Murder on the Celtic by Conrad Allen Page A

feel proud when I walk into a room with you on my arm,” he confided. “It was a joy to have you with me on the tour.”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œI hope you weren’t too bored, having to listen to me spout on.”
    â€œNot at all,” she said. “Besides, you didn’t only talk on literarysubjects. You gave lectures on spiritualism as well and we share a profound interest in that.”
    â€œI just wish that the schedule had not been quite so full.”
    â€œPeople wanted to hear you, Arthur,” she said. “That’s why so many different venues had to be fitted in. Now that we’re on the way home, you’ll have time for a nice rest.”
    â€œSo will you.” He slipped off his coat and put it on the back of a chair. “What do you make of the
Celtic
?”
    â€œShe’s luxurious.”
    â€œMuch more so than the
Elbe,
the German ship I sailed on the first time I came to America.”
    â€œI thought you sailed on the Cunard line.”
    â€œNo,” he explained, “that was on the return voyage to Liverpool. The ship was the
Etruria
— nowhere near as large and lavish as this.”
    â€œWhich lecture tour did you prefer?” she asked, turning her back so that he could unhook her necklace. “The first or the second?”
    â€œOh, this one, without a doubt.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œYou were with me, for a start. Last time, I was very lonely. I had nobody to look after me.”
    â€œIs that the only reason you brought me?” she teased. “So that I could act as your nursemaid?”
    â€œOf course not,” he said, holding the necklace in the palm of his hand. “You inspire me, Jean. You know that.” As she turned to face him, he gave her the necklace. “When you’re beside me, I feel complete.”
    â€œWhat a lovely compliment!”
    â€œAnd I didn’t just want your companionship. I was desperately keen to show off America to you, like a child showing off a new toy.”
    She laughed. “A rather large toy!”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    â€œI do, Arthur, and I’m so grateful that you brought me. It was an education from start to finish.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have come without you.”
    â€œI wouldn’t have
let
you come.” She kissed him again, then put the necklace down on a small table and began to remove her earrings. “What are we going to do on the voyage?”
    â€œSleep, for the most part.”
    â€œWe’re neither of us suited to hibernation.”
    â€œThen we’ll enjoy the facilities of the vessel. There’s a whole program of events, including a concert tomorrow afternoon. You ought to be singing in that, Jean.”
    â€œI’ve retired from public performance.”
    â€œAs long as I can still have private ones,” insisted Conan Doyle. “I love to hear your voice.”
    She stifled a yawn. “Oh, I do beg your pardon!”
    â€œYou’re tired. Go to bed.”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI thought I might just stay up for a little while.”
    â€œYou want to write something, don’t you?” she said with an understanding smile. “I know that look in your eye. When you have a new idea, you’re burning to put it down on paper.”
    â€œI’ve trained myself to write whenever inspiration strikes, and in whatever circumstances. I’m not the kind of author who locks himself away in an ivory tower to wait for the prompting of his Muse. I can work almost anywhere,” he said, opening a bag to take out a sheaf of paper. “If we’d stayed any longer in the dining saloon, I’d have reached for the menu and started writing on the back of it.”
    â€œWhat’s this idea for, Arthur — a short story or a novel?”
    â€œWait and see.”
    â€œAs long as you don’t stay up too late.”
    â€œI’m a slave to the creative