Johannes Cabal the Detective

CHAPTER 10 in which the light of truth is encircled by darkness

Science and mathematics are wonderful things. They cut like an arc light of truth through the cobwebbed depths of supposition, superstition, instinct, and guile. For the scientific mind, it can sometimes become too easy to ignore these thin, insubstantial threads as irrelevant, but this can be a serious mistake.

“But why?” he asked her as they dined together that evening, his animosity towards her erased by the realisation that in matters of social interplay he was as innocent as a babe in the woods. “What possible reason could she have to want to … you know. Why?”

“Why?” Miss Barrow paused in cutting a morsel from her Spanish omelette, her first victory in the search for something Mirkarvian chefs wouldn’t undercook. She was about to tell him, but then decided that she would be interested in learning a little more about this huge and unexpected area of Cabal’s ignorance. “Why do you think?”

“Well, she wants something.”

“Clearly,” she said, a little archly.

“But what? Money? Information? She’s not really a Senzan agent, is she?”

“Money? She’s an aristocrat who spends more on an everyday dress than you — Herr Meissner — would see in your monthly pay packet. I really don’t think she’s after your money. Information? Bloody hell, you see agents everywhere. I strongly doubt that she represents anybody’s interests other than her own. No, you’re putting far too much thought into this. It’s all much simpler. Our Lady Ninuka has a hobby. Whenever she sees a man who interests her in a certain way, she isn’t happy until that man has joined her for an evening of sport.” It was obvious from Cabal’s face that he was working down a list of possible sports. The slight expression of consternation indicated that he had arrived at cricket. Leonie decided to put him out of his misery. “She’s a bike. A tart. A slut. She’ll be buried in a Y-shaped coffin. A baggage. A hussy. She’s the good time that was had by all. A wanton floozy.” She looked closely at him, but he still seemed to be stuck on cricket. “A nymphomaniac.”

The use of a technical term shook him from his paralysis. Realisation flooded his face and a silent “Oh!” filled his mouth.

“Not that she is, of course. Well, maybe the last one, but all the other terms, the ugly ones, were invented by men. A man sleeps around, he’s just being a man. Not really very fair, is it? Do shut your mouth — you’ll catch flies sitting there like that.”

Cabal shut his mouth somewhat shamefacedly. He’d been prepared to consider almost any eventuality except the one that was evidently true. In his defence, it was a situation entirely alien to him. He could honestly say he’d never had an elegant and attractive woman of high breeding set her cap for him in this fashion. In fact, he’d never had any woman of any demeanour, appearance, or birth set her cap for him in this fashion. He was not unattractive, and his attention to detail extended to how he presented himself, so it was not at first glance so odd that he should be in such a situation. In the normal run of things, however, he kept himself fastidiously to himself and, furthermore, usually carried a faint scent of formaldehyde around with him, which had the effect of depressing any amorous intent by any woman with a working nose. The combination of his long absence from a laboratory, the stolen clothing, and the enforced socialising had conspired to place him neatly in the sights of Lady Ninuka, and he had not realised it for a second.

“So, let me see if I understand this. You’re saying that I was intended to be a diverting interval for her ladyship, to lighten a dull voyage? What’s the matter with her? Aren’t a death and an attempted murder enough to keep the woman amused?”

Leonie shook her head as she finished her omelette. “No, no. You don’t see the whole picture here at all. Yes, you were supposed to be a diverting interval, but note the indefinite article.”

Cabal frowned. “There was supposed to be somebody else?”

“Wrong again. There was somebody else. Nothing supposed about it.” She smiled, not altogether charitably. “Sorry, sweetheart, but you weren’t her first choice.”

Cabal fumed. “Just because you’re in a position that currently allows you the liberty of taunting me, you would be ill-advised to actually do so. Nor should you present a lot of half-formed conjecture as somehow significant, when it likely has no more importance than those missing candelabras at breakfast that — Oh.” He looked around and noticed that every table now carried one. Quickly dropping the subject, he said, “You are being obscure for no better reason than your own amusement, just like your magical appearance this afternoon when I was talking to her ladyship. You can be so very — ” He paused, a sudden thought filling him first with realisation, then dismay, and then anger. “You knew this was going to happen.”

