Dead Man’s Shoes Page 2

  “You don’t look it. You look what you are, a hopeless drunkard. I suppose you get bouts of delirium tremens?”

  “No, not really. A few lizards at times. Well, rather a lot. You know, all over the bed. But I haven’t seen them for a long time. Must have jumped in the sea.”

  An extraordinary sound came from Larkin which was presumably intended to express amusement.

  “They’ll be back,” he said. “Plenty of them. You can’t soak like that without paying for it.”

  “Who said I don’t pay for it? Never owed a penny in my life.”

  Suddenly Ronald Ferry with unsteady but genuine anger spoke to Larkin.

  “You’ve said enough,” he said. “Mind your own business.”

  Ferry looked and sounded threatening. Even Larkin seemed to realize that he had gone too far.

  “I thought we were talking politics,” he said. “I remarked that I had belonged to the British Fascists before the war, and I’m still proud of it.”

  “Better not say that when Mr Kutz is here,” warned Appleyard.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not quite sane on the subject of Fascism. Or Communism either. Perhaps none of us would be if we had passed through what he has.”

  “These stories are usually grossly exaggerated,” said Larkin. But he seemed to grow thoughtful and gave his fellow-passengers a respite from his bellowing voice.

  The morning passed without incident and when Apple-yard went up for a drink with the Captain before lunch he was able to report that there had been no dissension since breakfast.

  “You know, sir,” he said, “I’m beginning to think that this man Larkin has some reason of his own for deliberately provoking us all. It simply can’t be a natural thing. Nobody could be so offensive unless he planned to be.”

  “I don’t know,” said Bidlake. “There are some pretty unpleasant people in the world.”

  “But not that unpleasant. I’m convinced it’s an act. Why should he go for a quiet and harmless man like Jerry Butt?”

  “Embittered, perhaps. Can’t help it. Don’t forget what he’s going home to.”

  “Whatever it is, it makes the saloon hell. I hate the thought of going in to dinner. Thank heaven I’m on duty tonight.”

  “Only two days more, though,” pointed out Captain Bidlake.

  “I’m afraid of what may happen in those two days.”

  “Now, Appleyard, you’re imagining things again. What could happen?”

  “Well, when I look at the faces round the table I’m inclined to think that anything could. Murder, even.”

  Bidlake looked grave.

  “You mean that?”

  “I’m afraid I do, sir. If Larkin himself isn’t a killer—and I for one believe he is—he’s going the right way to turn someone else into one.”

  “No one kills a man just because he’s rude, Appleyard.”

  “It depends. However, as you say, two days more will see us home.”

  But that evening at dinner a climax was reached. Apple-yard was not present, or he would have been more than ever convinced that Larkin’s provocations were the result of a deliberate plan.

  The meal started quietly. Larkin had a large appetite and seemed to be chiefly interested in his food. Captain Bidlake talked with Mrs Roper on his right and she answered amiably, though in her usual clipped sentences. The two knew each other fairly well by now, for Mrs Roper was making the round trip and had been on the Saragossa for the best part of a month.

  “Is your husband meeting you on Thursday?” Bidlake asked.

  “No, poor boy. Too busy. Vicar’s away and he’s got the whole blasted parish on his hands.”

  Mr Roper, it will have been gathered, was a curate. He worked in Leeds.

  “Wish he could have come. Done him good. Needs picking up. Try to get him out for a hike sometimes, but he won’t leave his work. Takes it too seriously. Conscientious. Hell of a life.”

  “You don’t care for it?”

  “Keep away. Told Phil I should before we married. Never make a she-parson out of me. Look after the old boy—that’s my job. Only been married a year.”

  Still nothing came from Larkin. But Jerry Butt evidently felt that he owed something to the conversation. He enunciated carefully, concentrating on the important matter of his sentence:

  “Did I hear you say the other day that your husband worked in Leeds, Mrs Roper?”

  “S’right. St Hengist’s. Big parish.”

  Jerry tried hard.

  “I know Leeds,” he managed, but there, though everyone waited, his effort petered out.

