Murder on the Minnesota E-Book

Edward Marston

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Serie: Ocean Liner Mysteries
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 431

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A maritime mystery from Edward Marston, author of the bestselling Railway Detective series. New York, 1908. Private detectives George Dillman and Genevieve Masefield plan to take a break from work upon the Cunard Line's fleet with the offer of employment upon the Minnesota, a freighter and passenger vessel, which is bound for the Far East. Although the pair are investigating the possibility of a smuggling operation on the route, at first all appears to be smooth sailing, but the voyage takes a dire turn when a fiery Catholic missionary is murdered and it proves to be the first in a series of crimes that plague the crossing. Previously published under the name Conrad Allen, the Ocean Liner series sets sail for a new generation of readers.

Leseprobe

PRAISE FOR EDWARD MARSTON

‘A master storyteller’

Daily Mail

‘Packed with characters Dickens would have been proud of. Wonderful [and] well-written’

Time Out

‘Once again Marston has created a credible atmosphere within an intriguing story’

Sunday Telegraph

‘Filled with period detail, the pace is steady and the plot is thick with suspects, solutions and clues. Marston has a real knack for blending detail, character and story with great skill’

Historical Novels Review

‘The past is brought to life with brilliant colours, combined with a perfect whodunnit. Who needs more?’

The Guardian

5

MURDER ON THE MINNESOTA

EDWARD MARSTON

To Carrie McGinnis with many thanks for the patience, wise counsel, and editorial expertise

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGEDEDICATIONCHAPTER ONECHAPTER TWOCHAPTER THREECHAPTER FOURCHAPTER FIVECHAPTER SIXCHAPTER SEVENCHAPTER EIGHTCHAPTER NINECHAPTER TENCHAPTER ELEVENCHAPTER TWELVECHAPTER THIRTEENPOSTSCRIPTABOUT THE AUTHORCOPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

May 1908

They were being driven along Fifth Avenue in a hansom when he broke the news to her. Genevieve Masefield sensed that he had something important to divulge but she did not press him. One of the first things she had learned about George Porter Dillman was that he could not be rushed. He liked to take his time. Accordingly, their conversation moved at the same leisurely pace as the cab. With the sun glinting off its harness, the bay mare pulled them along at a gentle and unvarying trot. Genevieve peeped out from under the broad brim of her straw hat to admire the mansions they passed and to enjoy her fleeting fantasies of ownership.

‘I like that one,’ she decided, pointing a finger.

‘You have good taste, Genevieve.’

‘It’s such a gracious house.’

‘I agree,’ he said, ‘but it would come at a gracious price.’

She gave a sigh. ‘There’s always a catch.’

They made a handsome couple. The tall, slim, elegant Dillman was immaculate in a pale grey suit, his straw boater angled to display his striking features to the best advantage. Genevieve wore a dress of white lace and a pair of white lace gloves. A slender young woman with a natural beauty, she exuded a sense of good breeding that was at variance with her origin as the daughter of a London draper. Each complemented the other. Anyone seeing them together would assume from their easy familiarity that they had known each other for a long time. In fact, Dillman had met her only nine months earlier on the maiden voyage of the Lusitania. It had turned out to be a fateful encounter.

The hansom rolled on through the traffic until it reached the Flatiron Building. Genevieve sat forward and craned her neck to look up at what was reputedly the tallest building in the world. When they came to the point where Fifth Avenue and Broadway merged, she gaped afresh at an imperial edifice of red brick, white tile, and terra cotta.

‘What’s that, George?’

‘Madison Square Garden.’

‘It’s enormous!’

‘Oh, we have bigger buildings than that in New York.’

‘It looks so foreign.’

‘The Spanish influence. Inspired by Seville, I’m told.’

‘Look at that tower. It could have come from a cathedral.’

‘Well, I guess that Madison Square Garden is a cathedral of sorts,’ he observed dryly. ‘The tower is almost three hundred and fifty feet high. It was the architect’s crowning achievement.’

‘He must be so proud of it.’

‘He would be, Genevieve, if he were still alive. Unfortunately, he was shot dead in the Roof Garden restaurant.’

Genevieve was shocked. ‘He was murdered?’

‘Yes,’ he explained, settling back in his seat. ‘It caused a huge scandal. Stanford White was a successful society architect. He was shot in the head at point-blank range.’

‘By whom?’

‘The jealous husband of a young lady who claimed that White had seduced her when she was barely sixteen. She was not his only conquest, it transpired. Stanford White had a rather lurid private life. The press had a field day uncovering it.’

‘What happened to the killer?’ she wondered.

‘He’s in a mental institution in Fishkill. The first trial collapsed so they had a second one earlier this year. Harry Thaw – that was his name – was declared insane so he avoided the death penalty. Was there nothing about it in the English newspapers?’

‘Nothing that I saw.’

‘I’m surprised. It dominated the front pages over here. I would have thought that some of your reporters would latch onto the English connection.’

‘English connection?’

‘Yes, Genevieve,’ he said with a smile. ‘Incredible as it may seem, Harry Thaw had an aristocratic brother-in-law. No less a person than the Earl of Yarmouth.’

‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘An earl?’

‘Don’t be fooled by that title. In spite of his blue blood, he was nothing but an unemployed New York actor when he met Thaw’s sister. The story goes that the Earl of Yarmouth was arrested for debt on the morning of his own wedding. They had to pay off his creditors for him.’

Dillman was an excellent guide, patient, knowledgeable, and keen to show her the sights. Genevieve was very grateful. Though she had visited New York City a number of times, she had never had the chance to take a proper look at Manhattan. Working for the Cunard Line was a pleasurable duty but it limited her free time. No sooner did she and Dillman dock in one ship than they were being assigned to another for an east-bound crossing. It suddenly struck Genevieve that her friendship with George Porter Dillman had developed, for the most part, on the treacherous waters of the Atlantic. It was a welcome change to spend more time with him on solid ground.