“Ah,” said Miss Barrow, and took a sip of wine.

“You were lurking around somewhere waiting for this to happen. I was bait!”

“Lurking? Oh, poor you. How awful to be manipulated. Yes, I could see Ninuka’s had her eye on you. It was just a case of seeing if she was going to do anything about it. And she did. That’s brilliant. Brilliant.” Leonie finished her wine and looked at him. “I have no idea what you’re so upset about. I saved you before the naughty woman could besmirch your precious virtue, didn’t I? To be serious, I really needed to know what she would do. It is very important.”

“Important? Important how, exactly?” Cabal was having difficulty keeping both his temper and his voice down. He was pining badly for his laboratory. Things were so much simpler there. If something proved problematical, he could just drop it in the waste bin and start again. Sometimes, admittedly, whatever proved problematical didn’t especially want to go into the bin and he might have to smite it several times with a retort stand or perhaps shoot it before it would behave, but these were procedures he understood, and used. This great social laboratory within which Leonie Barrow seemed so at home was a horrible mystery to him, and he especially despised being used as an experimental subject.

“You’re a scientist … sort of. You know how important it is to follow a hypothesis with a practical experiment. I thought I knew what kind of person Lady Ninuka was, but I needed to be sure. That’s where you came in. Thank you for that. Your look of gormless incomprehension as the tigress circled you will keep me amused for many years to come, I’m sure.”

Cabal ignored the slight with difficulty. “Are you saying she’s the killer? Or involved somehow?” Ninuka had been wearing long sleeves and gloves, the skin of her arms and hands being far more thoroughly covered than other parts of her body. Could she have been wearing a bandage beneath the material?

“No, of course not. She’s a bored aristo, not Lucrezia Borgia. All she wants in life is new dresses, exciting parties, and to go for the occasional gallop on an obliging member of the bourgeoisie.” She ignored Cabal’s glower. “Just think what she may be instead of a killer.”

Cabal couldn’t. If she wasn’t directly involved in DeGarre’s disappearance or the attack in the vent, then Lady Ninuka seemed entirely irrelevant. Leonie watched his mental wheels spin haplessly until she took pity on him. “She could be a witness.”

“A witness? But DeGarre vanished from a locked room, and there was nobody else in that vent except my attacker and me. How could she have seen anything?”

Miss Barrow looked agonisingly sage, not to say smug. “Ah, there’s more than one type of witness. It’s not what she saw, it’s what she didn’t see.”

And she would say no more, not even when Cabal made several veiled threats of physical violence.

Miss Ambersleigh answered the knock at Lady Ninuka’s stateroom door. If she was perplexed to find Leonie Barrow there, or dismayed to find Cabal, she showed no sign of it. She asked them only for a moment to see if her ladyship was receiving visitors. When she returned, she ushered them inside.

Lady Ninuka was waiting to receive them in the sitting room of her suite, a far cry from the small if well appointed cabins of Cabal, Miss Barrow, and the late M. DeGarre. She was the very embodiment of reserved politeness, but she plainly expected the interview to go one way, and an awkward way at that. She ordered tea and made small talk until it arrived. When it did, she tactfully dismissed Miss Ambersleigh, who left without rancour, saying that she hoped the young people had a pleasant chat.

Lady Ninuka waited until the door had closed quietly behind Miss Ambersleigh before speaking. “You are doubtless here to discuss my talking with Herr Meissner without proper supervision?” she said in a reasonable tone that carried the message that there was nothing here about which they could not come to agreement.

“Doubtless,” said Miss Barrow, smiling. It was the smile of a large predator just prior to driving its fangs into its prey’s cervical vertebrae. “Actually, no. We’re here to talk about Gabriel Zoruk.”

Cabal endeavoured not to look surprised. Were they?

Lady Ninuka blanched slightly. “I don’t really know the gentleman — ”

“Please, please, please. Don’t start off by making statements that you later come to regret.” Miss Barrow shook her head like a governess who has caught a small child out in a transparent lie.

Lady Ninuka was having none of it. “I spoke to him at dinner last night. That is the limit of my association with the man.”

