[Inspector de Silva 06] - Passage From Nuala Read online

  It was on the tip of de Silva’s tongue to say that defrauding Mrs Pilkington was likely to be a considerable challenge, but he held back. Petrie might think the remark too familiar.

  ‘If I may suggest, sir, I don’t think we should rule out Mrs March yet. She might have written the letter, and if Ryder’s telling the truth, she had as powerful a reason as he did for wanting to be rid of Pashley. The “A” could refer to Arthur Chiltern. No doubt she wouldn’t want him to learn the details of her past.’

  Petrie took a swallow of whisky. ‘As I said before, de Silva, the Chilterns are an influential family. If your theory’s the correct one, we must have incontrovertible proof.’ He tapped his cigarette over the ashtray, releasing a plug of glowing ash.

  ‘Shouldn’t we at least try to find out if Sarah Betts really exists?’

  Reluctantly, Petrie nodded. ‘Very well. My contact at Scotland Yard should be able to help us with that.’

  Chapter 24

  After de Silva and Petrie returned to the Petries’ stateroom, Jane and de Silva left and went up to the Sun Deck. The first group of people they passed were drinking cocktails, laughing and talking noisily. De Silva winced, his head too full of speculation.

  ‘Do you mind if we move somewhere else?’

  ‘Of course not. It looks quieter down there.’ Jane pointed to the far end of the deck. ‘Now do tell me what Petrie wanted to say to you that we ladies couldn’t be allowed to hear.’

  ‘Was it so obvious?’

  ‘It was rather, although Lady Caroline was too loyal to comment after you’d left us.’

  As they walked, he explained. ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘I can’t disprove Petrie’s theory any more than I can prove mine. I hope it won’t take too long to get an answer from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘If Diana March really is this woman Sarah Betts, her story about being born and brought up in Shanghai must be a sham.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I wonder where Sarah Betts went after she was acquitted of murdering her husband. Let’s suppose Diana March wrote that letter to Harry Delaney, and it’s true her real name’s Sarah Betts. They might have been together a long time. She may have been his accomplice in the charity fraud and other things as well.’ She paused. ‘Do you remember Lady Caroline mentioning that Diana March and Arthur Chiltern met through old friends in Hong Kong?’

  ‘Now that you remind me, I do. What of it?’

  ‘I was just thinking it would be interesting to know more about them, for example did they believe her story, or were they helping her to cover up her past? Presumably, Arthur Chiltern has no idea she may not be the person she claims to be.’

  De Silva recalled Petrie saying that Chiltern’s father had sent him to Hong Kong to put some backbone into him because he was worried his son was too naïve. Perhaps the experiment hadn’t been such a success after all. If Diana March was determined to, she could easily fool an impressionable man who was dazzled by her.

  He peered up at a flock of seagulls, wheeling high above the ship in the evening sky. ‘It’s not much further to go to Suez now. We’ll be there tomorrow. Once we’re through, there’ll be only a couple more hours of sailing before we dock at Port Said. Then, there’ll be nothing to stop the guilty party leaving the ship.’

  ‘To say nothing of the fact that we want to disembark,’ said Jane. She thought for a moment. ‘If Mrs March and Canon Ryder aren’t due to leave the ship there, wouldn’t it be very suspicious if they did?’

  ‘It would.’

  ‘You could suggest to Petrie that he sends a message ahead to the police at Port Said. He’d need to describe all the suspects, then the police could station officers at every gangway and check if they disembarked.’

  ‘What if they only went ashore for a little while?’

  ‘They could be followed until they returned to the ship. It’s not a perfect plan, but worth a try, surely?’

  He considered the idea. ‘It might work. I’ll speak to Petrie.’

