railing. “You missed fascinating talk.” He said nothing. “About the implications of tatami mats. I also spoke with Lady Darley. I get the distinct feeling that she’s led an unorthodox life. Not as completely sure of herself, socially speaking, as she appears to be. I’d say an earldom is a big step up from where she started. I wonder if that’s why she’s travelling without maids? Servants can be so intimidating.” His reply was a grunt. I sighed.
“Are you going to tell me who Wilma Roland is?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then why did you sprint out after the purser?”
“I did not sprint.”
“Holmes.”
“I am considering revealing my identity, that I might look at her things before they are packed away.”
“Oh, Lord, please don’t do that.” Invoking the name of Sherlock Holmes to the purser would spread it across the ship in no time flat,condemning him—and worse, me—to three weeks of sidling away from earnest passengers with the most interesting problems, or three weeks in our cabin.
“A woman disappears from the ship a blackmailer is on. And do not tell me that coincidences have been known to occur.”
“Although they do happen. You think the purser will hurry to clear her cabin?”
“They’re sending her trunks back from Colombo.”
“Then we’ll have to break in. If I provide a distraction, how long would you need?”
“Six or seven minutes should do it.”
“Most everyone is busy with tea, including the purser’s men. If it were done …”
He flicked the end of his cigarette into the wind. “… ’twere well it were done quickly.”
On our way, I caught up a large flower arrangement from a meeting-place of the hallways, and stood with it outside the door to 312. Holmes tried the handle, tapped gently at the door, then dropped to his heels to work his lock-picks. He paused.
“Scratches.”
“Every lock on the ship is scratched, Holmes.” Keys were not easy to aim when the seas were up.
“Recent.”
“Just get on with it, please.”
The laden vase was heavy. Flowers tickled my nose. I was just about to offer to trade places when I heard a click . He stepped inside, shut the door—and two uniformed men walked around the corner.
The vase did not break when it hit the carpeting, although I’d tried hard, but it did vomit flowers in all directions. Water glugged across the corridor, soaking the wool, and the exclamations of the men mingled with my own cries of horror and loud apologies and …
And it was well more than seven minutes before the catastrophe was cleared and the last apology given, along with a fervent promise that, yes,next time one of the old ladies wanted a bouquet of flowers I’d tell her to order it from the ship’s florist.
Fortunately, cabin 312 had a generous porthole, and Holmes was gone when the two men went inside. Back on deck, the state of his buttons told me how close the fit had been, while the set of his shoulders testified that our bit of chicanery had not given him much.
“Did you find any further signs that someone broke in?” I asked him.
“Nothing obvious.”
No hastily scrubbed bloodstains, no upturned mattresses, then. “Tell me I didn’t spoil that nice bit of carpet for nothing?”
“Oh, Miss Roland was definitely onboard at some point.”
“Could she have got off again in Bombay?” We’d been sitting at the docks long enough for the entire passenger list to march up and down the gangways ten times.
“There were three hairs on the bedcover, but none on the pillow-case beneath. The imprint of a body, less the shoes.”
“As if she’d lain down for a time on top of the bed.”
“Also, it won’t take the steward long to pack up her goods. Most of it remains in her trunk or her handbag.”
“Perhaps she’s secreted away with a lover?”
“The purser said that no other passenger has failed to appear for at least one of the meals.”
“He could be down in Second Class? Or she,” I amended, then
“Are you going to tell me who Wilma Roland is?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then why did you sprint out after the purser?”
“I did not sprint.”
“Holmes.”
“I am considering revealing my identity, that I might look at her things before they are packed away.”
“Oh, Lord, please don’t do that.” Invoking the name of Sherlock Holmes to the purser would spread it across the ship in no time flat,condemning him—and worse, me—to three weeks of sidling away from earnest passengers with the most interesting problems, or three weeks in our cabin.
“A woman disappears from the ship a blackmailer is on. And do not tell me that coincidences have been known to occur.”
“Although they do happen. You think the purser will hurry to clear her cabin?”
“They’re sending her trunks back from Colombo.”
“Then we’ll have to break in. If I provide a distraction, how long would you need?”
“Six or seven minutes should do it.”
“Most everyone is busy with tea, including the purser’s men. If it were done …”
He flicked the end of his cigarette into the wind. “… ’twere well it were done quickly.”
On our way, I caught up a large flower arrangement from a meeting-place of the hallways, and stood with it outside the door to 312. Holmes tried the handle, tapped gently at the door, then dropped to his heels to work his lock-picks. He paused.
“Scratches.”
“Every lock on the ship is scratched, Holmes.” Keys were not easy to aim when the seas were up.
“Recent.”
“Just get on with it, please.”
The laden vase was heavy. Flowers tickled my nose. I was just about to offer to trade places when I heard a click . He stepped inside, shut the door—and two uniformed men walked around the corner.
The vase did not break when it hit the carpeting, although I’d tried hard, but it did vomit flowers in all directions. Water glugged across the corridor, soaking the wool, and the exclamations of the men mingled with my own cries of horror and loud apologies and …
And it was well more than seven minutes before the catastrophe was cleared and the last apology given, along with a fervent promise that, yes,next time one of the old ladies wanted a bouquet of flowers I’d tell her to order it from the ship’s florist.
Fortunately, cabin 312 had a generous porthole, and Holmes was gone when the two men went inside. Back on deck, the state of his buttons told me how close the fit had been, while the set of his shoulders testified that our bit of chicanery had not given him much.
“Did you find any further signs that someone broke in?” I asked him.
“Nothing obvious.”
No hastily scrubbed bloodstains, no upturned mattresses, then. “Tell me I didn’t spoil that nice bit of carpet for nothing?”
“Oh, Miss Roland was definitely onboard at some point.”
“Could she have got off again in Bombay?” We’d been sitting at the docks long enough for the entire passenger list to march up and down the gangways ten times.
“There were three hairs on the bedcover, but none on the pillow-case beneath. The imprint of a body, less the shoes.”
“As if she’d lain down for a time on top of the bed.”
“Also, it won’t take the steward long to pack up her goods. Most of it remains in her trunk or her handbag.”
“Perhaps she’s secreted away with a lover?”
“The purser said that no other passenger has failed to appear for at least one of the meals.”
“He could be down in Second Class? Or she,” I amended, then
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