staring at me as if I have entered with a snake in hand. “You are completely demented.”
“I am a newspaper reporter for the New York World. I smell a story.”
“For your information, I am also a newspaper reporter.”
My turn to gape. “No!”
“Yes.”
“What paper? The London—”
“The Cape Town Lion .”
“The what?”
“A newspaper in South Africa.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Miss Bly, that statement exposes your ignorance of history, geography, and sociology. Africa was populated with humans when dinosaurs still roamed New York.”
It is obvious that this is not a man I will win many arguments with. He is pliable to a frontal assault by a small woman, but once the conversation turned to more heady subjects, he becomes a giant.
“Mr. Selous, I need to ask you a very simple question. What did Mr. Cleveland look like?”
He takes a deep breath. It is easy to see that he is struggling with the temptation to remove me physically from his room. But I am confident that a proper Brit would hesitate to manhandle a woman just as an American would.
Hopefully.
“The man,” he says, slowly, deliberately, “was perhaps in his thirties. Medium build. Average height. Hair … brown, I believe. Eyes … I’m not sure. My inclination is to say brown.”
“Medium built, brown hair, brown eyes, would fit most of the men in the Western Hemisphere.”
He gives me a tight grin. Like a dog ready to bite. “I am certain that is neither the fault of Mr. Cleveland nor me. Now, madam, would you mind leaving my room so I can get back to bed?”
“Where were you when you spoke to him?”
“I was standing beside my luggage on the beach, waiting for a boat to take me to the ship. He told me his name was Cleveland and asked me to tell the captain he would be staying ashore in Port Said. A business matter, he said.”
“Ah…”
He controls himself. “What does ‘ah’ mean? You make it sound as if you have had a revelation from the gods on Olympus.”
“You had luggage with you, obviously boarding the ship for the first time. The man knew that you wouldn’t recognize him while passengers who had come across with him from Italy would.”
“I was the only person on the beach.”
“Very convenient.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t you see? You don’t know that was John Cleveland; it was just a man who walked up to you and—”
“ Miss Bly. I am not in the habit of being approached by dead men and asked to carry a message. Now, I suggest you take your hysterics out of my cabin before I am forced to have you removed by ship’s officers.”
I could see that a harmonious relationship with the man who has identified himself as a fellow reporter is impossible.
I open the door to leave but pause after stepping out to put a parting shot over his bow.
“I don’t know how reporting is done in South Africa, but from your attitude I must assume your efforts are restricted to news of weddings, funerals, and dog bites.”
After delivering that fine retort, I slam the stateroom door shut hard enough to wake the dead.
Whipping around, I’m doomed to meet the steward again coming out of Mr. Cleveland’s stateroom.
Seeing me leave a man’s room at night, the rogue gives me a knowing grin.
I give him a searing glare that wipes it off his face.
FREDERICK SELOUS IN THE HEART OF AFRICA
9
I return to my cabin but pace like a trapped animal, with more questions buzzing in my head. Wouldn’t Cleveland have come back to the ship to secure his own luggage rather than leave matters to a stranger on the beach? And orders for his luggage to Lord Warton?
One conclusion I reach is that the key must be put in a safe place until I can figure out what to do with it. The best place I can think of is the secret compartments in my shoes.
The dear shoemaker who made my shoes for the trip suggested that I let him make the heels hollow, so I’d be able to put some gold coins in them. “That way if
“I am a newspaper reporter for the New York World. I smell a story.”
“For your information, I am also a newspaper reporter.”
My turn to gape. “No!”
“Yes.”
“What paper? The London—”
“The Cape Town Lion .”
“The what?”
“A newspaper in South Africa.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Miss Bly, that statement exposes your ignorance of history, geography, and sociology. Africa was populated with humans when dinosaurs still roamed New York.”
It is obvious that this is not a man I will win many arguments with. He is pliable to a frontal assault by a small woman, but once the conversation turned to more heady subjects, he becomes a giant.
“Mr. Selous, I need to ask you a very simple question. What did Mr. Cleveland look like?”
He takes a deep breath. It is easy to see that he is struggling with the temptation to remove me physically from his room. But I am confident that a proper Brit would hesitate to manhandle a woman just as an American would.
Hopefully.
“The man,” he says, slowly, deliberately, “was perhaps in his thirties. Medium build. Average height. Hair … brown, I believe. Eyes … I’m not sure. My inclination is to say brown.”
“Medium built, brown hair, brown eyes, would fit most of the men in the Western Hemisphere.”
He gives me a tight grin. Like a dog ready to bite. “I am certain that is neither the fault of Mr. Cleveland nor me. Now, madam, would you mind leaving my room so I can get back to bed?”
“Where were you when you spoke to him?”
“I was standing beside my luggage on the beach, waiting for a boat to take me to the ship. He told me his name was Cleveland and asked me to tell the captain he would be staying ashore in Port Said. A business matter, he said.”
“Ah…”
He controls himself. “What does ‘ah’ mean? You make it sound as if you have had a revelation from the gods on Olympus.”
“You had luggage with you, obviously boarding the ship for the first time. The man knew that you wouldn’t recognize him while passengers who had come across with him from Italy would.”
“I was the only person on the beach.”
“Very convenient.”
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t you see? You don’t know that was John Cleveland; it was just a man who walked up to you and—”
“ Miss Bly. I am not in the habit of being approached by dead men and asked to carry a message. Now, I suggest you take your hysterics out of my cabin before I am forced to have you removed by ship’s officers.”
I could see that a harmonious relationship with the man who has identified himself as a fellow reporter is impossible.
I open the door to leave but pause after stepping out to put a parting shot over his bow.
“I don’t know how reporting is done in South Africa, but from your attitude I must assume your efforts are restricted to news of weddings, funerals, and dog bites.”
After delivering that fine retort, I slam the stateroom door shut hard enough to wake the dead.
Whipping around, I’m doomed to meet the steward again coming out of Mr. Cleveland’s stateroom.
Seeing me leave a man’s room at night, the rogue gives me a knowing grin.
I give him a searing glare that wipes it off his face.
FREDERICK SELOUS IN THE HEART OF AFRICA
9
I return to my cabin but pace like a trapped animal, with more questions buzzing in my head. Wouldn’t Cleveland have come back to the ship to secure his own luggage rather than leave matters to a stranger on the beach? And orders for his luggage to Lord Warton?
One conclusion I reach is that the key must be put in a safe place until I can figure out what to do with it. The best place I can think of is the secret compartments in my shoes.
The dear shoemaker who made my shoes for the trip suggested that I let him make the heels hollow, so I’d be able to put some gold coins in them. “That way if
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