But Shaun was thinking that a lot of things could be done about it, for some of which he had already arranged. One point became clear. Unless Leidler's acting was superlative, he had no suspicions. Quite definitely, he hadn't been tailing Shaun that morning. Then he must have been following Maureen!
In the name of sanity, what for? Shaun had no idea how long Leidler had known her, but the "wealthy connoiseur" he had mentioned might be Leidler himself. If the abduction had succeeded, he wouldn't have come on board. Some watcher must have passed the news of its failure to him, wherever he was waiting; and Leidler had rushed to join the ship.
The Antonio, had followed a lazy course around the Mediterranean and now was heading back to the States. The return run would be along the African coast: next port of call Tunis. Shaun wondered if Leidler might intend to leave the ship there and then decided angrily to abandon conjecture.
All his deductions were being proved wrong. He must get more data, and do some hard thinking. When a radio message was brought to him, he made it an excuse to go. Maureen, left alone with Theo Leidler, gave Shaun an almost pathetic look as he walked away.
Shaun went below and made the acquaintance of Lorkin, the purser. He asked for certain information. Lorkin, who had had a trying morning, was far from amiable. "This is a British ship, you know. I should have to get the Old Man's okay."
Shaun gave Lorkin a cheerful grin. "Old Man in as bad a humour as you are?"
"Worse." Lorkin opened a locker and exposed a row of botties. "Captain McAndrew is a martinet. The hitch in Port Said has ruined his day. Scotch or bourbon?"
It was easy after that.
Two more radiograms were brought to Shaun in the purser's room. After he had read them he felt pleased with the work of the Port Said police but more completely fogged than ever about the relationship between Theo Leidler and Maureen. He was inclined to feel unhappy, but didn't blame the purser's whisky.
Lorkin had produced all the information he had on Leidler. The man had crossed twice before in the Antonio, on her usual run from Southampton to New York. His United States passport described him as a business manager.
He had always come aboard at Cherbourg. "Hell of a lad for the ladies," was Lorkin's only comment.
"He's the hell of a lad altogether," Shaun assured him. "Theo Leidler is the big shot of the most successful gang of loot traffickers operating between Europe and the United States. Before this ship docks in New York I intend to prove it."
Shaun had many things to keep him busy. He positively haunted the radio office, sending and receiving messages. At five o'clock he took a walk around. He discovered Maureen and Mrs Simmonds having tea on deck. Leidler was in attendance.
Shaun joined the party but declined tea.
"Isn't the Mediterranean a simply wonderful blue?" Mrs Simmonds said.
"Yes." Shaun glanced at Maureen. "It's the colour of some Irish eyes."
Maureen began speaking, quickly. "I'm going back to my room after tea, to work until cocktail time. I shan't have my dress ready for St. Patrick's night if I don't."
"St Patrick's night? That's tomorrow, isn't it? Some special jamboree?"
"A fancy dress ball." Maureen met Shaun's lingering gaze. "With prizes."
Shaun moved quickly, as Maureen stood up, to help her out of her long chair. Their glances met. "I shall be through by six o'clock." Maureen spoke softly.
"May I call for you?"
She nodded, smiled at Theo Leidler, who was frowning and hurried away.
Shaun sat down again, but Leidler didn't seem disposed to stay. He hesitated for a moment, his glance following the slim figure, then bowed in his Continental way to Mrs Simmonds, ignored Shaun, and walked off in the opposite direction.
"You know—" Shaun turned to Mrs Simmonds, "I don't understand that man."
"I don't think I want to!"
"Oh, you feel like that about him? Is he an old friend of Miss Lonergan's?"
"She never saw him until this morning!"
This was what Shaun wanted to know, and he soon knew all that Mrs Simmonds had to tell him: Maureen's first meeting with Theo Leidler outside some shop (she didn't know the name) in the Arab quarter; her second during lunch at the Casino; how, from the moment he came on board Leidler had tried to monopolise her. Shaun felt better about everything as he hurried back to his room.
When Shaun knocked on Maureen's door at six o'clock, she came out at once. She had changed her frock, and, Shaun thought, was a radiant vision. "Your dress looks as though it came from Paris."
Maureen laughed. She was very happy. "It didn't. It came from New York. Oh! we're going the wrong way! The bar's upstairs."
"We're not going to the bar. You don't mind? We've having drinks in the purser's quarters — just you and me, and Mrs Simmonds and Lorkin. Too dull?"
"Oh, no!" When Maureen's eyes were turned to Shaun they seemed to be dancing. "If it isn't too dull for you."
"Just thought I'd like you all to myself — if only for a few minutes."
They were outside the purser's door before Maureen spoke again.
"How do you manage these things? You're not a director of the line, are you?"
Shaun smiled holding the curtain aside for Maureen. "Not my kind of luck. But my own kind is pretty good."
Shaun now had all the information he was likely to get from Port Said. All that remained was to pin some evidence of his crimes on Leidler. But how could he be sure Leidler really had such evidence among his belongings?
And where did Maureen come in?
At one time, watching Maureen on deck with Leidler, Shaun asked himself whether it could be possible that this naive little girl knew more about the matter than she pretended. Mrs Simmonds had seemed to clear her of any past acquaintance with Leidler. Shaun was far too experienced in the Secret Service game to discount other possibilities. He had been fooled before. But somehow this particular two and two didn't seem to make four. Maureen, almost eagerly, had told him all about herself, how hard she had worked and saved up for this cruise. She was a fashion artist and dress designer, and apparently a successful one. The dress she planned to wear on St Patrick's night was of her own designing.
Shaun sauntered up to Maureen and took out his cigarette case. She opened a box which lay beside her. "Won't you try one of these?"
Shaun drew a deep breath. The box was half full of uncommonly long cigarettes, rose-tipped. It was the stub of one of these which he had seen on a brassy tray in the Arab cafe — near the dead man!
"Highly exotic! Where did you get them?"
'They come from Istanbul. Mr Leidler insisted on presenting me with a dozen boxes… "
For St Patrick's night a space had been cleared for dancing in the Antonio's dining room. Green candles decorated the tables and on each were bunches of shamrock especially shipped from Ireland. Weather was ideal, the Mediterranean like a lake.
Shaun, looking clean-cut and bronzed in his white tuxedo, sat watching the fancy dresses as singly and in pairs the passengers came in to dinner. Some won applause; others laughs. Most of the dresses were of the stock variety and only a few of the women had made any attempt to rise to the special occasion.
Nothing like enthusiasm was shown until Maureen made a rather timid entrance. She wore a lace frock covered with hand-painted shamrocks, leaving her arms and shoulders bare; green shoes, green silk gloves. Emerald earrings, too large for her small ears, and a blazing green and white necklace completed the ensemble.
Amid the cries and clapping of hands, Shaun stood silent, staring like a roan struck dumb. Maureen, who seemed to be really frightened, cast an anxious glance around. She saw Shaun, smiled more happily, and waved her hand. He waved back and as Maureen went to her table at the other end of the room, sat down with a sudden sickening feeling that he wanted to clutch his head.