The False Inspector Dew

3

There were no individual tables in the second class dining saloon. There were tables for four or six. At breakfast Walter had come early. He had sat at the end of a table for six. A young couple had sat at the opposite end. They were probably just married. They had not said a word to Walter.

Sunday lunch was different. The meal was served on time, at one o'clock. Everyone arrived together. Walter went to a table set for four. Three people were already seated. They were a couple with a child, a small girl with her hair in a plait that she kept flicking over the back of her chair. Walter asked if he could join them.

'Please do,' said the man in a Midlands English accent. 'We'd like some company. I'm Wilf Dutton. This is my wife Jean and that's our Sally.'

'Dew. Walter Dew.' Walter smiled and picked up the menu.

'Why is that man sitting at our table?' enquired Sally.

'It isn't ours. We share it,' said Jean, smiling shyly at Walter.

'Better than home,' said Wilf.

'I beg your pardon,' said Walter.

'I said better than home. Three roasts to choose from.'

'Yes, quite right.'

'We're emigrating. No work to be had in Leicester. Have you been to Leicester? Don't suppose you have. Me brother has a business in Rhode Island. He's a builder like me. Told us to sell up and come out there. He even sent us the tickets, second class. Not bad, eh? Should I know you, Mr Dew?'

Walter shook his head. 'I don't think so.'

'I seem to know your face. Was you ever in Leicester?'

'Wilf,' said Jean, 'don't ask personal questions.'

'Nothing personal in that,' said Wilf.

'I may have been there as a child,' said Walter. 'Certainly not recently.'

'What line are you in, Mr Dew?'

'Wilf,' said Jean in a long-suffering voice.

'Retired,' said Walter. Turning to the child, he asked, 'Is this your first trip on the ocean, Sally?'

'Sally, the gentleman is talking to you,' said Jean.

'You don't look old enough to be retired,' said Wilf. 'What were you, a soldier?'

'Answer the question,' said Jean.

'No,'said Sally.

'Why should she?' said Walter. 'She's just like me, slightly shy at first. Have you seen the menu, Mrs Dutton?'

'If it isn't your face I know, maybe it's your name,' said Wilf. 'Walter Dew. You aren't famous, by any chance?'

'It's quite a common name.'

'A cricketer?'

'He's coming to take the order, love,' said Jean. 'What's minestrone?'

'Vegetable soup,' said Walter.

'She asked me,' said Wilf. i could have told her that.'

'Let's change the subject,' said Jean. 'Did you hear about the poor woman who fell overboard, Mr Dew?'

The same topic was discussed across the round, linen-covered tables in the first class and the folding tables linked in lines in the third. Passengers expounded theories through the afternoon. A steady stream of witnesses with information made statements to the master-at-arms. Then they made further statements to the people in the deckchairs outside. It was learned that Mr Saxon was asking curious questions. He was interested in other people seen on deck or in the cabin areas near midnight. He asked several witnesses if they had heard a struggle or a scream.

One of Mr Saxon's informants was a bellboy. He was very nervous. He stood rigidly to attention while he made his statement. He fixed his eyes on the lampshade over Mr Saxon's head.

When the boy had finished, Mr Saxon asked him, 'Are you sure you aren't confused? You see a lot of passengers on embarkation day. How can you be sure?'

'Don't know, sir.'

'What did you say her name was?'

'Mrs Brownhoff, sir.'

The master-at-arms looked towards one of the officers assisting him. The officer looked at the passenger list. He shook his head.

'There is no-one of that name aboard. You say she was a passenger with an embarkation card.'

'Yes, sir.'

'You showed this lady to her stateroom. Which room was it?'

The boy looked down.

'Don't you remember, lad?'

'It was a portside room, sir.'

'How do you remember that?'

'She asked me which side of the ship she was. She gave me a shilling.'

Mr Saxon glanced aside. 'That probably is reliable information.' He addressed the boy again. 'And you say you haven't seen this lady since. Do you make a point of checking up on all the passengers you have shown to their staterooms to see if they are still aboard?'

'No, sir.'

'If your Mrs Brownhoff happened to be unwell in her first day at sea, isn't it possible that she might stay in her room, and that you wouldn't see her about the ship?'

'I suppose so, sir.'

'You suppose so? What do you mean by that?'

'I mean no, sir. I wouldn't see her.'

'I think we're wasting valuable time,' said Mr Saxon.

The officer with the passenger list said, 'We have a Mrs Baranov in stateroom 89.'

The officer taking down the statements said, 'She isn't missing. She was at the service this morning. Dark-haired, rather pale, doesn't smile much, but attractive. Late twenties, early thirties.'

Mr Saxon asked the bellboy, 'Does that sound like the lady who gave you a shilling?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, it looks as if we've solved your little mystery. Did someone put you up to this?'

'No, sir.'

'Because if you were deliberately obstructing me in the performance of my duty I would see to it personally that you were not employed on the Mauretania or any other ship again. Get back on duty.'

The work of taking statements continued through the afternoon. It had to be got through, but Mr Saxon was uneasy. Other things needed to be done. Someone ought to check that every stateroom on the ship was occupied. He didn't trust cabin stewards. He knew their reputation, the stories of their unrestraint with unaccompanied lady passengers. It ought to be an independent check. He had insufficient time and insufficient help.