‘Heavens!’ said Genevieve as another dwelling caught her eye. ‘That’s not a house at all. It’s a veritable palace. An imitation French chateau.’

Dillman grinned. ‘Wait until you see the Vanderbilt mansions.’

‘Why?’

‘They’re even more grandiose. There are three of them on Fifth Avenue. My favourite is the one on the corner of fifty-second Street. It cost every bit of three million dollars.’

‘I know the Vanderbilts like to splash their money around.’

‘Ostentation is all part of the game,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘The house was built by William Kissam Vanderbilt at the behest of his loving wife, Alva. Apparently, it’s a cross between the Chateau de Blois and a Renaissance mansion at Bourges. They also own a summer resort in Newport, Rhode Island. The Marble House is even more sumptuous than their residence here.’

Genevieve was impressed. ‘You seem to know a lot about them, George.’

‘I was once a dinner guest of the Vanderbilts.’

‘Were you?’

‘Not that they would remember me,’ he admitted, ‘and it was not to the Marble House that I was bidden. It was to the other Vanderbilt mansion in Newport. An Italian palazzo of alabaster and gilt. It was built by Cornelius the second for his wife, Alice. They called it the Breakers. You’ll get some idea of its size when I tell you that it needed almost fifty servants to run it.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I was there on that bizarre night when the Vanderbilt ballroom was filled with the uniforms of a historic British regiment. Take my word for it,’ he said, his eyes sparkling nostalgically. ‘I was wearing one of those uniforms.’

She was astonished. ‘You?’

‘Along with all the other actors who were hired for the night. Cornelius the second had delusions that he was the Prince of Wales. His dear wife humoured him by mounting this elaborate charade. It was very realistic. The attention to detail was remarkable.’ Dillman chuckled. ‘I bet you didn’t know that I once served in the British army, did you?’

‘No, George.’

‘It was my first job as an actor. It gave me a taste for it.’

‘You say that Mr Vanderbilt had delusions?’

‘His mind was quietly crumbling, poor fellow.’

‘Think of the expense involved,’ she said, shaking her head in wonder. ‘His wife must have loved him to go to all that trouble on his behalf.’

‘She was devoted to him, Genevieve. And there are far worse people he could have imagined himself to be than the present King Edward. Anyway,’ he went on with a fond smile, ‘that was the social highlight of my life. I had dinner with the Vanderbilts in a splendid red uniform.’

‘Where did all their money come from?’

‘That’s the interesting thing.’

‘Why?’

‘The original Cornelius Vanderbilt started out as the captain of a ferry between New York and New Brunswick. From that humble beginning, he built up a fleet of freighters, then developed a transatlantic steamship line.’ Dillman gave a shrug. ‘After that, he moved into railways and made an even bigger fortune. Transport, Genevieve,’ he noted, wagging a finger. ‘That’s where the Vanderbilt millions came from, and I think there’s a lesson in it for us.’

‘Us?’

‘Of course,’ he replied with mock seriousness. ‘We’re in the transport business as well, remember. We may be minor employees of the Cunard Line at the moment but, if we follow Vanderbilt’s example, we’ll end up ruling the oceans of the world.’

Genevieve laughed. ‘If only it were that easy!’

‘What would you do with all your money?’

‘I wouldn’t waste it on a palatial mansion, I know that.’

‘So how would you spend it, Genevieve?’

She became pensive. ‘I’d travel the globe,’ she said at length.

‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ he confessed, taking his cue, ‘because it brings me to the reason I wanted to show you something of New York today. I was seizing the opportunity while it still exists. If you agree to my suggestion, you won’t be seeing this city again for quite some time.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll be far, far away from here.’

‘Will I?’

He gave a nod. ‘How would you like to have a rest from crossing the Atlantic?’

‘A holiday?’

‘A working holiday, Genevieve. Aboard the Minnesota.’

She frowned slightly. ‘That’s not a Cunard vessel, is it?’

‘No, it belongs to the Great Northern Steamship Company.’

‘I’ve never heard of them.’

‘That’s not surprising,’ he conceded. ‘They’re a very small company. I just happen to have a friend who works for them and he’s asked me to do him a favour.’

‘What sort of favour?’

‘The Minnesota has problems. I won’t bore you with the details now. Suffice it to say that the ship needs some eagle-eyed detectives on its next voyage. I agreed to help.’

‘But you have commitments to the Cunard Line.’

‘I’ve spoken to them about that,’ he said, flicking a speck of dust from his sleeve. ‘They’re perfectly happy to give me leave of absence. We’ve been sailing between here and Liverpool since last September, Genevieve. Our faces are getting a little too familiar. If we’re seen too frequently on Cunard liners, people will start to work out that we can’t really be bona fide passengers.’

‘That would be disastrous.’

‘Exactly. Lose our cover and we limit our effectiveness.’

‘So what’s the answer?’

‘Venture into new territory with the Minnesota.’

‘Where does she sail?’

‘The Pacific.’ He smiled as her face lit up. ‘First port of call is Japan, then we cross to mainland China. We’ll be carrying freight as well as passengers. In fact, that’s one of the reasons they want us aboard. It will be a real challenge for us, Genevieve.’

‘I can see that,’ she said, trying to absorb the shock. ‘I assumed that we’d be back in England by the end of next week. Instead of that, you’re talking about Japan and China. I can’t seem to get my mind around the idea.’

‘I’m sorry to have sprung it on you like this.’

‘It’s certainly a tempting offer.’

‘But not one you have to accept,’ he stressed. ‘I’ve signed on for the next voyage of the Minnesota, but you’re free to work on a Cunard steamer, if you prefer.’

