Max Collins - The Lusitania Murders

Straightening, Turner said, “A passenger might have got hold of a key somehow-either a spare room key, or a passkey. You seem quick to impugn the integrity of our staff.”

Anderson shifted in his chair. “We’ll conduct a search of the ship for that knife, immediately.”

I said, “Why waste the effort? It was surely tossed overboard, long ago.”

Neither captain had any reply to that.

“Absent fingerprints,” she said, “I do have new developments to share. Mr. Van Dine and I have successfully completed our interviews with those passengers named on the stowaway ringleader’s list.”

“We believe that several of them,” I picked up, “may be identified strongly enough with the Allied cause to inspire assassination attempts.”

“In particular,” Miss Vance said, “Madame DePage and Alfred Vanderbilt are involved with aiding the Allied wounded. And Elbert Hubbard’s inflammatory anti-Kaiser position makes him particularly vulnerable.”

“On the other hand,” I continued, “we can see no reason why the German secret service would single out Charles Frohman, George Kessler and Charles Williamson for punishment. Frohman is producing a pro-German-American play, Kessler is simply a businessman who views the war as an inconvenience and Williamson is an art dealer of less prominence than these other celebrated passengers, included among them chiefly because of his close ties to Vanderbilt.”

Turner was listening, but his eyes had that blankness one sees in a dog monitoring human speech for the word or two he recognizes-“bone,” “outside.”

“So the scrap in the stowaway’s shoe,” Miss Vance said, concluding this phase of our presentation, “would not seem to be a list of potential assassination targets.”

“However,” I said, “we have learned that a majority of these passengers are in possession of disturbingly large amounts of money or negotiable stocks. Elbert Hubbard has five thousand dollars with him, to purchase leather and other materials for his arts-and-crafts colony. Frohman has much more than that, with which he intends to secure theatrical properties. Madame DePage, of course, has one hundred fifty thousand dollars in war relief funds. And Kessler-I’m glad you’re sitting down, gentlemen-carries around two million in stocks and bonds in that briefcase of his.”

Turner and his staff captain stared across the table at each other in wide-eyed disbelief at this unbridled foolishness among such supposedly superior human beings as their first-class passengers.

“As for Vanderbilt and Williamson,” I added, “they do not seem to have undue amounts of cash or valuables with them. . both men maintain London residences. . but it would be a reasonable assumption on the part of thieves that such men would be worth robbing.”

“Then the stowaways were a robbery ring,” Anderson said, eyes narrowed, nodding slowly. “Their purpose was plunder, not sabotage.”

“They may have pursued a dual purpose,” Miss Vance said, reminding them of a theory she had proposed earlier. “Stealing Allied war relief money is a blade that cuts two ways, after all-and if these stowaways had planned to do their robbing late in the voyage, they would probably have fled to Ireland. .”

Anderson, nodding more quickly now, said, “You mentioned previously the possibility of IRA involvement.”

“Suppose near voyage’s end,” she said, “an explosive device were detonated somewhere off the coast of Ireland. In the confusion and commotion of passengers seeking lifeboats, these robberies could have been accomplished by the stowaways in stewards’ garb, and the thieves could then have been picked up by boat by IRA accomplices.”

“It seems far-fetched to me,” Turner said, shaking his head.

I asked, “More far-fetched than finding three German stowaways with a camera in one of your pantries? More outlandish than their murders?”

“Moot point,” Turner huffed. “Falling-out among thieves, simple as that. Dead men can’t steal or for that matter kill, can they? I’m damned if I know why we’re giving this matter any further attention. . I have a ship to run!”

Turner began to rise.

Miss Vance glanced at me; I nodded-we’d discussed this, prior. Then she said to them, “I’m afraid I withheld another key piece of evidence. . or at least potential evidence.”

Turner, now standing, exploded. “Good heavens, woman, what?”

Anderson merely stared at her, aghast.

“The condition of the two dead men locked within their cell indicated they had been poisoned, and that the stabbing was a postmortem ruse designed to suggest that ‘falling-out among thieves’ conclusion you reached, Captain.”

Turner plopped back into his chair as the Pinkerton operative explained the evidence of cyanide poisoning, from the blue-tinted skin tone to the whiff of bitter almonds.

“I would not hold your physician accountable for his poor diagnosis,” she said. “He is young, and not trained in criminal forensics.”

Anderson’s expression was grave. “And you assume the two stowaways were poisoned by a crew member.”

“Yes,” she said curtly. “My chief suspects were Master-at-Arms Williams, Steward Leach. . who admits to having served them their final supper. . and, frankly, Staff Captain Anderson, yourself.”

“ I am a suspect?” Anderson said, his expression mingling alarm and bitter amusement.

“You had easy access to the stowaways in the brig,” I pointed out, “and who better than yourself to sneak them aboard in the first place?”

“Further,” Miss Vance stated in her business-like way, “you have ties to Mr. Leach, having hired him as a family friend, which opens pathways to further conspiracy.”

The usually affable staff captain was trembling with anger, his cheeks flushed. “This is an outrage. . I am a loyal ship’s officer, and I served with the Royal Navy! To suggest I am a German collaborator-”

“I suggest no such thing,” Miss Vance said. “You’ve been accused of nothing. We merely point out that certain circumstances and facts place you on a list of suspects.”

“A damned short list!” he blurted.

“That is accurate,” she said. “But we have narrowed it, considerably. You see, gentlemen, I have received information from the Pinkerton agency, which points the finger away from you, Mr. Anderson. . your record of service to Cunard and for that matter your country is not only clean, but exemplary. . and from Master-at-Arms Williams, as well.”

“Williams also has an excellent history of service to your company and to the Royal Navy,” I added.

“Then. .” The flush had left Anderson’s cheeks. “. . you obviously suspect Mr. Leach. Would that not implicate me, as well?”

“You would certainly be questioned by the authorities ashore,” Miss Vance admitted. “But Mr. Van Dine and I are of a mind that you were, frankly, manipulated into hiring Mr. Leach, because of those family obligations.”

“Manipulated,” Anderson said, rather distastefully.

“Poor judgment,” I said, “is a far lesser ‘crime’ than treason, don’t you think?”

“You have a peculiar sense of humor, Mr. Van Dine,” Anderson said. “Not at all appropriate.”

“Never mind that,” Turner said brusquely. “Young woman, what do you have on this man Leach?”

Without referring to the lengthy cable she’d received, Miss Vance rather impressively recounted the new information. Neil Leach-whose father indeed was a lawyer, practicing in the West Indies-had majored in modern languages at Cambridge, with an emphasis on German.

“Good Lord,” Anderson said. “Then he could have spoken to the stowaways, and would have understood anything they said!”