“Oh. Oh, dear,” said Miss Barrow regretfully.

“You see? I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here.”

“Hmm? Oh, no. That’s not what I’m sorry for. I was just feeling sorry for poor Herr Zoruk, thrown into the brig, all alone, and under suspicion of murdering M. DeGarre.”

“Well, of course we’re all sorry — ”

“I hadn’t quite finished,” interrupted Miss Barrow, looking steadily at Lady Ninuka. Ninuka shifted awkwardly in her chair. Despite himself, Cabal couldn’t help but admire Leonie Barrow’s handling of the interview. She had found a chink in her ladyship’s armour, driven a stiletto deep into it, and was now slowly turning the blade. “What I was about to say was that I feel so very sorry for Herr Zoruk’s being in such a dreadful situation when he is entirely innocent.”

Lady Ninuka sat very still, hardly breathing.

“Entirely innocent, yet unable to prove it. Because proving it depends on an alibi, and it’s an alibi that the poor, stupid, chivalrous boy refuses to use.”

Lady Ninuka, deciding that outraged morality would provide a suitable high ground, retorted, “What are you implying?”

Miss Barrow laughed, still pleasant, as if they were discussing hats. “I’m not implying anything, your ladyship. I’m stating it. You are Gabriel Zoruk’s alibi. While he was supposed to be off engineering a disappearance and attacking Herr Meissner here, he was in fact … shall I use a euphemism? He was providing you with company through the dark hours. That seems like a gallant way of putting it. I could be far more specific, of course, if you’d prefer?”

It was clear that Lady Ninuka did not prefer. Standing slightly unsteadily on her dignity, she said, “This is an outrage, Miss Barrow. It is a libel in front of a witness. You will regret this vile slur.”

“No, I shan’t. You’re quite wrong, on two counts. First, you mean slander, not libel. Second, it is only a slander if it isn’t true. We both know it is. Let us not quibble, Lady Ninuka. There is a man in serious trouble, and all it requires is a word from you and the enquiry will discreetely redirect its attentions elsewhere. Isn’t that so, Herr Meissner?” Somehow Cabal managed not to look around. He’d been so attentive to what was being said that he had momentarily forgotten that he was incognito.

“Of course. My lady, we are not journalists looking for something to amuse the hoi polloi. Nor do we travel in your circles. We simply wish to clarify the events of last night. The search for my attacker has stopped because Captain Schten believes he has him in custody.” He decided not to tell her that the search had resumed, not when he could see a way to bring Ninuka’s self-interest into play. “If he is wrong, that means the real criminal is still at large, walking these very corridors. We have no inkling why I was attacked or whether M. DeGarre’s disappearance truly was suicide; it is not inconceivable that the perpetrator has not yet finished his or her plan, whatever it may be. In which case nobody aboard is safe.” He looked significantly at Ninuka. “Nobody.”

Ninuka considered. Then she said, “There is not an iota of truth in what you say. You understand that? I have a chaperone to guard my honour. How do you propose that I led this ridiculous demimondaine existence you hint at under the very nose of Miss Ambersleigh? Does she strike you as so laissez-faire?”

Leonie Barrow did not flicker an eyelid, nor did she speak, and Cabal knew that she had no answer. He, on the other hand, did. Once he had got over the initial shock of being selected as a bedpost notch, he had been thinking events and conversations through again in light of this revelation, and had made a deduction or two of his own. Miss Barrow might be his superior in matters of the human mind, but when it came to raw data he was the master of synthesis.

“No,” he admitted, pleased to be adding something concrete to the arena. “She does not. Nor is she. Then again, you don’t strike me as a woman with insomnia.”

Miss Barrow looked sideways at him, and he met her glance. There was something like satisfaction and perhaps a tic of respect there. He felt childishly pleased for a moment, before reminding himself that this was the same woman who intended to hand him over to the Senzan authorities on the morrow.

“What nonsense is this?” demanded Lady Ninuka. It was bluster, and weak bluster at that.

“You are not an insomniac. You claim to be, but only so that your doctor will prescribe you sleeping powders. These you squirrel away until such time as they are required. Specifically, when a conscious Miss Ambersleigh would just get in the way.”

