leave my cabin last night, but only because I wanted some fresh air. I went out on deck for a stroll. If you really saw me, you’d have noticed I was wearing this coat.” He undid the buttons and held it wide open. “And in case you think I’ve got the booty sewn into the lining, give this the once-over while you’re at it.”
“There’s no point, Mr. Hirsch. We both know that.”
“Yes, my friend. We also know that it’s perfectly legitimate for any passenger to move about the ship of his own free will whenever he or she chooses. I was simply exercising that right. If you have evidence to the contrary,” he taunted, buttoning his coat again, “show it to me right now or stop pestering me.”
Dillman hesitated. Before he could speak, another voice rang out behind him.
“Where’ve you been, Max? I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“I’m sorry, Agnes,” said Hirsch, a picture of contrition. “I was on my way when I was intercepted by Mr. Dillman here.” He beamed at the detective. “Have you met Mrs. Cameron?” he asked, then turned back to her. “Agnes, this is Mr. Dillman.”
“Oh, how do you do?” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cameron,” he replied with a reflex smile.
Her hand emerged from the muff to shake his. Though she was immersed in a fur coat and hat, Dillman recognized her as the woman he had seen with Hirsch in the dining saloon. Clearly, their relationship had started in a compartment on the boat train. Agnes Cameron was a pleasant, pale-skinned Englishwoman with a mole on her left cheek that served as a kind of beauty spot. She gazed fondly at Max Hirsch. He offered his arm and she slipped a hand through it before tucking it back into her muff. On land he might be a loving husband but at sea, he allowed himself certain bachelor freedoms.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” he said with a broad grin. “Mrs. Cameron and I have a lot to discuss. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Dillman, giving them a token wave of farewell and wondering why a woman like Agnes Cameron had been ensnared by Hirsch’s seedy charm.
The two made an odd couple, but Dillman never made it his business to pass judgment on any nascent romances between passengers. There were far more unlikely pairings aboard, and others would develop over the next few days as the seductive power of oceanic travel worked on people’s emotions. He was annoyed with himself. After his brief confrontation with Hirsch, he was no nearer to deciding whether or not the man was involved in the spate of thefts. All that he had done was to alert him that he was under suspicion. Hirsch had, however, saved him the trouble of searching the cabin. Had any stolen property been hidden there, he would never have offered the key to Dillman with such blatant confidence. Firm evidence was needed, but before the detective could go in search of it, someone swooped down on him like a hungry seagull spotting a morsel of food.
“Mr. Dillman!” she said with a cackle of triumph. “We can stop playing hide-and-seek at last. I want that long talk with you right now. Where shall we go?”
Hester Littlejohn would not be denied.
* * *
Oliver Jarvis made a considered decision. Convinced that his children would be safe if they stayed together, he allowed them a degree of freedom that afternoon. It meant that he and his wife could spend some quiet time together in the lounge, unencumbered by his mother-in-law, who retired to her cabin to sleep off a gargantuan luncheon, or by Noel and Alexandra. The children, meanwhile, roamed the decks, stared at the sea, argued about the speed at which the vessel was going, talked about what they would do when they reached New York, and engaged in the ceaseless banter of childhood. It was only when they stepped in out of the wind that Alexandra realized something. She stared up at the clock on the wall.
“Is that the time?” she asked.
“Yes, Ally.”
“I’ve got to go!”
“Where?” asked
“There’s no point, Mr. Hirsch. We both know that.”
“Yes, my friend. We also know that it’s perfectly legitimate for any passenger to move about the ship of his own free will whenever he or she chooses. I was simply exercising that right. If you have evidence to the contrary,” he taunted, buttoning his coat again, “show it to me right now or stop pestering me.”
Dillman hesitated. Before he could speak, another voice rang out behind him.
“Where’ve you been, Max? I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“I’m sorry, Agnes,” said Hirsch, a picture of contrition. “I was on my way when I was intercepted by Mr. Dillman here.” He beamed at the detective. “Have you met Mrs. Cameron?” he asked, then turned back to her. “Agnes, this is Mr. Dillman.”
“Oh, how do you do?” she said.
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cameron,” he replied with a reflex smile.
Her hand emerged from the muff to shake his. Though she was immersed in a fur coat and hat, Dillman recognized her as the woman he had seen with Hirsch in the dining saloon. Clearly, their relationship had started in a compartment on the boat train. Agnes Cameron was a pleasant, pale-skinned Englishwoman with a mole on her left cheek that served as a kind of beauty spot. She gazed fondly at Max Hirsch. He offered his arm and she slipped a hand through it before tucking it back into her muff. On land he might be a loving husband but at sea, he allowed himself certain bachelor freedoms.
“You’ll have to excuse us,” he said with a broad grin. “Mrs. Cameron and I have a lot to discuss. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” said Dillman, giving them a token wave of farewell and wondering why a woman like Agnes Cameron had been ensnared by Hirsch’s seedy charm.
The two made an odd couple, but Dillman never made it his business to pass judgment on any nascent romances between passengers. There were far more unlikely pairings aboard, and others would develop over the next few days as the seductive power of oceanic travel worked on people’s emotions. He was annoyed with himself. After his brief confrontation with Hirsch, he was no nearer to deciding whether or not the man was involved in the spate of thefts. All that he had done was to alert him that he was under suspicion. Hirsch had, however, saved him the trouble of searching the cabin. Had any stolen property been hidden there, he would never have offered the key to Dillman with such blatant confidence. Firm evidence was needed, but before the detective could go in search of it, someone swooped down on him like a hungry seagull spotting a morsel of food.
“Mr. Dillman!” she said with a cackle of triumph. “We can stop playing hide-and-seek at last. I want that long talk with you right now. Where shall we go?”
Hester Littlejohn would not be denied.
* * *
Oliver Jarvis made a considered decision. Convinced that his children would be safe if they stayed together, he allowed them a degree of freedom that afternoon. It meant that he and his wife could spend some quiet time together in the lounge, unencumbered by his mother-in-law, who retired to her cabin to sleep off a gargantuan luncheon, or by Noel and Alexandra. The children, meanwhile, roamed the decks, stared at the sea, argued about the speed at which the vessel was going, talked about what they would do when they reached New York, and engaged in the ceaseless banter of childhood. It was only when they stepped in out of the wind that Alexandra realized something. She stared up at the clock on the wall.
“Is that the time?” she asked.
“Yes, Ally.”
“I’ve got to go!”
“Where?” asked
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