“And?”
“We found a room key that was not Rood’s own.”
“Really? Whose room key was it?”
“… Crafton’s.”
Futrelle’s eyebrows climbed his forehead. “Rood had a key to Crafton’s room? If he weren’t dead, I’d say he was still our best suspect. What about blackmail documents?”
Ismay said nothing, and he avoided Futrelle’s gaze.
But Captain Smith frankly said, “We did find certain documents, pertaining to our First-Class passengers.”
Ismay, rather petulantly, added, “Yourself included, sir.”
Futrelle sat down heavily. “Specifically, what?”
“Various items,” Captain Smith said. “Statements from witnesses… photostatic copies of various records… in your case, of a hospital admissions book. Frankly, we haven’t examined them closely.”
“Good God, man-you haven’t destroyed them, have you?”
“No!” The captain seemed rather offended by the suggestion. “These documents are evidence. When we reach port, the material will have to be read, have to be handed over to the authorities.”
Ismay shook his head, moaning, saying, “The embarrassment to our passengers… On a maiden voyage, a catastrophe like this, it’s unimaginable.”
Futrelle didn’t bother pointing out that the embarrassment Ismay was concerned about was his own, and his company’s.
Instead, he said, “Where are the documents now?”
“In the purser’s safe,” the captain said. “Mr. Futrelle, as bizarre as the proposition might sound, could we have two murderers aboard? If Mr. Rood had obtained the extra key, and used it to enter and slay Mr. Crafton, it would explain the presence in Rood’s room of these sensitive documents.”
Futrelle smiled but he wasn’t happy. “Rood wasn’t Crafton’s blackmail victim, gentlemen-he was his accomplice.”
Captain Smith’s eyes widened and he shook his head, no. “Have you forgotten that Rood assaulted Crafton in the Smoking Room!”
“Conveniently staged by the two of them,” Futrelle said, “to cloak their collaboration.”
The eyes of both men seemed to light up as they grasped the implications.
Futrelle continued: “And Rood was unforthcoming to me, yesterday, because he alone of those I spoke to knew that Crafton was dead, or was at least in a bad way. Rood may have entered his partner’s cabin and seen the body, before that housekeeping stewardess discovered it; or he may have realized that the guard posted on Crafton’s room meant that either his partner was in custody, or dead.”
“So the motive remains the same,” Captain Smith said. “Another blackmailer has been murdered.”
“And probably by one of your First-Class passengers,” Futrelle said.
Ismay thought about that briefly, then said, “Your suspect in Second Class-Mr. Hoffman-might have made his way to the boat deck, in the middle of the night. That is when our crew members would be most susceptible to a bribe from a Second-Class passenger who wanted to see how the other half traveled.”
“What are we going to do, gentlemen?” Futrelle asked.
Ismay’s eyes narrowed and his voice cut like a knife. “You, sir, are going to do nothing. You will cease and desist, where your investigation is concerned, and you will speak to no one of this, including your wife.”
“That sounds suspiciously like an order.”
“I apologize for the harshness of my tone. Perhaps, if you and your delightful wife were moved to Second Class, it would remove the temptation of talking about this matter with the First-Class passengers.”
“Why not put us in steerage? Then I couldn’t even talk to Hoffman.”
Ismay smiled and half bowed. “Very gracious of you. Shall I make the arrangements?”
“Mr. Ismay,” Captain Smith said sharply, “I don’t appreciate any attempt to intimidate Mr. Futrelle. As you damn well know, his investigation was at my request. He’s generously helped us, and I won’t condone your rudeness to him. Must I remind you that I’m still the captain of this ship?”
Ismay nodded. “I apologize, gentlemen. The captain is quite right. Mr. Futrelle, I do thank you for what you’ve done, and request your cooperation.”
Futrelle offered half a smile to the White Star director. “I was just about to say yes to your idea of writing a murder mystery set on the Titanic. I believe we have the right subject matter, now.”
Ismay sighed, his eyes going to half-lidded. “Perhaps I deserve that. Can I count on your cooperation, Jack?”
“Bruce… Captain Smith… I’m at your service. Will you be launching an official inquiry? Perhaps by the master-at-arms?”
The captain shook his head. “No. But we will be heightening ship’s security. These murders both happened after dark. Let’s hope the daylight is safe.”
“I don’t think our passengers are in any danger,” Ismay said. “The only victims have been blackmailers, and unless a third accomplice is aboard, who would be at risk?”
“I tend to agree,” Futrelle said, rising, “but I applaud the captain’s precautions nonetheless.”
“I have suggested,” Ismay said, “that we proceed with all possible speed into port. The sooner we have our passengers safely on shore, the better.”
“With the extra boilers lit, we may be able to reach New York as early as Tuesday evening,” Captain Smith said, rising, adding, “I’ll see you out, Mr. Futrelle.”
The captain walked with Futrelle down the officers’ promenade, Second Officer Lightoller walking behind, keeping a respectful distance.
Staring out at the gray sea under the gray-blue sky, the captain asked, “Do you think there’s anything we’ve overlooked, sir?”
Futrelle considered that for a few seconds, then admitted, “The only thing that comes to mind… and it’s probably nothing… is the Allison family.”
“The Allisons.” Captain Smith nodded. “I’ve spoken to Hudson Allison; nice fellow. What connection could he have to any of this?”
“You wouldn’t think anything… but I know for a fact Crafton sought the Allisons out, was friendly to them. If you were to ask Hudson and Bess Allison about John Bertram Crafton, they would tell you what a friendly, charming fellow he is. Of course, their nanny was giving him the evil eye….”
Captain Smith stopped dead. “Their nanny? A woman named Alice something?”
“Why, yes…”
Why in God’s name would the captain of a ship the size of the Titanic, carrying thousands of passengers, remember or even ever know the name of one family’s nanny?
The captain turned to Lightoller and asked, “Do you have that note, Mr. Lightoller, that came up from Third Class a day or two ago?”
“I believe I know where it is, sir. We didn’t do a thing about that, though, sir.”
“I know. Fetch it, would you?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lightoller clipped off, toward the wheelhouse, and Futrelle said, “I’m afraid, Captain, you’ve got me thoroughly confused.”
“A note came up from Third Class, I don’t remember the name of the fellow, but the gist of it was that he knew something about the Allisons’ nanny and wanted to know what it was worth.”
“Sounds like you have a blackmailer in steerage, too.”
Captain Smith twitched a frown. “We didn’t follow up on it-it seemed just a crank note, and unclear as to its purpose at that. If the Allisons are satisfied with their nanny, why should the opinion of some lout in steerage be of any interest or concern?”
Lightoller was on his way back, a small piece of paper in hand.
The captain said, “Give that to Mr. Futrelle, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” Lightoller said, and did.
“That will be all, Mr. Lightoller. I’ll see Mr. Futrelle to First Class.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then the captain and the mystery writer were alone on the promenade.
“Mr. Futrelle, would you do me the favor of looking into this for me? Mr. Andrews will see that you get down to steerage… and back again, despite Mr. Ismay’s wishes.”
“My pleasure. Does this mean I’m back on the case, Captain?”