‘Without you?’

‘I’m afraid so, Genevieve.’

‘But we operate so much better as a team.’

‘Of course,’ he said with enthusiasm. ‘Your class and my know-how make a great combination. What do you think? Are you ready for a trip to the Far East?’

‘When do I have to decide?’

‘Pretty soon.’

‘So what you’re offering me is a fait accompli,’ she said reproachfully as doubts began to crowd in on her. ‘You’re putting a gun to my head just like that man in the Roof Garden restaurant.’

‘No!’ he protested.

‘You make a major decision yourself, then ask me to take it or leave it.’

Dillman was defensive. ‘That’s not how it is at all.’

‘Then why not give me more warning?’

‘I only made a definite commitment yesterday.’

‘After you’d spoken to Cunard,’ she reminded him. ‘You should have told me that this was in the wind, George. It’s unfair to go to our employers behind my back.’

‘You’ve always let me negotiate with them in the past.’

‘This is different. I had a right to be told everything at the outset.’

‘The offer came out of the blue, Genevieve.’

‘That doesn’t mean you have to conceal it from me. I thought that this ride today was in the nature of a treat,’ she said, waving an arm at the passing houses. ‘But it was simply a trick. A way of softening me up so that I’d be more amenable to your plan when you finally disclosed it to me. It was a means to an end.’

‘The end was to acquaint you more closely with New York.’

‘Before you whisk me off to the Far East.’

‘Don’t you want to visit Japan and China?’

‘Of course,’ she said, ‘but not necessarily on these terms.’

‘You seemed to like the notion at first.’

‘That was before I realised you’d made secret arrangements.’

Dillman was contrite. ‘Genevieve, I’m sorry,’ he said, squeezing her arm. ‘Maybe I was a trifle high-handed. It was wrong of me. I should have confided in you at an earlier stage. Listen,’ he continued, ‘forget about me and my offer. The Carmania sails for Liverpool on Monday. You can sail with her.’

‘Stop it!’ she said with exasperation. ‘You’re doing it again.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Trying to make up my mind for me.’

He flashed her a smile. ‘Would I dare to do that?’

‘Yes, George, and you know it.’

‘All I’m doing is to offer you a choice.’

‘When you’ve already made yours.’

‘I told you, Genevieve. I’m doing a favour for an old friend.’

‘And what about me?’ she asked with controlled vehemence. ‘I thought that I was your friend as well. Don’t I qualify for a favour?’

‘Calm down,’ he soothed. ‘You can have as many favours as you wish.’

‘The one that I’d value is some plain, old-fashioned honesty.’

‘I am being honest,’ he argued earnestly, ‘and I bore you in mind throughout. When the offer was first put to me, I said that I’d only consider it if you could work with me on the Minnesota. It was a conditional acceptance.’

‘Except that you forgot to mention it to me – until now.’

Dillman took a deep breath. He realised that a hansom was not the ideal place for an argument. Raised voices seemed inappropriate in the gentle rocking motion of the cab. The pleasure of sitting in close proximity to Genevieve was vitiated by the anger he had provoked. His calculations had gone awry. Expecting her to be delighted with the news, he was instead facing a broadside of criticism. It taught him that he did not know Genevieve Masefield quite as well as he thought. The lesson was sobering.

For her part, Genevieve was torn between delight and annoyance. The prospect of a voyage to the Far East conjured up romantic images in her mind, but they were blurred by the circumstances surrounding the offer. What hurt her most was that Dillman was now suggesting that they might work apart when his support was the only thing that made her function as a private detective. Trained as an operative in the Pinkerton Agency, his experience was a vital component in their joint success. Without him, Genevieve would be struggling. There was a more important consideration, and it was one that caused the sharpest pangs. When she first agreed to work for the Cunard Line, she did so largely in order to be close to a man for whom she conceived a real affection. That affection had deepened over a series of voyages. Did it mean so little to him that he could discard her without any visible compunction?

Dillman read her mind. ‘I want you to come with me, Genevieve,’ he said.

‘Do you?’

‘I hate the thought of our being apart.’

‘I wish I could believe that.’

‘Can you have any doubts?’ She searched his eyes for reassurance. ‘I was too hasty. I see that now. I should have shown you the courtesy of discussing this with you at the outset. I regret it bitterly.’

‘So do I, George.’

‘Please don’t let it come between us. It won’t happen again.’

‘What guarantee do I have?’

‘My word.’

‘I thought I already had that,’ she replied sadly.

He lowered his head for moment, accepting her rebuke without complaint. The afternoon tour of New York had met with an unforeseen obstruction. Dillman wondered how he could remove it. He looked up at her again.

‘It was my turn to have delusions,’ he said.

‘Delusions?’

‘Yes. I didn’t think I was the Prince of Wales with a British regiment at my command. Mine was a more ridiculous fancy. I believed that I knew what you wanted.’

‘So you kept me in the dark.’

‘Foolishly.’

‘I’m old enough to make my own decisions, George.’

‘I accept that. What a mess!’ He sighed. ‘Neither of us ends up getting what we’d choose. I sail off to Japan alone and you board the Carmania without me.’ He was in need of reassurance now. ‘Is that what will happen?’

There was a pause. ‘How long will the Minnesota be away?’ she asked.

‘Several weeks.’ He saw her wince. ‘It takes the best part of a fortnight to reach Yokohama. And there’s the small matter of getting to Seattle in the first place. That will involve a very long and tedious train journey. It will be even longer and more tedious without you, Genevieve.’

‘Is that all I am?’ she teased. ‘An amusing distraction on the train?’

‘Of course not!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely sure.’

‘Will you miss me?’

‘Painfully.’

‘What would you do to persuade me to go with you?’

