This apparently was why no better arrangements had been made to transport the $150,000 in cash she’d raised for war relief, than for her to transport those funds herself. . with the help of the Pinkerton agency.
I politely listened-and made a record of-her impassioned description of her impoverished, war-torn country. But I was confused.
“Hasn’t Belgium already fallen to Germany?” I asked, chagrined that something so important to her was so vague to me.
“All but this leetle small tiny corner of my country,” she said liltingly, “in the northwest. . that is where our hospital is.” She glanced around the opulent room, where wealthy travellers lounged, playing cards, conversing, having a bite to eat between shipboard repasts. “It is hard to be here. . in such luxury. . c’est-a-dire, to have enjoyment while others suffer.”
“People like these,” I reminded her, meaning the rich passengers of the ship, “made generous donations to your cause.”
According to an article I’d read in the News, her final and very successful stop had been on Fifth Avenue, where she spoke to a wealthy bunch called the Special Relief Society; and the J.P. Morgan Company was one of her fund-raising tour’s chief sponsors.
“Please do not misunderstand, monsieur-in Pittsburgh, in Washington, D.C., the response. . the generosity. . it was tremendous. The people of your country have large heart. . liberty, they love. But the big conflict of this war is still in the future. The worst fighting, yet to come. We must foresee the coming slaughter, and be prepare to help the t’ousands of wounded, friend or foe. . I tell my American friend. .”
She meant “friends.”
“. . this war, in the night, like a thief, it will come for you.” She shrugged. “C’est la guerre.”
“Madame,” I said, “as a friend. . I hope I might consider myself such?”
“Ca va sans dire!” she said, which meant, “that goes without saying.”
“And this is not for publication-merely comes from my own personal interest and concern. . Have you received any threats of any kind, during your stay in America?”
She frowned, shook her head. “No. . the letters, they have all been on my side. . usually with money in them, I am please to say.”
“No malicious phone calls, either, at the hotels or homes where you stayed?”
“Nothing. . not even from the pro-German-American. . and I know there are some.”
Strangely, it occurred to me at that instant that I was no longer as pro-German as I’d been the day before! Encountering saboteurs aboard the ship on which one is sailing can do that to a person.
“Though the Allied cause is in my heart,” she was saying, “I am a neutral because of my work. . I do not discuss the atrocity, to stir passion for the people to open their heart and wallet. No, I speak only of the suffering of boys on both side, of the starvation of the noncombatant in this tiny strip from Nieuport along the Yaer to the French frontier. . ten mile wide, forty mile long.”
“Madame, I know you feel great compassion for the boys fighting on either side of this conflict.”
“Bien entendu. . but of course.”
“Prior to boarding, were you approached by any young men to aid them in returning to their homes?”
“I do not understand.”
“German boys, stranded in America. .”
She shook her head again. “This would be a good place for them, America, where they would have no guns to shoot at the Belgian boy.”
That had seemed unlikely, her aiding the stowaways; but I’d had to inquire, however elliptically.
Trying again, I asked, “Has anyone approached you on the ship, and struck up an acquaintance? By this I mean, someone you had not met previously.”
She shrugged. “On shipboard, this happen all the time. You yourself, monsieur, this describes.”
That was true. But I pressed on: “I mean someone unknown to you prior to boarding, who has made some effort to get close to you.”
A new friend, taken into the madame’s confidence, might well have robbery in mind.
Thoughtfully, she said, “I had not met before Miss Pope-but I knew of her, hear of her, we have the mutual friend. . She is an architect, you know, a designer of library, a leader of the party Progressive.”
And a lunatic who believed in spooks and fairies.
“Anyone else?”
She nodded. “There is a Dr. Fisher-Howard Fisher. He travel with his wife’s young sister, a Miss Connor, Dorothy Connor.”
Fisher, she said, wanted to help his British brother-in-law establish a hospital in France.
“They say they would like to join forces with my husband at La Panne,” she said.
“But you’d never heard of them before. And they are first-class passengers?”
“Oui.”
I wrote down their names. Later I would ask Miss Vance to investigate them, to which she readily agreed.
“I’ve focused on your war efforts,” I said. “Is there anyone on the ship that you knew previously-someone out of your personal life who you did not expect to see? Anyone with a grudge?”
“Au contraire. . but for my friend Dr. Houghton, who go to assist my husband at La Panne.”
“How long have you known Dr. Houghton?”
“A few week-he is from a town in New York. . Troy.”
“He sought you out?”
“Yes-at one of the rally where I raise the money.”
I had already jotted the good doctor’s name down, and would request Miss Vance investigate him, as well.
“These question,” she said, and her eyes were amused and yet her aspect remained one of tristesse, “they are not for your newspaper, no?”
“No.” I glanced at Miss Vance for help.
“Madame,” the lady Pinkerton said, “Mr. Van Dine and I have become good friends. .”
The regal woman smiled. “Perhaps he is the man I hear in your room last night?”
This astonished both of us, but Madame DePage only laughed, the weight of the war finally disappearing from her shoulders. “I am French. Do you think I would judge you?. . You know the expression le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait point?”
The heart has reasons of which reason knows nothing.
Suddenly I wondered just how friendly she and Dr. Houghton had become, no matter how dedicated she might be to her husband and his cause.
“A la belle etoile,” I said, “who knows what harmless time might pass, aboard a ship like this?”
Madame DePage smiled, eyes atwinkle, nodding her approval of starry nights and shipboard romance.
“Mr. Van Dine and I have become friends,” Miss Vance said, trying again-and this was the first time I’d seen this calm and collected woman show any sign of embarrassment, “and he is helping me investigate. We believe a ring of thieves may be aboard the ship.”
She did not mention that the members of this ring-at least, the three German stowaways-were in cold storage.
“I see,” Madame DePage said. “And you seek the faux bonhomme? The false friend, who tries to become close?”
“Yes,” I said. “Even a crew member who you might find in your room, seemingly quite innocent. . Ask yourself, does he belong here? Is he serving some ship’s purpose, or his own?”
The lovely envoy nodded and smiled. “Your concern is appreciated, monsieur. But I think the. . Miss Vance, what is the word?. . The precautions we have take, this will make the effort of any thief foolish. . And now I must bring our conversation to a close. I wish some time in my suite before luncheon-can you believe it is almost time to eat again?”
She rose, bid us bonjour, and Miss Vance and I were suddenly alone in our nook of the lavish lounge.
“Madame DePage does seem a terribly unlikely suspect,” I said.
Miss Vance had shifted to the chair vacated by Marie DePage, to sit closer. “I would agree-and the time I’ve spent with her, which is considerable, only underscores that notion.”