the result, and that's pleasure enough for me.'

'I don't bet,' said Paul.

'No?' said Johnny with a note of scepticism. 'I could have sworn I saw you in the smoking room playing whist the other night.'

'That was a friendly game.'

'Goes without saying,' said Johnny with a wink. 'But if you should fancy a sporting bet, I hear that the ship's barber has started a book on how long it takes Inspector Dew to get his man.'

'That's enterprise,' said Paul.

'Too true,' said Johnny. 'I'm thinking of putting on a fiver. He's offering four to one against Dew making an arrest tomorrow.'

'I'm not too interested.'

'You should be, old boy. Did you hear that Dew's already had his first success? He's named the murdered woman. He was with the first class cabin stewards this morning, checking for a stateroom that had not been slept in. They found two or three, of course — knowing what people on ships get up to in the night. Eliminated all but one, and took the steward down to have a look at the body.'

'He identified her?'

'Right away. No hesitation.'

'Who was she?'

'That's the point. She was a friend of yours, old sport. She was in that four for whist. Her name is Katherine Masters.'

PART FIVE

The King in New York

1

The deckchairs on the boat deck were arranged in four rows. Seasoned travellers made a point of seeking out the chief deck steward as soon as possible after going aboard to make a reservation. Once booked, a chair was labelled. It was secure for the rest of the crossing. The precise location of the chair was crucially important. No-one except a Spartan or a first-time passenger accepted a position on the starboard side for the crossing to New York. Even the south-facing port side was best enjoyed from under a blanket. And there were finer considerations. A front row position was essential if you wanted to be noticed or attract the notice of a steward. A discerning traveller would want to know who would be seated near him. A shipboard romance might well be engineered with a bribe to the chief deck steward.

Thanks to Marjorie's planning, the Livingstone Cordells were superbly placed in the front row on the port side in the shelter of the funnel that was never used and did not scatter soot. The seat next to Barbara was labelled P. Westerfield II. This morning it was not occupied.

'What's happened to that boy?' Marjorie asked her daughter. 'You two haven't fallen out again, have you?'

'No, mother. Paul has gone looking for Mr Gordon.'

'Who is that?'

'The Englishman who found his billfold. He played cards with us on Saturday evening. Paul wants to make sure that Jack knows about Katherine being the woman who was found.'

'He ought to know by now. I thought everyone on the ship has heard about it. Was he a friend of hers?'

'No, they just came together for the card game. Actually they didn't get along too well. She was a little upset by the end of the game.'

'Poor lady — what a terrible thing this is,' said Marjorie. 'You don't think she committed suicide?'

'Mother, she was strangled. AH the stewards are talking about it.'

Marjorie turned to the chair on her other side. 'Did you hear that, Livy? Barbara says the lady was strangled.'

'Hm?'

'He's out to the world,' said Marjorie. 'Barbara dear, I don't think it would be wise for you to get mixed up in this.'