Murder on the Lusitania by Conrad Allen

means you must have developed instincts. What do they tell you?”
    “To beware of foolish predictions.”
    “The
Lusitania
is bound to regain the Blue Riband,” said Genevieve. “That’s what everyone was saying over dinner last night.”
    Barcroft grinned. “One of my colleagues is taking bets to that effect. I need your advice, Dillman. Should I put my money on a record?”
    “No. Not yet.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because there are too many imponderables,” warned Dillman. “It’s far too early to judge. Bad weather might slow us down. Or we might be hampered by ice. It drifts down on the Labrador current and can be a real hazard. Then there’s the possibility of technical problems in the engine room, of course. And an outside chance of navigational error.”
    “Not from Captain Watt, surely?”
    “Highly unlikely, I agree, but it’s possible. The
Lusitania
is a superb ship but it would be unfair to expect too much of her on her maiden voyage. If you really want to know how to wager yourmoney, Mr. Barcroft,” he suggested, “the person to talk to is the chief engineer.”
    “I’ve already interviewed Mr. Rourke.”
    “Have you?” said Dillman artlessly.
    “He and I didn’t exactly get on.”
    “Why not?”
    “Long story. Ah!” he said, as a waiter approached. “Our tea. We’re going to need a third cup. If Americans drink tea, that is.”
    “Have you never heard of the Boston Tea Party?” said Genevieve.
    It was a swift riposte to Barcroft’s gibe, and Dillman shot her a smile of thanks. The tray was unloaded by the waiter and a third cup ordered. The man went off to get it. Dillman turned to Genevieve.
    “You seem to be without your sentries today, Miss Masefield.”
    “Sentries?”
    “The two ladies I keep seeing with you.”
    “I didn’t realize I’d caught your attention, sir.
    “I couldn’t help noticing the three of you together.”
    “They’re the Hubermann sisters,” explained Barcroft. “I wouldn’t care to go three rounds with either of them. But I wouldn’t really call them sentries.” His oily smile warned Genevieve that a compliment was coming. “Miss Masefield is the
Lusitania
and they are her tugboats.”
    “They are dear friends of mine,” said Genevieve sharply, “and I will not have them mocked.”
    “I only spoke in jest,” said the journalist, semaphoring regret.
    “And in rather poor taste.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Let’s go back to the chief engineer,” suggested Dillman. “You say that the two of you did not get on. What exactly was the problem?”
    But there was no time for Barcroft to answer. Abigail and Carlotta Hubermann suddenly came into the room and swooped down on them. Two more cups and a second pot of tea were ordered and conversation turned to more neutral subjects. Dillmanconcentrated on winning them over with a combination of charm and deference but he kept one eye on Henry Barcroft. The man was an enigma. His bonhomie was apparently inexhaustible. He was completely at ease in the company of Genevieve Masefield and the Hubermann sisters, even though none of them seemed to have any particular liking for him. Indeed, he was given a stern rebuke by Abigail at one point and a warning stare by Carlotta, but his broad smile survived intact. The more reproaches he was given, the happier he seemed to be. Dillman wondered how exuberant he would remain if he knew that his cabin was being searched at that very moment.
    It was almost noon before the chance finally presented itself. While going about his own duties, the steward made sure that he went past the Rymers’ suite at regular intervals. Like his brother, Jack was short, stout, and well groomed but with a paler complexion and rather fewer teeth. A chat with a colleague elicited the fact that the Rymers were still in their suite, and he began to think they would be entombed there for the entirety of the voyage, making it impossible for Jack and his brother to earn another reward from a