‘Anything,’ he vowed. ‘Anything at all.’

She was touched by the obvious sincerity in his voice. Genevieve disliked arguments as much as he did, and there had been very few of them in the past. This was a new situation, a disagreement that was central to their relationship. They had reached a turning point, and she was uncertain how to proceed. Genevieve was aware of a paradox. Wanting him to view them as an inseparable team, she nevertheless clung to her independence. She agonised in silence. Togetherness and personal pride exerted conflicting claims upon her.

‘Let me tell you what I need before I can even consider this venture,’ she announced, watching him carefully. ‘I want your solemn promise that you will never again take me for granted. It’s humiliating, George.’

‘I understand that. It won’t happen again.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘With all my heart.’

‘Good,’ she said, relaxing. ‘In that case, I have only one more question.’

‘Do you?’

His hopes flickered. Genevieve bestowed a conciliatory kiss on his cheek.

‘What sort of clothes will I need to pack for the Far East?’ she asked.

CHAPTER TWO

It was the most exhilarating journey she had made in her entire life. Genevieve Masefield was so fascinated by the scenic beauty that unfolded around her day after day that she had no time to notice the jolting of the cars, the noise of the locomotive, the clouds of black smoke, the discomfort of the seats, the chatter of her fellow passengers, the shortcomings of the food, or the interminable length of the ride. For someone who had only ever seen English countryside through the window of a train, America was a revelation. Prairies, mountains, rivers, lakes, and forests competed for her attention. The sky was a continual object of wonder, changing in colour and appearance as they surged along beneath its vast awning. What overwhelmed Genevieve was the sheer scale of everything. Bridges were massive, tunnels were endless, and the occasional viaduct completely dwarfed its British counterparts. Herds of cattle ran into thousands, buffalo thundered in profusion across the plains, wheat fields stretched to infinity. Even the towns they passed and the stations at which they stopped were sources of intense curiosity to Genevieve. Crossing the continent was one big adventure.

George Porter Dillman was equally impressed by it all, but more phlegmatic in his response. Though it was his first trip from one coast to another, he had some idea of what to expect and was able to give Genevieve some useful information at every stage. Each new state produced a brief history, each new city unleashed a fresh supply of amusing anecdotes. Dillman was a good listener with a retentive memory. The journey gave him the chance to retell some of the many stories he had picked up about different parts of his native country. Seated opposite him, Genevieve was an appreciative audience. She was never bored. They were a hundred miles from their destination before she asked the obvious question about the vessel on which they were to sail.

‘Why is it called the Minnesota?’

‘I guess it’s because that’s where her owner lives,’ he replied. ‘No less a person than the celebrated James J. Hill.’

‘You’ll have to excuse my ignorance,’ she said. ‘Who exactly is James J. Hill?’

‘A railroad king. He built the Great Northern on the heels of the Northern Pacific Railroad. Both of them end in Seattle. We’re travelling over his tracks right now. Mr Hill is a farsighted businessman. The prize at stake for him was trade with China, so he had the two ships built to further his interests.’

‘Two?’

‘The Minnesota and the Dakota.’

‘No need to ask why he chose that name. It’s the neighbouring state.’

‘Jim Hill is a hero in Dakota,’ said Dillman. ‘His railroad really opened the state up, North and South. Actually, he was a Canadian by birth but he found more scope for his genius south of the border.’

‘He sounds like an enterprising man.’

‘I take my hat off to him. He’s a man with real vision.’

‘Have you ever met him, George?’

‘Unfortunately, no,’ he admitted, ‘but I did get to see him when the Minnesota was launched. And his daughter, for that matter.’

‘His daughter?’

‘Miss Clara Hill. I felt so sorry for her.’

‘Why?’

Dillman gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Things didn’t go quite to plan, Genevieve. It must be all of – what? – five years ago now. April 16, 1903. I doubt if Jim Hill and his daughter have forgotten that date either.’

‘What happened?’ she asked.

‘I had an invitation to the launch at Groton, Connecticut. Now there’s another example of his vision,’ he noted in passing. ‘Since no yard in New England was big enough to build the two giant vessels that were projected, Hill constructed an entirely new yard. Groton was a good choice. He bought a forty-acre shorefront property with a solid rock foundation that ran down to deep water. That’s where the fiasco occurred.’

‘Fiasco?’

‘Launching a ship is a difficult job at the best of times,’ he explained. ‘When the vessel is over twenty thousand tonnes, it’s both difficult and perilous. So much can go wrong.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘They had serious problems with the Minnesota. What a day! Everyone was there for the occasion. I was one of a crowd of thousands on land, and thousands more were watching from boats. Every member of the Connecticut state senate turned out. It was a proud day for the Hill family.’

‘Did it all end in tears?’

‘Not exactly, Genevieve, but it came close to that. I can see Clara Hill now,’ he said reflectively. ‘She looked quite beautiful. She was wearing a maroon coat, a sable boa, and a flower-trimmed hat. But when she tried to crack a bottle of champagne across the bow, nothing happened. A frantic message came up from the yard superintendent and her father rushed off at once.’

‘What was the matter?’

‘The men couldn’t shift the timbers holding the ship. A hundred of them were swinging huge wooden rams without making any impression. I can imagine what Mr Hill said to them. He speaks his mind. Meanwhile, of course,’ he continued, ‘his daughter was shivering in the cold on that platform. She stuck it out bravely for an hour, then retreated to the shelter of the shipyard fence. All we could hear up above were the deafening thuds as the men hammered away relentlessly at the timbers. We began to wonder if the ship would ever be launched.’

‘And was it?’

‘Eventually,’ he confirmed. ‘Another hour went by, then the word came up from below. By this time, Miss Hill had been fortified by hot coffee from her father’s railroad parlour car. She rushed back to the platform, smashed her bottle without ceremony, and the Minnesota slid gracefully down the ways and into the water.’