  ‘You’re not happy about leaving him in charge, are you?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not. His attitude troubles me. Mrs March may be about to enter an important family – Petrie claims their connections go right up to the British prime minister – but there shouldn’t be one law for the powerful and another for the rest. I was always taught that wasn’t British justice.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’re being entirely fair. If the Chilterns are powerful, a mistake could cause Petrie a great deal of embarrassment, and at worst, it could damage his career. In view of that, he’s bound to be very cautious, but I’m sure he wouldn’t condone injustice.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, because my instincts tell me Canon Ryder is innocent. He didn’t need to tell us about his past now that Pashley’s dead, and his assertion that he’s had enough of concealment seemed heartfelt.’

  Jane thought for a moment. ‘There is a way you might find out if what he told you is true. Also, William Petrie might be easier to sway if Doctor Brady confirms Ryder’s illness.’

  ‘Do you think Brady would speak to me about one of his patients?’

  ‘It’s worth asking.’

  They reached the bow and leant on the ship’s rail. Pressing his fingers into his temples to ease the ache in his head, de Silva closed his eyes for a few moments. He had an idea of his own, but was he bold enough to try it? He opened his eyes and looked at Jane. ‘What’s your plan?’

  ‘After you both left us, I had a better look at that last letter. I noticed the writing sloped upwards towards the end of each line. It’s a classic indication that the writer uses their left hand. It might be difficult to check whether Mrs March is left-handed, but simple enough where George Ryder’s concerned.’

  ‘How would you do that?’

  ‘We’ve been properly introduced now, but I don’t think he’s made the connection between you and me.’ She smiled. ‘I think clergymen have to spend so much of their time being charming to the ladies in their congregation that we assume a kind of homogeneous form in their eyes.’ She glanced over the rail at a greenish-brown mat of vegetation bobbing on the water. ‘Like that seaweed over there.’

  De Silva laughed. ‘I hope not.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘That’s better. It’s nice to hear you laugh. Now, back to George Ryder. I was talking to him at the service last Sunday. He told me about a book on the history of the Holy Land. All I need to do is ask him to write down the name of the author and the title, then watch which hand he uses. I’ll go to the chapel service in the morning. He’s almost certain to be there.’

  ‘Good, and while you’re about that, I can go and see Doctor Brady.’

  Side by side, they gazed out to sea. The sky had taken on the translucent quality of a piece of fine porcelain. The hard blue of midday had faded to the delicate shade of a duck’s egg, mingling with the palest of shell pinks in the west, where the sun was sinking towards the horizon. Once again, he thought what a pity it was that he could only take photographs in black and white.

  ‘It so beautiful out here,’ said Jane. ‘We mustn’t let these troubles spoil all this for us completely.’

  He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘You’re right, we mustn’t.’

  ‘Just wait until you see the canal. I’m sure you’ll be impressed. There’s nowhere else like it. Miles and miles of desert sand stretching away on either side of this little ribbon of sea.’

  He turned and smiled at her. ‘I shall look forward to a geography lesson to distract me. And, I hope, more time to take pictures.’

  Jane punched him gently in the ribs. ‘The Cecil Beaton of Ceylon?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he said with a grin.

  The upper reaches of the sky were indigo now. Below, the shell pink and pale blue had given way to fiery orange that picked out the crests of the darkening waves. Lights had gone on in windows and portholes. Inside, figures moved across the bright glass.

  ‘We ought to go in,’ said Jane. ‘I
t must be time to dress for dinner.’

  With a sensation of pleasure, de Silva realised he was hungry. At least his appetite was surviving the setbacks of the investigation.

  Jane gave a little shiver. ‘I remember how cold it was at night when we sailed through the desert on the way from England. The sky was so black, the stars looked like diamonds. We’ll have to wrap up warmly if we want to come out and stargaze.’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll be warm if I have you with me.’

  Jane laughed. ‘You are a silly, romantic old thing.’

  ‘Is there anything wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  Chapter 25

  The next day, Jane was delighted to see George Ryder seated in the front pew at the regular service in the ship’s chapel. Afterwards, he stayed to talk to the chaplain, and she seized her opportunity.

  ‘What a lovely service,’ she said, smiling at the chaplain.