  It was at this point that the volcano which was Larkin suddenly erupted.

  “I was saying this morning, Mr Kutz, that I belonged to the British Fascists before the war, and I was told that you wouldn’t approve of that. Why not?”

  There was a silence so complete that it seemed as though everyone had ceased to eat, certainly to move. Glances but no more went to Kutz.

  One would have said he was the most composed person in the room. He looked steadily at Larkin with his cold, pale eyes. He made no answer and after ten seconds deliberately picked up his glass and drank, then continued calmly to eat his meal.

  “Are you deaf?” shouted Larkin. “Or don’t you want to hear? Sometimes I think it was a pity we fought Hitler at all. He was the only man who knew how to deal with small nations. Perhaps you don’t agree?”

  Still there was not the slightest sign that Kutz had heard him. He finished what was on his plate and sat tranquilly indifferent to everything about him.

  This time it was Larkin who got up and walked out of the saloon.

  The situation was saved by Mrs Roper—and not for the first time. She turned to Jerry Butt.

  “Know it well?” she asked as though their conversation had never been interrupted.

  Jerry looked startled at being addressed, but came up gamely.

  “Intimately,” he said.

  The meal went on, and when coffee was brought and Larkin did not return the little gathering in the saloon became almost cheerful. Then Gunner came in and spoke to Captain Bidlake.

  “I think Mr Larkin’s gone to bed,” he said. “I took him a cup of coffee and his door was locked. He shouted to me to go away and I’m pretty sure his voice came from his bunk.”

  It seemed that Gunner was right, for Larkin did not appear again in the saloon that evening.

  Next day was the last at sea, for on the following morning they would enter the Thames and before evening, Captain Bidlake devoutly hoped, the last of the passengers would have left the ship.

  The sea was rough, but there was sunshine as they came up the Channel. Moreover, as if to make up for the rolling of the ship, there was a miraculous peace in the saloon. Larkin appeared, but seemed quite subdued. Breakfast and lunch passed without incident and dinner was only marked by a brief but unpleasant brush between Larkin and Gunner.

  Gunner was a thin but muscular man of thirty with a small moustache, a ready grin and a wallet full of photos of his wife and children which he was a little too ready to display. He had a pleasant though breezy manner with the passengers, whom he was inclined to shepherd about in a kindly but familiar way which most of them liked. He was never cheeky, but there was certainly nothing servile about him.

  Prosper had bought champagne that evening, as it was their last dinner on board, and Gunner made the mistake of pouring out a glass for Larkin.

  “Steward!” Larkin shouted. “What is this?”

  “Champagne, sir. With Mr Prosper.”

  “Take it away and pour it down the sink. I don’t rot my gullet with filth like that.”

  Gunner remained quite equable and took the glass.

  “I’ll drink it myself,” he said with his usual grin.

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll obey my orders and pour it away.”

  “Couldn’t do that, sir. Lovely wine like this. It would be a sin.”

  Larkin jumped
to his feet and knocked the glass out of Gunner’s hand, wetting the steward’s clean white jacket. Gunner did not completely lose his temper, but he was angry enough to ignore all the usual conventions.

  “You keep your hands to yourself, cock,” he said, “and don’t start anything with me, else you will be in trouble. Sorry about the wine, Mr Prosper.”

  Larkin turned to the Captain.

  “Do you allow your steward to insult passengers like that?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid you rather asked for it, Mr Larkin,” said Captain Bidlake, and when Larkin had made a violent noise with his lips he sat down and said no more.

  Six hours later, at about two a.m., Appleyard was on the bridge with one of the apprentices, Dickie Bryce. It was a dark, rough night, blowing up for bad weather with already half a gale running and a thin sleet.

  Appleyard went down to the saloon and found it empty except for Gunner.

  “They’ve all gone to bed, thank God,” said Gunner, more devoutly than blasphemously. “The whole lot of them. It’s a treat to have them out of the way, isn’t it?”

  The Captain was the only officer whom Gunner addressed as ‘sir’.