‘What a relief!’

‘That was the general feeling.’

‘How did you come by the invitation to be there?’

‘I was once in the same business, remember,’ he said wistfully. ‘Of course, we only built yachts up there in Boston. They were tiny by comparison with an ocean-going liner. But you make lots of friends in that world. One of them was involved in the construction of the Minnesota, and thought I’d be interested to take a look at her.’

‘Did you ever imagine that you’d sail in the ship, George?’

‘No, this is a real bonus.’

‘I could say the same.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well,’ she said, glancing through the window as another glorious vista beckoned, ‘I never expected to see any of this. To be frank, I didn’t so much come to America as flee from England. Just look at it, will you?’ she urged, indicating the view with a hand. ‘My mouth has been wide open since we left New York.’ Genevieve turned back to him. ‘If I’d known it would be this beautiful, I might have come sooner.’

‘I’m glad you crossed the Atlantic at precisely the time you did,’ he said fondly. ‘Otherwise, I might never have had the pleasure of meeting you.’

‘The pleasure is mutual.’

They exchanged a smile, then lapsed into silence for a while. Genevieve studied the landscape again before shifting her gaze to the cloud formations above it. Minutes passed before she became aware that he was watching her. There was a contented expression on his face, but it was edged with concern.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Nothing,’ he said evasively.

‘I know that look in your eyes, George. Something is troubling you.’

‘Slightly, perhaps.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well,’ he confessed after a pause, ‘I just hope that I’m not dragging you into something that we’ll both regret. It won’t be a case of five days on a Cunard liner this time. We’ll be at sea far longer, and the trip may be fraught with danger.’

‘Danger?’

‘We’re not just there to look out for thieves and cardsharps, Genevieve. That’s the easy bit. The main reason they want us onboard is to safeguard the cargo. They have a strong suspicion that someone is concealing smuggled goods inside legitimate freight.’

‘What sort of goods?’

‘That’s the problem,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They’re not entirely sure. It’s going to be a tricky business, make no mistake about that. We’re looking for something when we don’t even know what it is.’

‘Do we have any leads at all?’

‘None that I know of, Genevieve, but we’ll be briefed more fully when we get aboard. One thing is certain. These people are professionals. A great deal of money is involved here. Be warned,’ he emphasised. ‘When the rewards are that high, they’ll stop at nothing to avoid detection.’

‘I’ll be very careful,’ she promised.

‘You’ll need to be – and so will I.’

‘What about the sister ship?’

‘Sister ship?’ he echoed.

‘The Dakota,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Do they have the same problems aboard that?’

‘Not any more, I fear. That’s the other thing I should warn you about.’

‘What?’

‘Hazards at sea,’ he said. ‘The Pacific is a hungry ocean, Genevieve. It swallows ships in one frightening gulp. The Dakota ran aground on a submerged reef forty miles from Yokohama. It was a total loss. When that kind of thing happens, the biggest vessel in the world is utterly helpless.’

They reached Seattle with hours to spare before the Minnesota sailed. It was only when she alighted at the station that Genevieve realised how exhausting the train journey had been. Her limbs were stiff and her neck ached. When they were ready to embark, they parted company so that they could appear to be travelling separately. Dillman had learned from experience that they were more effective if they were not recognised as a couple. Individually, they could go places and elicit information that would have been impossible under other circumstances. While accepting the wisdom of the arrangement, Genevieve regretted that she would not see as much of Dillman on the voyage as she would have liked, but she had the reassuring feeling that he would always be there in an emergency.

As soon as she entered the customs shed, she saw that this would be a very different assignment. During her work on transatlantic liners, she dealt almost exclusively with American or European passengers. The Minnesota carried a much more cosmopolitan population. Asiatic faces abounded. There were Chinese, Japanese, Koreans, Filipinos, and even a few Siamese. The simplicity of their clothing made her feel ridiculously overdressed. Genevieve could not understand a word of their rapid conversations, but those who glanced in her direction showed an immediate deference. Of the white passengers, a large majority were American, disparate accents suggesting that they came from all over the continent. It would not be quite so easy for Genevieve to adopt her usual camouflage by joining a group of her compatriots. That could prove a hindrance. On the Lusitania and its like, she blended in perfectly. Here, she saw, she would tend to stick out.

When she came out onto the landing stage and caught her first glimpse of the ship, she stopped in her tracks. Without quite knowing why, Genevieve was profoundly disappointed. Though smaller than the twin flagships of the Cunard Line, the Minnesota was a daunting sight. Over two hundred yards in length, it loomed over the harbour like a gigantic black whale. What set it apart from the ships on which she normally sailed was the fact that it was also a freighter, capable of carrying a cargo of thirty thousand tons as well as substantial amounts of water and coal. The last of a consignment of flour was still being loaded into the hold. To her eye, the Minnesota lacked distinction, and Genevieve put it down to the fact that it had a single funnel at its centre. The Cunard flagships had four stacks apiece. Only three of them were functional, but a fourth had been added for reasons of symmetry. Four stacks suggested power and gave a vessel definition. Genevieve felt that there was something missing from the Minnesota.

Yet it had one revolutionary feature that gave it an advantage over its rivals. A deep, melodious, American voice at her elbow obligingly pointed it out to her.

‘I bet you’ve never seen one of those before, have you?’ he said.

‘One of what?’ she asked, turning to face a big, broad-shouldered man in his thirties with an attractive woman on his arm. ‘I was looking at the funnel.’

‘Forget the funnel. Every steamship has one or more of those. Take a look at that winch,’ he advised, pointing a finger. ‘That’s one of thirty-seven aboard, and every one of them is electric. Isn’t that something?’