  ‘Good of you to say so, Mrs—’

  ‘Oh, please call me Jane. I do so hate formality.’

  ‘I particularly enjoyed the reading,’ she went on. ‘Such a thought-provoking passage. Don’t you agree, Canon Ryder?’

  Ryder murmured something and gave a polite nod. After a few more pleasantries, the chaplain excused himself to talk to another member of the congregation, and they were left alone.

  ‘I’ve been trying to recall the title of the book we talked about last Sunday,’ Jane began. The canon looked rather bemused. ‘It was about the Holy Land,’ she added helpfully.

  ‘Ah, yes. In the Steps of Saint Paul. The author is H V Morton.’

  ‘Oh dear, my memory is dreadful these days. I must write it down, or I shall probably have forgotten again by the time I reach my cabin.’ She delved into the small handbag she carried and came out with a notebook. ‘I’ve paper but nothing to write with. Do you happen to have a pen, Canon Ryder?’

  He produced one from his top pocket and went to a nearby table. Opening the notebook, he wrote down the title, using his right hand. As he returned the notebook to her, Jane gave him a beaming smile. ‘How kind. I’ll be sure to order a copy from the library as soon as I get home to England.’

  **

  ‘He’s right-handed,’ she said triumphantly, holding out the paper to de Silva. ‘I’m sure he didn’t write that letter. Have you managed to speak to Doctor Brady yet?’

  ‘Not yet, he was busy, but I won’t give up on him, and you’ve made a good start.’

  Jane sat down in the cabin’s other armchair. ‘Thank you, dear. Now, what else can we do? There must be something.’

  De Silva rested his chin on his hand. After he’d found he had to wait to see Brady, he’d been mulling over his options. He could do nothing and let matters take their course. If William Petrie had his way, that was likely to result in George Ryder being accused, perhaps wrongly, of at least one, if not both murders. If that happened, when they reached England, he would go to trial. It appeared to be the case that he was travelling Cabin Class thanks to Mrs Pilkington. De Silva would have been surprised if he was more than comfortably off. He was unlikely to be able to afford a top defence counsel, and even if he did get the money, what if the jury turned against him? When even a fundamentally good man like William Petrie showed some prejudice, it had to be a real concern.

  ‘I want to find out more about Diana March,’ he said. ‘I know Petrie’s reluctant, but that can’t be helped. If George Ryder was telling the truth, she has a clear motive for wanting Pashley dead. And that letter lends itself to the interpretation that she and Harry Delaney were involved with each other in committing the murder, just as much as it does to Petrie’s theory. The question is, given the risk of incurring Petrie’s displeasure, how far am I prepared go?’

  He levered himself out of his armchair. ‘I need some fresh air. Would you like a stroll before lunch?’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  After a turn around the Promenade Deck, they climbed the stairway to the Sun Deck above. Tables and chairs had been set out, shaded by brightly coloured parasols. Stewards wove between them bringing drinks to the passengers ensconced there.

  ‘By this time tomorrow, we could be at Port Said,’ said Jane. ‘I hear there’s to be a grand ball in Cabin Class tonight to celebrate the ship’s passage from Asia into Africa, but some people seem to have decided to start their celebrations early.’

  She shaded her eyes. ‘Shanti? You’re plotting something. I can tell.’

  ‘I’m going to search Mrs March’s cabin. She and Arthur Chiltern are bound to be going to the ball tonight. That gives me my chance.’

  Jane frowned. ‘Oh Shanti, I hope this is wise.’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s risky, but can you think of a better time?’

  ‘No,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘But how will you get in?’

  ‘I’ll have to get the pass key off old Ahmad. If memory serves, all the keys are kept on one ring. I’ll tell him I need to check something in Pashley’s cabin and just hope he doesn’t decide to come to see what I’m doing. If I leave it until late in the evening, he’ll probably be more interested in dozing in his little cubby hole than watching me to check which cabin I go to.’

  ‘But what if he only gives you the key to Pashley’s cabin?’

