Алистер Маклин - The Golden Rendezvous

“You said the chief officer was responsible for planting this idea in our minds,” Bullen said slowly. “What do you mean by that?”

“No more than I said, sir. I only–” Then the implications of the captain’s question struck him. “Good God, sir! Mr. Carter? Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No one think’s you’re crazy,” McIlroy put in soothingly. Our chief engineer had always regarded Wilson as a bit of a mental bantam-weight, but you could see him slowly revising his opinion. “The crew, Tommy. What makes you suspect the crew?”

“Elimination, motive and opportunity,” Wilson said promptly. “We seem to have more or less eliminated the passengers. All with alibis. And the motive. What are the usual motives?” he asked of no one in particular.

“Revenge, jealousy, gain,” said McIlroy. “Those three.”

“There you are, then. Take revenge and jealousy. It is conceivable that any of our passengers should have their knives so deeply in Brownell, Benson and Dexter as to want to kill them all? Ridiculous. Gain? What could that bunch of bloated plutocrats want with any more lucre.” He looked round slowly. “And what officer or man aboard the Campari couldn’t do with a little more lucre. I could, for one.”

“Opportunity, Tommy,” McIlroy prompted him gently. “Opportunity, you said.”

“I don’t have to go into that,” Wilson said. “Engineer and deck crews could be eliminated at once. The engineering side, except for officers at mealtimes, never go anywhere near the passenger and boat-decks. The bo’sun’s men here are only allowed there in the morning watch, for washing down decks. But–” he looked around him again, even more slowly “–every deck officer, radio officer, radar operator, cook, galley slave and steward aboard the Campari has a perfect right to be within a few yards of the wireless office at any time: no one could question his presence there. Not only that–”

A knock came at the door and Assistant Chief Steward White came in, hat in hand. He was looking acutely unhappy and looked even more so when he saw the extent and composition of the welcoming committee.

“Come in and sit down,” Bullen said. He waited till White had done this, then went on: “Where were you between eight and half past eight this morning, White?”

“This morning. Eight and half past.” White was immediately all stiff outrage. “I was on duty, sir, of course. I–”

“Relax,” Bullen said wearily. “No one is accusing you of anything.” Then he said more kindly: “We’ve all had some very bad news, White. Nothing that concerns you directly, so don’t get too apprehensive. You’d better hear it.”

Bullen told him, without any trimmings, of the three murders and the one immediate result was that everyone present could immediately remove White from the list of suspects. He might have been a good actor, but not even an Irving could have turned his colour from a healthy red to a greyish pallor at the touch of a switch, which was what White did. He looked so bad, his breathing got so quick and shallow that I rose hastily and fetched him a glass of water. He swallowed it in a couple of gulps.

“Sorry to upset you, White,” Bullen went on. “But you had to know. Now then, between eight and eight-thirty: how many of our passengers had breakfast in their rooms?”

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not sure.” He shook his head, then went on slowly. “Sorry, sir, I do remember. Mr. Cerdan and his nurses, of course. The Hournos family. Miss Harcourt. Mr. and Mrs. Piper.”

“As Mr. Carter said,” McIlroy murmured.

“Yes,” Bullen nodded. “Now, White, be very careful. Did any of those passengers at any time leave their rooms during this period? At any time? Even for a moment?”

“No, sir. Quite definitely not. Not on my deck, anyway. The Hournos are on ‘B’ deck. But none of the others went in or out of any of the suites: only stewards with trays. I can swear to that, sir. From my cubicle – Mr. Benson’s, that is – I can see every door in the passageway.”

“That’s so,” Bullen agreed. He asked for the name of the senior steward on “B” deck, spoke briefly on the phone, then hung up. “All right, White, you can go. But keep your eyes – and ears – open and report to me immediately you come across anything that strikes you as unusual. And don’t talk about this to anyone.” White rose quickly, and left. He seemed glad to go.

“There it is, then,” Bullen said heavily. “Everyone – every one of the passengers, that is – in the clear. I’m beginning to think you may have the right of it after all, Mr. Wilson.” He looked speculatively at me. “How about it now, Mr. Carter?”

I looked at him, then at Wilson, and said: “Mr. Wilson seems to be the only one of us that makes any sense. What he says is logical, completely plausible and fits the facts. It’s too logical, too plausible. I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” Bullen demanded. “Because you can’t believe that any crew member of the Campari could be bought? Or because it knocks your own pet theories on the head?”

“I can’t give you any why’s or why not’s, sir. It’s just a hunch, the way I feel.”

Captain Bullen grunted, not a very kindly grunt either, but unexpected support came from the chief engineer.

“I agree with Mr. Carter. We’re up against very very clever people – if it is people.” He paused, then said suddenly: “Is the passage money for the Carreras family, father and son, paid in yet?”

“What the devil has that got to do with anything?” Bullen demanded.

“Has it been paid?” McIlroy repeated. He was looking at the purser.

“It’s been paid,” Cummings said quietly. He was still a long way from getting over the shock caused by the murder of his friend Benson.

“In what currency?”

“Travellers’ cheques. Drawn on a New York bank.”

“Dollars, eh? Now, Captain Bullen, I submit that’s very interesting indeed. Paid in dollars. Yet in May of last year the generalissimo made it a penal offence to be in possession of any foreign currency whatsoever. I wonder where our friends got the money from. And why are they permitted to be in possession of it? Instead of lingering in some jungle jail?”

“What are you suggesting, Chief?”

“Nothing,” McIlroy confessed. “That’s the devil of it. I just don’t see how it can tie up with anything. I just submit that it is very curious indeed and that anything curious, in the present circumstances, is worth investigating.” He sat silently for a moment, then said idly: “I suppose you know that our generalissimo friend recently received a gift from the other side of the Iron Curtain? A destroyer and a couple of frigates? Trebled his naval strength in one fell sweep. I suppose you know the generalissimo is desperate for money – his régime is coming apart at the seams for lack of it and that’s what lay behind last week’s bloody riots. You know that we have a dozen people aboard who would be worth God knows how many millions in ransom money? And that if a frigate suddenly did heave over the horizon and order us to stop – well, how could we send out an SOS with all our transmitters smashed.”

“I have never heard such a ridiculous suggestion in my life,” Bullen said heavily. But ridiculous or not you’re thinking about it, Captain Bullen, I said to myself, by heaven you’re thinking about it. “To knock your suggestion on the head straightaway. How could any vessel ever find us? Where to look for us? We changed course last night, we’re over a hundred miles away from where they might expect us to be – even if they had any idea where we were going in the first place?”

“I could support the chief’s arguments in that, sir,” I put in. There seemed no point in mentioning that I thought McIlroy’s idea as far-fetched as did the captain. “Any person with a radio receiver might equally have a transmitter – and Miguel Carreras himself mentioned to me that he used to command his own ships. Navigation, by sun or stars would be easy for him. He probably knows our position to within ten miles.”