  “You’re right. No sound or sign of Larkin?”

  “No. The bastard. Hear what he said to me tonight? I should like to ‘do’ him. But we’re quit of him tomorrow. He turned in about ten. Always locks his cabin door.”

  Appleyard ate some sandwiches and returned to the bridge. Young Bryce was on the starboard wing of the bridge and remained there. Appleyard hoped that he would get some decent weather ashore this trip. He would only have about forty-eight hours at home and he wanted to put up a pergola in the garden. He was thinking of this when suddenly above the wind he heard a high-pitched shout.

  “Man overboard!”

  Young Bryce yelled at him: “There is. I saw him go.”

  Appleyard told the helmsman to put the helm up. He then rang down to the engine-room “Stop”, and reported to the Captain on the speaking-tube.

  “Man overboard, sir.”

  “You’ve stopped engines?” said Bidlake and began pulling on some clothes.

  Though he knew already that it could only be a piece of routine, Appleyard gave the order to the bo’sn to prepare a boat’s crew. He then went down to the saloon. Gunner was alone there.

  “Who shouted?” Appleyard asked.

  “Don’t know. Someone on the starboard deck. I was in the galley, and when I came out there was no one in sight.”

  “Check up the passengers,” said Appleyard and hurrying back to the bridge sent Bryce to check on the crew. The Captain had come out on the bridge.

  “Nothing to be done,” said Bidlake. “We’ll put the searchlight over the water, but it’s hopeless and I’m going ahead in five minutes. Whoever it was has had it. Shouldn’t think of lowering a boat in this sea and it’s no use turning about.”

  “No, sir. Nothing we can do.”

  The two of them were shouting at one another in the wind and sleet.

  “Young Bryce says he saw him. I can’t understand how he could have seen much. Someone shouted, but we don’t know yet who it was.”

  “Hell! It only needed this.”

  The searchlight played on the rolling black Channel waters, but revealed nothing.

  “What’s the use? We’re wasting time.”

  “Shall I ring down to the engine-room, sir?”

  “We’ll give them a few minutes more. It’ll look better in the report. But any fool could see it’s hopeless.”

  Gunner came up on the bridge, still in the wet rags of his white jacket.

  “It’s Larkin!” he bawled. “His cabin door was unlocked and he’s gone. There’s a note on his table.”

  Bidlake turned to Appleyard.

  “Full steam ahead,” he said.

  3

  CAPTAIN BIDLAKE was a conscientious man and at once made the most searching enquiries, for the sake of the report he would have to make tomorrow. He went down himself to Larkin’s cabin to examine the note which the missing passenger had left. This had been typed on the little portable which Larkin kept on his cabin table and said simply—“I killed Gregory Willick and am killing myself.”

  Bidlake read this without comment. He realized that it was a pretty dubious document. The wording was too direct and simple and wholly uncharacteristic of the Larkin they knew. There was no signature and, of course, anyone could have typed it.

  He gave orders that the cabin should be locked until the police came on board and that neither the steward nor anyone else should touch anything in it.

  He noticed as he left Larkin’s cabin that the four other passengers were in the saloon and he asked them if they would kindly remain there for a short while until he could speak to them.

  He then sent for Dickie Bryce.

  “I want you to tell me exactly how it happened,” he said.

  “Well, sir, I was on the starboard wing of the bridge. I hadn’t moved for about half an hour. It was blowing up for nasty weather and there was a cold sleet. I wasn’t watching anything in particular, just keeping a general look-out, when I heard this shout.”

  “The shout of ‘Man overboard’?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Before you saw anything?”

  “That’s the funny part of it. The shout seemed to come from the starboard deck. I couldn’t see much, but after the shout I saw a man in the water. Well, just a black shape, sir. It was only for a second I saw it.”

  “Did you see this man actually falling? Actually entering the water?”

  “I can’t be quite sure, sir. I’ve tried to remember exactly how it was. It was all in a moment and the sea was rough. I have a sort of idea I saw him going in. I’m sure I saw him in the water for a moment. I think I must have seen him falling. Anyway, he was there all right.”