  ‘I’ll have to take something with me, so I can pick the lock on Mrs March’s door. As there’s always a steward on duty, I doubt the cabin door locks are very complicated. One of your hairpins ought to do the job.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘Very well, I’ll alert the police at Port Said and ask them to send some men to patrol the gangways after we dock.’

  From the depths of his armchair in the Cabin Class bar, William Petrie fixed de Silva with a stern look. ‘But don’t forget, I insist on caution. I don’t want you doing anything rash.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’ That was a sufficiently neutral remark, thought de Silva.

  Petrie rubbed a sunburnt hand across his forehead. ‘I’ll be dashed glad to have this over. I expect you feel the same. You and your wife can carry on with your holiday and forget all about it.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I promised Lady Caroline I’d take her up on deck to see the ship entering the canal, but there’s time for a quick one.’

  De Silva accepted another whisky. Petrie was talking about the canal. How it had taken ten years to build, and the work had mostly been done by hand, using tens of thousands of labourers. De Silva spared a thought for them, working in the blazing sun and no doubt poorly paid and housed. It was one of the unpalatable aspects of progress.

  As Petrie droned on about tonnages and transits, de Silva remembered he had been a naval man during the war. He let his mind drift to his task that evening. The ball was due to begin at ten o’clock. He had better start a little later than that in case Mrs March came back to her cabin to refresh her hair or her make-up between the dinner and the dancing.

  The table shifted slightly, and he returned to the present. Petrie had finished his drink and was standing up. ‘I’d better be getting along. Thank you for your help, de Silva. Even if this business isn’t concluded before you leave us at Port Said, I’ll see to it that Archie Clutterbuck knows you’re due some of the credit.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘How did it go?’ asked Jane.

  ‘He agreed to arrange for the police to patrol the gangways at Port Said.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  All at once, de Silva felt very weary. What if he was wrong, and he was caught this evening?

  ‘Shanti?’

  He sighed. ‘We may be on the wrong track with Diana March, you know.’

  ‘No, I’m becoming more convinced that we aren’t.’

  He frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because these were delivered while you were out.’ She picked up a brown envelope that had been neatly slit with a paper knife.

  ‘What’s in there?’

  ‘Your photographs. The film you gave to
James Ross has come back from being developed by the official photographer.’

  De Silva felt a prickle of interest. ‘I’d forgotten all about that. How do the photographs help?’

  ‘I’ll show you. There’s one that I think you’ll be very interested in.’

  She took the photographs out of the envelope and arranged them neatly on the coffee table. ‘Look at this one,’ she said, pointing to it.

  ‘The bazaar at Bombay? What’s so special about it?’

  ‘Take a closer look.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s a bit fuzzy. I shall have to learn to keep the camera steadier.’

  Jane reached for her sewing bag and brought out the little magnifying glass she used when a piece of embroidery required particularly small stitches. ‘Look at it through this: the left-hand side of the picture.’

  At first, he saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the frontage of a small hotel shaded by palm trees. A woman selling mangoes squatted beside the steps leading up to the porch while her child played nearby in the dust.

  ‘I don’t see anything unusual.’

  ‘Look again.’

  Then he saw them: a man and a woman. The shade from the palm trees blurred their faces, but they were still discernible.

  He put down the magnifying glass. ‘Harry Delaney and Diana March. So that was where he was going when he pushed past us in the bazaar.’

  Jane smiled triumphantly. ‘When he sees that, Petrie can’t deny there’s a connection between them, and I think you’re entitled to do whatever’s necessary to find out what it is.’

  It might provide them with the key to solving Pashley’s murder, thought de Silva, as he dressed for dinner. But if Harry Delaney was the person who had conspired with Diana March to murder Charles Pashley, why would she subsequently want to be rid of him? It seemed a reasonable assumption that they were lovers, and if the date of the newspaper cutting about the American Baptist minister and his wife was anything to go by, they might have been together for at least three years.