“A bad business,” bullen agreed heavily. “Miss beresford, you have
no right to be here. You’re cold and shivering. Go to your cabin at
once.” when captain bullen spoke in that tone, the beresford millions
didn’t seem to matter any more. “Dr. Marston will bring you a sedative
later.”
“And perhaps mr. carreras will be so kind “i began. “Certainly,”
carreras agreed at once. “I will be honoured to see the young lady to
her cabin.” he bowed slightly, offered her his arm; she seemed more
than glad to take it, and they disappeared. Five minutes later all was
back to normal in the radio cabin. Peters had taken the dead man’s
place; dr. Marston had returned to his favourite occupation of mingling
socially and drinking steadily with our millionaires; the captain had
given me his instructions; i’d passed them on to the bo’sun, and
brownell, canvas-wrapped, had been taken forward to the carpenter’s
store. I stayed in the wireless office for a few minutes, talking to a
very shaken peters, and looked casually at the latest radio message that
had come through. All radio messages were written down in duplicate as
received, the original for the bridge and the carbon for the daily
spiked file. I lifted the topmost message from the file, but it was
nothing very important, just a warning of deteriorating weather far to
the southeast of cuba which might or might not build up to a hurricane.
Routine and too far away to bother us. I lifted the blank message pad
that lay at peters’ elbow. “May I have this?”
“Help yourself.” he was still too upset even to be curious as to
why I wanted it. “Plenty more where that came from.” I left him,
walked up and down the deck outside for some time, then made my way to
the captain’s cabin where i’d been told to report when I was through.
He was in his usual seat by the desk with cummings and the chief
engineer sitting on the settee. The presence of mcllroy, a short, stout
tynesider with the facial expression and hair style of friar tuck, meant
a very worried captain and a council of war. Mcllroy’s brilliance
wasn’t confined to reciprocating engines; that plump, laughter-creased
face concealed a brain that was probably the shrewdest on the campari,
and that included mr. julius beresford, who must have been very shrewd
indeed to make his three hundred million dollars or whatever it was.
“Sit down, mister, sit down,” bullen growled. The “mister” didn’t mean
I was in his black books, just another sign that he was worried. “No
signs of benson yet?”
“No sign at all.”
“What a bloody trip!” bullen pushed across a tray with whisky and
glasses on it, unaccustomedly openhanded liberality that was just
another sign of his worry. “Help yourself, mister.”
“Thank you, sir.” I helped myself lavish lythe chance didn’t come
often-and went on: “what are we going to do about brownell?”
“What the devil do you mean, ‘what are we going to do about
brownell?’ he’s got no folks to notify, no consent to get about
anything. Head office has been informed. Burial at sea at dawn, before
our passengers are up and about. Mustn’t spoil their blasted trip, I
suppose.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to take him to nassau, sir?”
“Nassau?” he stared at me over the rim of his glass, then lowered
it carefully to the table. “Just because a man has died, you don’t have
to go off your blasted rocker, do you?”
“Nassau or some other british territory. Or miami. Some place
where we can get competent authorities, police authorities, to
investigate things.”
“What things, johnny?” mcLlroy asked. He had his head cocked to
one side like a fat and well-stuffed owl. “Yes, what things?” bullen’s
tone was quite different from mcllroy’s. “Just because the search party
hasn’t turned up benson yet, you “i’ve called off the search party,
sir.” bullen pushed back his chair till his hands rested on the table
at the full stretch of his arms. “You’ve called off the search party,”
he said softly. “Who the hell gave you authority to do anything of the
kind?”
“No one, sir. But I “why did you do it, johnny?” mcllroy again,
very quietly. “Because we’ll never see benson again. Not alive, that
is. Benson’s dead. Benson’s been killed.” no one said anything, not
for all of ten seconds. The sound of the cool air rushing through the
louvres in the overhead trunking seemed abnormally loud. Then captain
bullen said harshly, “killed? benson killed? are you all right,
mister? what do you mean, killed?”
“Murdered is what I mean.”
“Murdered? murdered?” mcllroy shifted uneasily in his chair.
“Have you seen him? have you any proof? how can you say he was
murdered?”
“I haven’t seen him. And I haven’t any proof. Not a scrap of
evidence.” I caught a glimpse of the purser sitting there, his hands
twisting together and his eyes staring at me, and I remembered that
benson had been his best friend for close on twenty years. “But I have
proof that brownell was murdered tonight. And I can tie the two
together.” there was an even longer silence. “You’re mad,” bullen said
at length with harsh conviction. “So now brownell’s been murdered too.
You’re mad, mister, off your bloody trolley. You heard what dr.
Marston said? massive cerebral haemorrhage. But of course he’s only a
doctor of forty years’ standing. He wouldn’t know “how about giving me
a chance, sir?” I interrupted. My voice sounded as harsh as his own.
“I know he’s a doctor. I also know he hasn’t very good eyes. But I
have. I saw what he missed. I saw a dark smudge on the back of
brownell’s uniform collar-and when has anybody on this ship ever seen a
mark on any shirt that brownell ever wore? they didn’t call him beau
brownell for nothing. Somebody had hit him, with something heavy and
with tremendous force, on the back of the neck. There was also a faint
discolouration under the left ear-i could see it as he lay there. When
the bo’sun and I got him down to the carpenter’s store we examined him
together. There was a corresponding slight bruise under his right
ear-and traces of sand under his collar. Someone sandbagged him and
then, when he was unconscious, compressed the carotid arteries until he
died. Go and see for yourselves.”
“Not me,” mcllroy murmured. You could see that even his normally
monolithic composure had been shaken. “Not me. I believe
it-absolutely. It would be too easy to disprove it. I believe it all
right but I still can’t accept it.”
“But damn it all, chief!” bullen’s fists were clenched. “The
doctor said that
“I’m no medical man,” mcllroy interrupted. “But I should imagine
the symptoms are pretty much the same in both cases. Can hardly blame
old marston.”
bullen ignored this, gave me the full benefit of his commodore’s
stare.
“Look, mister,” he said slowly, “you’ve changed your tune, haven’t
you? when I was there, you agreed with dr. Marston. You even put
forward the heart-failure idea. You showed no signs
“Miss beresford and mr. carreras were there,” I interrupted. “I
didn’t want them to start getting wrong ideas. If word got round the
ship and it would have been bound to -that we suspected murder, then
whoever was responsible might have felt themselves forced to act again,
and act quickly, to forestall any action we might take. I don’t know
what they might do, but on the form to date it would have been something
damned unpleasant.”
“Miss beresford? mr. carreras?” bullen had, stopped clenching his
hands, but you could see that it wouldn’t take much to make him start up
again. “Miss beresford is above suspicion. But carreras? and his son?
just aboard to-day and in most unusual circumstances. It might just tie
up.”
“It doesn’t. I checked. Carreras senior and junior had both been
in either the telegraph lounge or the dining room for almost two hours
before we found brownell. They’re completely in the clear.”
“Besides being too obvious,” mcllroy agreed. “I think, captain,
it’s time we took our hats off to mr. carter here.
he’s been getting round and using his head while all we have been
doing is twiddling our thumbs.”
“Benson,” captain bullen said. He didn’t show any signs
of taking off his hat. “How about benson? how does he tie up?”
“This way.” I slid the empty telegraph book across the table. “I
checked the last message that was received and went to the bridge.
Routine weather report. Time, 20.07. But later there was another
message written on this pad: original, carbon, duplicate. The message
is indecipherable but to people with modern police equipment it would be
child’s play to find out what was written there. What is decipherable
is the impression of the last two time figures. Look for yourself.
It’s quite clear thirty-three. That means 20.33. A message came