  “You didn’t see his face?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Nothing. Only a black shape.”

  “After the shout?”

  “Yes, sir. Quite sure about that. It was the shout made me look.”

  “Of course, he could have been in the water before the shout because you’re not sure of having seen him fall.”

  Dickie Bryce thought hard.

  “I suppose he could have been, sir. I don’t somehow think he was, though. I’ve got the idea I saw him going in. But I can’t be certain. The sea was pretty rough and it was dark.”

  “Now this shout. Who was it who shouted?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  “You didn’t recognize the voice at all? No idea whose it was?”

  “No, sir. It was a funny sort of voice. High, sort of, but I don’t think it was a woman’s. It was as though a man was screaming, if you know what I mean.”

  “It only came once?”

  “That’s all, sir.”

  “Nothing else to tell me?”

  “No, sir.”

  Captain Bidlake went down to the saloon. He found his passengers awaiting him with Gunner in attendance.

  “I think we might all have a drink,” he said. “Gunner, ask what Mrs Roper and these gentlemen would like. I’m sorry to keep you up, but you know there are always a lot of enquiries when anyone is lost overboard, and I would like to have my report ready for tomorrow.”

  “You’re sure it’s Larkin, I suppose, Captain?” asked Prosper.

  “I don’t think there’s much doubt of it. We’ve checked up on the crew. No one else is missing and there was a note left on Larkin’s table. We’re making a routine search of the ship, but I regard it as more or less a formality. One of the apprentices saw the man in the water. Not to recognize him, of course. There was not light for that. But he’s the only person missing.”

  Prosper nodded.

  “Yet he didn’t seem the sort to commit suicide, did he?”

  “One never knows,” said Bidlake. “Now may I ask each of you a few questions. Mrs Roper …”

  “Cabin’s on the port side. Heard nothing. Saw
nothing. Want nothing to do with it.”

  “I’m afraid we all feel like that. Were you in your cabin at the time of shout?”

  “Don’t know. Never heard any shout.”

  “Do you remember what time you turned in, Mrs Roper?” persisted Bidlake.

  “Went to my cabin about one o’clock. Last to leave the saloon.”

  “Did you leave your cabin again?”

  “Of course. My cold tub. Can’t sleep without it.”

  “How did you become aware that anything unusual was taking place?”

  “Engines stopped.”

  “The first you knew?”

  “Yes. Got dressed and came out to see what had happened. Gunner gave me the news.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Roper. Mr Prosper, your cabin is next door to Larkin’s, isn’t it? What did you hear?”

  “I heard the shout of ‘Man overboard’. That’s all, really.”

  “You’ve no idea who shouted?”

  “None. It was an extraordinary shout. Sounded hysterical, somehow.”

  “A man’s voice or a woman’s?”

  Prosper thought.

  “It could have been either, I suppose.”

  “And after it—nothing? You didn’t hear anyone moving or anything?”

  “No. I’ve a vague impression of a door slamming. Nothing more. Like Mrs Roper, I got dressed and came out to see what was happening.”

  “You couldn’t at any time hear Larkin’s typewriter from your cabin?”

  “No. But I know he used it. I’ve heard it as I’ve passed his door.”

  Captain Bidlake thanked him and turned to Jerry Butt and Ronald Ferry. They could give him no information at all. Both had been asleep and would have been so till now if Gunner had not roused them. Nor did he elicit anything from his officers or the crew. Kutz was fully dressed and had been reading, he said, until the engines were stopped.

  He returned to Appleyard on the bridge.

  “Wretched business, this,” he said. “Police on board and the Press too, I suppose. I’ve got what information I can. Call me when the pilot comes alongside.”

  It was even worse next day than Captain Bidlake realized. The police, it is true, were not at first unduly obtrusive. Two Detective Sergeants in plain clothes, who had come to take Larkin in for questioning, remained to make a thorough examination of the whole situation. But as soon as they realized what had taken place they telephoned for finger-print experts and photographers and placed a policeman on duty on the gangway and generally took over the ship.