‘I suppose it is,’ agreed Genevieve.

‘Listen to that accent, Horry,’ said the woman with a smile. ‘Don’t you love it?’

‘You know me, honey,’ he replied. ‘I adore anything English. Oh,’ he went on, touching his hat politely in greeting. ‘Allow us to introduce ourselves. Horace and Etta Langmead. We’re from Chicago.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ said Genevieve, exchanging brief handshakes with them. ‘My name is Genevieve Masefield. You’ve already guessed where I come from.’

Langmead grinned. ‘We worked that out before you even spoke.’

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Delightfully so. Is that Miss or Mrs Masefield?’

‘Miss, actually.’

He was surprised. ‘Really? You mean, you’re not married yet? What’s wrong with the guys over there? Are they all blind or just plain stupid?’

‘You’re being personal, Horry,’ said his wife. ‘Excuse him, Miss Masefield.’

Genevieve smiled tolerantly. ‘No offence taken.’

They set off towards the vessel and their respective porters, who had waited patiently in their wake, now trailed behind them with their luggage. Genevieve took an instant liking to the newcomers. Horace Langmead was a handsome, confident, well-dressed man who was affable without being presumptuous. His wife, Etta, was a plump, dark-haired, vivacious woman with expressive dimples in her cheeks. From their air of prosperity, Genevieve suspected that they must be first-class passengers, an impression reinforced by the sight of their trunks. She had made her first friends, and she sensed that the Langmeads would be pleasant travelling companions. Her early reservations about the Minnesota began to fade.

‘Are you going to Japan or China?’ wondered Etta Langmead.

‘Both,’ said Genevieve.

‘Wonderful! So are we. Do you hear that, Horry?’

‘Loud and clear,’ he said.

‘Have you been to the Orient before, Miss Masefield?’

‘No,’ said Genevieve, ‘this is my first time.’

‘It’s the same for me,’ admitted Etta with quiet excitement, ‘though my husband has been to Japan and China many times.’

‘Strictly on business,’ he added.

‘What’s Japan like?’ asked Genevieve.

‘Much too good for the Japanese.’

Langmead gave a confiding laugh, then stepped back so that the women could go up the gangway first. When their tickets were examined, they were escorted to their cabins by stewards. The Langmeads had been given one of the eight luxury suites on the boat deck, but Genevieve was conducted to a cabin on the promenade deck. Like all the first-class accommodation, it was on the outside of the vessel, and she had a first view of the Pacific Ocean through one of the portholes. Large, comfortable, and well appointed, the cabin could be electrically heated in colder weather. Genevieve was very pleased with what would be her home for several weeks. She settled in at once by unpacking her trunk and hanging up her clothes in the fitted wardrobe. As the hour of departure neared, she went out onto the promenade deck to join the other passengers at the rail.

It was odd. Crowds of friends and well-wishers lined the quayside, but Genevieve felt no sense of occasion. She had been spoiled. Having sailed on the maiden voyages of both the Lusitania and the Mauretania, she knew what it was like to leave port in a blaze of glory. As she reflected on those early experiences, she could still hear the celebratory roar of the thousands who had gathered in Liverpool to send them off, and the symphony of sirens from the flotilla of vessels on the River Mersey. Fireworks had lit the night sky. History was in the making. Nothing like that was happening now. Genevieve was not travelling on one of the acknowledged greyhounds of the seas. She was on a routine voyage of a ship whose average speed was a modest fourteen knots. Dillman had warned her that there might well be danger aboard. She gave an involuntary shiver. Something told her that the trip would not be as enjoyable as she had first imagined. Genevieve was on a vessel full of total strangers, making a journey into the unknown.

The sound of commotion brought her out of her reverie. She looked down to see a violent altercation taking place at the foot of the gangway. Two members of the crew and a porter seemed to be involved, but the central figure in the argument was a tall man in a black suit and hat. His voice rose effortlessly above the hubbub. Gesticulating angrily, he finally cowed the others into submission. It was only when the man removed his hat to look up at the ship that Genevieve caught sight of his tell-tale white collar. The truculent passenger with the booming voice was a clergyman.

Dillman wasted no time in unpacking his luggage. No sooner had he been shown to his cabin on the upper deck than he set off on a preliminary reconnaissance of the ship. The Minnesota had a luxury and elegance that were necessary to attract passengers on lengthy voyages to the Orient. Considerable money had evidently been spent on the fixtures and fittings. He was particularly impressed by the covered promenade on the upper deck, allowing him to circle the superstructure in its entirety. Windows existed on all three sides, an unusual feature in a liner of that type. A large saloon was decorated with style and furnished with care. Aft of the saloon was a grand staircase with panelled walls. Ascending the steps until he reached the promenade deck, Dillman came out into a corridor that led to the library. Chords on a piano reached his ears and, through an open door, he saw that someone was playing the instrument in what was called the Ladies’ Boudoir. He smiled when he read the name. The place was out of bounds to him, but Genevieve Masefield could enter at will and might gather some useful gossip in the female sanctuary. He wondered if she could also play the piano.