Lady Ninuka said nothing, but simply looked at her gloved hands lying in her lap. It seemed that she had finally realised that denying everything was simply undignified.

“Finally,” said Miss Barrow. “Now we can move on. Herr Meissner will inform the captain that there is a witness who can state that Herr Zoruk was nowhere near DeGarre’s cabin or the vent last night. The captain will want a name.” Lady Ninuka coloured slightly. “Herr Meissner will have to provide it, but he will also underline the need for discretion. The captain is no fool. The matter will go no further, and Herr Zoruk will be released, free of suspicion. You need have no part of any discussions, although you may depend on the captain’s paying you a visit to confirm these facts. He will probably also wish to know why you did not come forward earlier.” Miss Barrow’s voice hardened. “Which is an excellent question that I would like answered myself.”

There were several seconds of silence. “Must I say?” whispered Lady Ninuka.

“Yes,” said Cabal. “You must.”

She looked up. The confident young woman of only a few minutes before had gone. Now she had trouble meeting their eyes. When she finally managed it, she said only one thing.

“It was romantic.”

Romantic?” said Captain Schten after Cabal had taken him to one side and told him the state of affairs.

“I couldn’t say,” admitted Cabal. “I believe the idea of a man prepared to fritter away his liberty in defence of her honour occurring outside of a novel was a profound shock to her.” He coughed and added in a confidential tone, “I fear the young lady is becoming jaded well before her time.”

“Good God,” said the captain. He shook his head and brought himself back to the matters at hand. “I’ll have to talk to her, of course, but I’ll have a word with Zoruk first.”

“He won’t say anything.”

“I know, I know, but at least we can let him know that we know, and that his release is imminent. Should be a weight off his mind. Come along, mein Herr. Let us give the unhappy chevalier some cause for joy.”

They walked down the silent corridor to Zoruk’s temporary cabin. As they approached, Cabal commented, “I notice you do not have a guard posted, Captain.”

“A guard? This isn’t a military ship. Besides, you’ve seen that cabin; there are no windows, and the lock is secure enough. I don’t think we have anything to fear, especially in light of Herr Zoruk’s apparent innocence.” He took out his key wallet and moved to unlock the door.

“That seems like very few keys for a vessel with so many doors, Captain,” said Cabal.

Schten held up the key he had selected. “Most of these are for my house.” He smiled. “This is a master key.” He inserted it into the lock and opened the door.

Cabal looked into the room as the door swung open, swore a short and bitter oath, and was through before the captain had even taken his hand off the handle. Cabal’s switchblade was in his hand in a thrice, and the blade out by the time he reached Zoruk’s dangling body. He climbed quickly onto the interview table, noted instantly that it would take too long to try and release Zoruk’s belt from either the light fitting at the ceiling or from around the hanging man’s neck, and instead sawed quickly through the taut leather. He kept the blade very keen for a variety of reasons, and was glad of it now. The belt parted quickly and Zoruk dropped to the floor, where he was caught and slowly lowered by Schten, who had overcome his own paralysis of shock.

Cabal checked Zoruk’s pulse at his throat and wrist, but the already cool skin told him it was a vain effort. He rocked back onto his heels, glaring angrily at the corpse.

“Stupid!” he spat. Schten thought Cabal was talking to him for a moment, but then realised Cabal was talking to the dead man. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Life is such a precious gift! To squander it … And for what? For some idiotic concept of honour? You fool! You utter, utter …” Words failed him, and he paced up and down, breathing hard with fury.

Schten perched on the edge of the table and looked at Zoruk. Hanging without much of a drop was a hard way to go. The young man’s face was mottled dark, his eyes bulging, his tongue pushed out of his mouth. The room stank: in extremis, Zoruk had voided his bowels.

“This whole voyage is cursed,” he murmured. “I’ve never heard the like. A disappearance, an attempted murder, a suicide. We can’t tell the other passengers about this, not yet. It will put the women in a panic, and then when the Senzans board …” He shook his head. “This must remain confidential until then. Just what is happening aboard my ship, Herr Meissner?”