After a brief visit to the boat deck and the bridge deck, he worked his way back down through the vessel until he reached the orlop deck. Given over to freight and food stores, it was inaccessible to unauthorised personnel. Dillman resolved to explore the area at the earliest opportunity. In order to do his job properly, he was determined to see every inch of the Minnesota. As he made his way back up the stairs, there was a long blast on the siren to signal departure. Lines were cast off, cheers went up from the onlookers, then tugs pulled her clear of land and out into Puget Sound. Dillman was too seasoned a sailor to feel the need to be on deck at the critical moment. He decided to return to his cabin to unpack. When he reached the upper deck, however, he was met by a strange sight. Two stewards were in animated discussion farther down the passageway. One of them, with a cabin trunk on a trolley, seemed to be reprimanding the other, keeping his voice low and relying on graphic gestures to reinforce his argument. The second steward, a Mexican, eventually conceded defeat and went into the cabin. Moments later, two passengers came out through the door. The first was an elderly man of middle height with grey hair slicked back neatly over his head. His companion was a tall, stringy clergyman in his forties with rimless eyeglasses balanced on a hooked nose. Their conversation was altogether more civilised. When the older man offered an apology, the clergyman waved it away and beamed tolerantly. The Mexican steward emerged from the cabin with various items of baggage. After shooting him a look of disgust, the other steward wheeled the trunk into the room, followed by the clergyman.

The elderly passenger strode towards Dillman with a quiet smile.

‘Age before religion,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m in luck.’

‘What was the problem?’ asked Dillman.

‘Oh, some confusion over the cabins. I asked specifically for one with a private bath, but the steward put me in there by mistake.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘His English is a little shaky. He didn’t understand when I complained.’

‘His colleague was giving him quite a roasting.’

‘It’s all sorted out now, thanks to Father Slattery.’

‘I’m surprised to see a priest in first class,’ observed Dillman. ‘The Church is always preaching poverty. How can our friend afford a cabin on this deck?’

‘He can’t,’ explained the other. ‘But he obviously had a loyal congregation. Father Slattery is a Catholic priest, off to do missionary work in China. Anticipating the hardship he might face when he gets there, his congregation decided that he would at least travel in comfort. They clubbed together and bought him a first-class ticket.’

‘That was very kind of them.’

‘Yes, they must be sorry to lose him.’ He used a key to unlock a door, then stood back so that the Mexican steward could take his luggage in. ‘Unfortunately, my Spanish is no better than his English. Do you think I should give him a tip?’

‘If it was an honest mistake.’

‘It was,’ said the other, taking a dollar from his pocket. ‘Actually, I think it was the chief steward’s fault for assigning me to the wrong cabin in the first place.’ When the steward came out, he slipped the money into his palm and sent him off. He extended a friendly hand towards Dillman. ‘I’m Rutherford Blaine, by the way. It looks as if we’re going to be neighbours.’

‘George Dillman,’ said the other, noting the firmness of his handshake.

‘How far are you going, Mr Dillman?’

‘All the way. It’s a round trip.’

‘I wish I had your stamina.’

‘What about you?’

‘Tokyo,’ said Blaine. ‘When I’m done there, I head straight back home on another vessel. Marie doesn’t like me to stay away for too long.’

‘Marie?’

‘My wife.’

‘She’s not travelling with you?’

‘Not on this trip.’

Dillman was about to ask his new neighbour if he had been to Japan before when the clergyman stepped out of his cabin. A disgruntled steward came after him and stalked off down the passageway. Blaine was amused.

‘I think the congregation forgot to provide their priest with a tip.’

Slattery walked towards them. ‘I feel as if I’m on the brink of a great adventure,’ he declared. ‘Don’t you, Mr Blaine? It’s exhilarating.’ He thrust a bony hand at Dillman. ‘Liam Slattery.’

‘This is Mr Dillman,’ said Blaine.

‘Welcome aboard, Father,’ said Dillman as they shook hands. ‘I understand that you’re a missionary.’

‘Wherever God calls me, I must go.’

‘He obviously wants you to travel in style.’

‘I always find luxury a little embarrassing.’

‘It never embarrasses me,’ said Blaine. ‘I revel in it.’

‘You have a hedonistic streak, sir,’ chided Slattery.

‘No, Father. I have a touch of arthritis, that’s all. It appreciates a soft chair and a comfortable bed. Luxury somehow keeps the twinges under control.’

‘Prayer might do the same for you, Mr Blaine.’

‘I’ve never found that.’

‘Are you a practising Christian?’

‘Of course, Father.’

‘Roman Catholic, I hope?’

‘Baptist.’

Slattery was appalled. ‘What a pity!’

‘Each man follows God in his own way,’ said Blaine, pushing open the door of his cabin. ‘Do excuse me, gentlemen. I have to unpack my cases.’

Father Slattery watched him go, then switched his attention to Dillman. Eyes glinting under bushy eyebrows, he appraised him shrewdly. There was a fearlessness in his gaze that the detective had to admire.

‘You’re a brave man, Father Slattery,’ he commented.

‘Am I?’

‘Catholic missionaries have suffered badly in China. I remember reading the reports of the Boxer Rebellion. Some terrible outrages were inflicted on your colleagues.’

‘We’re used to persecution, Mr Dillman.’

‘Do you have no qualms?’

‘None whatsoever,’ said Slattery boldly. ‘The situation in China has improved markedly in the past couple of years. Even if it hadn’t, I’d still answer the call.’

‘Have you been abroad before?’

‘No, Mr Dillman. My life so far has been spent in America. In San Francisco, for the most part. It’s a beautiful city with a rich Catholic heritage.’

‘So I understand.’

‘I leave with great regret, but my future is elsewhere.’

‘Good luck with your missionary work,’ said Dillman, putting his key into the lock of his cabin. ‘I wish you every success in China.’

‘Oh, I’m not waiting until I get there, Mr Dillman.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My work starts right here.’

Dillman was surprised. ‘Onboard the Minnesota?’

‘Of course,’ said Slattery with a broad grin. ‘There are over fifteen hundred passengers on this ship, including a large number of Chinese. Why wait for weeks until I reach China when I can begin the search for converts here?’

‘No reason at all, I suppose.’

‘My first move will be to take services aboard.’

‘But the ship already has a chaplain.’