Cabal ceased his pacing and looked down at the body. Schten noticed that he didn’t even flinch at such an awful sight. Civil servants were supposed to have ice water for blood, but surely even their sangfroid had limits.

“A murder, an attempted murder, and a suicide. I’m sure of it. I doubt we shall ever see M. DeGarre again.” Cabal held his chin in his hand and thought for a moment longer. “Possibly two murders.”

Schten looked up sharply at him. “What?”

“How secure is this room, Captain? There was no guard on the door; anybody could have walked in here and done away with Zoruk.”

“It was locked!”

“There are master keys.”

“Only three. The first mate’s, the purser’s, and mine. Mine has never been out of my sight since I boarded, and I can guarantee that the purser and the first mate can say the same about theirs. Bearing a master key is a serious responsibility, Herr Meissner. I can assure you that they are never left lying around. As for the characters of First Mate Veidt and Purser Johansson, I would trust my life to them. Unless,” he said, his brow clouding, “you suspect me also?”

“Yes, Captain, I do, but only for purposes of keeping an open mind, in exactly the same way that you should suspect me. As for serious suspects, well. Zoruk was all we had, and then only because of his wrist injury. Means, motivation, and opportunity eluded us. No, they continue to elude us.” A thought occurred to Cabal. “Tell me, Captain, did you ever complete your checks for similar wounds on anybody else aboard?”

Schten nodded. “Nobody. Zoruk here was the only one. You know, even if you’re right and DeGarre was murdered, it doesn’t necessarily mean that Zoruk did it, but he may still have been your attacker. His — ” He coughed. “His companion for the evening could have fallen asleep for some time. Not long, but long enough for him to find the vent open and go in to investigate.”

“Is that likely?”

“Not if the two events are unrelated, but what if Zoruk was in cahoots with somebody else? He allows himself to fall for — ” He coughed again. He did not seem able to mention Lady Ninuka’s name in direct reference to such sordid activities, as if it were somehow treasonable. “For his companion’s wiles, and that provides him with an alibi.”

“Which he doesn’t use.”

“Which he doesn’t need to use for the moment. He can hold off naming names until it is convenient for him, and will be regarded all the more as a gentleman for being so reticent until he had no choice.”

“It’s an interesting thought, but I perceive a problem.”

Schten was very taken with his hypothesis, and frowned at Cabal. “What problem?”

“The problem lying at our feet. If this was all part of his plan, why did he hang himself?” Schten had no answer, and shrugged.

“Sorry, Captain,” said Cabal. “The only reason I can think of is that he did not commit suicide but was murdered by this accomplice that you imagine, presumably to make sure Zoruk has no opportunity to turn coat. You tell me, however, that this room could not have been entered. If you are right, your theory founders.”

Schten stood up and looked across at the door, arms crossed. “Locks can be picked.”

Cabal nodded. “Indeed they can,” he said heavily, and a little ruefully, as if this was an unpleasant occurrence of which he had personal experience. He went to the door and examined first the lock itself, then the bolt and striking plate, and then the lock again. “If it has been picked, it’s been done by an expert. I can see no trace of pick scratches or anything else unexpected. But that doesn’t preclude the possibility that it was indeed picked by an expert.”

“An assassin,” said Schten slowly. Cabal looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “An assassin!” repeated Schten, warming to the idea. “A trained killer! He, or possibly she, was working with Zoruk. Zoruk makes himself the obvious suspect and then draws off the heat. But he doesn’t realise that he’s expendable!”

“You,” Cabal said severely, “should cut down on the caffeine and on reading pfennig dreadfuls. Highly trained assassins, indeed. No, we should harken to Friar William of Ockham and his entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem. This appears to be a suicide and, if the only alternative involves bizarre orders of wraithlike assassins haunting the corridors of the Princess Hortense, then a suicide it certainly is. A young fool doing the decent thing, if you can dignify it thus. The only mystery extant in this corner of the affair is the wounded wrist. That remains puzzling.

“Come, let us leave this room before the stink settles in our clothing, Captain. You should inform your medical officer immediately, and then decide exactly what you are going to tell the Senzan authorities. There is little time left.”