Slattery was disdainful. ‘An Anglican,’ he said with unconcealed disapproval. ‘I see to the needs of those who follow the true religion. Tell me, Mr Dillman,’ he went on, moving in closer. ‘Are you, by any chance, a Catholic?’

‘No, Father.’

‘May I ask why not?’

‘I don’t have time to explain at the moment.’

‘Later, then,’ said Slattery firmly. ‘We’ll discuss the matter at length.’

‘There’s nothing to discuss.’

‘Oh, yes there is. Your spiritual salvation.’

‘That’s been taken care of, Father Slattery.’

‘I doubt that, my friend. We need a proper debate.’

‘But it’s quite unnecessary.’

‘I insist, Mr Dillman,’ said the priest, squeezing his arm. ‘I insist.’

Turning on his heel, Slattery went back to his cabin and disappeared inside. Dillman was slightly dazed, wondering why an invitation to a theological debate sounded so much like a threat.

CHAPTER THREE

‘It’s great to see you again, George,’ he said, pumping Dillman’s arm. ‘I wasn’t sure that you could make it in time. It’s a heck of a train ride from New York.’

‘I survived, Mike.’

‘What about your partner?’

‘Genevieve is as tough as they come,’ said Dillman with an affectionate smile. ‘Don’t worry about her. She took the journey in her stride without complaint.’

‘I look forward to meeting the lady.’

Mike Roebuck was the purser on the Minnesota. Still in his thirties, he was a cheerful man of medium build with rugged features and a roguish grin. He and Dillman were old friends who had not seen each other for a number of years. It was a happy reunion. After exchanging banter for a few minutes, Roebuck spread his arms.

‘What’s the verdict, George?’ he asked.

‘That purser’s uniform lends you real distinction.’

‘I wasn’t talking about myself, you idiot. What do you think of the Minnesota?’

‘I like what I’ve seen of her, Mike.’

‘She’s a tidy ship,’ said Roebuck proudly. ‘Best I’ve ever sailed on.’

‘I’ll enjoy finding my way around.’

‘Let me give you some help.’

The two men were in the purser’s office, a neat, rectangular cabin with a large desk at its centre. Charts and framed photographs covered the walls. A faint whiff of polish hung in the air. Roebuck indicated the drawing that was laid out on the desk. It was a detailed plan of the vessel.

‘This is just what I need,’ said Dillman, poring over it with interest.

‘There’s another one underneath, giving you a cross-section.’

‘Excellent. Can I borrow these, Mike?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘What’s this?’ asked Dillman in surprise, spotting a name on the drawing. ‘Am I seeing things or does it actually say Opium Den?’

Roebuck grinned. ‘We don’t call it that, George, but that’s what it amounts to. Let’s face it. You sail to and from China, you’re going to carry a lot of Chinese passengers. The guy who designed the ship reckoned that they ought to have a space set aside for them.’ He jabbed a stubby finger at the drawing. ‘There it is.’

‘I’ll enjoy studying this,’ said Dillman, straightening up.

‘What else do you need?’

‘A look at the manifest.’

‘I had a rough copy made for you,’ said Roebuck, opening a drawer to extract a small sheaf of papers. ‘As you’ll see, we’ve got a mixed cargo. There’s a full passenger list as well and various other bits of information. Here you are, George,’ he said, handing the papers to Dillman. ‘You’ll find everything here except the shoe size of the captain. Oh, by the way, he wants to meet you.’

‘What sort of man is Captain Piercey?’

‘A veteran sailor. Runs a tight ship. I think he’s a first-rate skipper.’

‘Does he mind having us onboard?’

‘Heck, no!’ exclaimed Roebuck, clapping him good-humouredly on the shoulder. ‘Captain Piercey is delighted to see you. So am I, George. And not simply because we go back a long way together.’

‘How did you get on to me in the first place?’

‘Your reputation went before you.’

Dillman was astonished. ‘All the way to Seattle?’

‘Word travels,’ said Roebuck. ‘One of our officers served on the Mauretania for a while. We were talking about security with him when your name suddenly popped up. Tom Colmore gave us glowing reports of what you did during the maiden voyage.’

‘I had a lot of help,’ said Dillman modestly.

‘From what I hear, you and your partner saved the day. And it wasn’t an isolated case. According to Tom, you’re their number-one man. You’ve had a string of successes on Cunard ships. That’s why we were so keen to poach you.’

‘Borrow us, Mike,’ corrected Dillman. ‘We’re only on loan. When this voyage is over, we go back to the transatlantic service.’

‘What if you fall in love with the magic of the Orient?’

‘I never allow distractions.’

Roebuck laughed. ‘You always were a single-minded son of a gun.’ His face slowly hardened. ‘Okay,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the desk, ‘let’s get down to serious business. We’ve got problems, George. We have strong reason to believe that somebody is smuggling right under our noses. We can smell the stink, but we can’t quite work out where it comes from.’

‘What alerted you?’

‘A name that kept appearing on our passenger list. Mr Rance Gilpatrick. He’s a real menace. The cops have a file inches thick on him but he’s far too clever to be caught. His sidekicks always take the rap.’

‘Is he aboard now?’

‘Oh, yes. Gilpatrick has one of the premier suites on the boat deck.’

‘Does he travel alone?’

‘No, George,’ said Roebuck with a roll of his eyes. ‘He always brings his wife. Except that the lady who’s sharing his cabin today is not the same one we had a few months ago. The time before that, there was a different one again. He seems to have an endless supply of Mrs Gilpatrick’s. The guy must breed them.’

‘Maybe he’s a bigamist.’

‘I don’t think any of these unions have been blessed in the sight of the Lord.’

‘Like that, is it?’

‘Judge for yourself, George. The last “wife” was thirty years younger than him.’

‘No law against that.’

‘But there is a law against falsifying passports.’

‘So why hasn’t he been picked up?’