“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t.” His look was steady and entirely innocent. “Good night.”
“Good night, young man.” She entered her suite and closed the door. She could hear his footsteps fading away down the outside corridor. He was a man in a hurry.
Elizabeth removed her mink and walked into the large comfortable bedroom with its heavy furniture secured to the floor. She turned on a lamp attached to the night-stand and sat on the edge of the bed. She tried to recall more specifically what the Calpurnia’s captain had said of the young man when he had presented his table for her approval.
“And then there’s a chap, very well connected, I might add, named Canfield.”
Elizabeth paid no more attention to his abbreviated biography than she had to the others.
“He’s associated with a sporting goods concern and crosses rather regularly. Wimbledon, I believe.”
And then, if Elizabeth’s memory served her well, the captain had added. “Priority request from the ship line. Probably the son of an old boy. School tie and that sort of thing. Had to drop Dr. Barstow for him.”
Elizabeth had given her approval without any questions.
So the young man had a priority request for the captain’s table from the owners of an English steamship company. And a fatuous captain, accustomed to associating with the social and professional leaders of both continents, had felt obliged to drop a highly regarded surgeon in his favor.
If for no other reason than to quell an inexhaustible imagination, Elizabeth picked up the stateroom phone and asked for the wireless room.
“Calpurnia radio, good evening.” The British accent trailed off the word evening to a hum.
“This is Elizabeth Scarlatti, suite double A, three. May I speak with the officer in charge, if you please.”
“This is Deck Officer Peters. May I help you?”
“Were you the officer who was on duty earlier this evening?”
“Yes, madame. Your wires to New York went out immediately. They should be delivered within the hour.”
“Thank you. However, that’s not why I’m calling.… I’m afraid I’ve missed someone I was to meet in the radio room. Has anyone asked for me?” She listened carefully for even the slightest hesitation. There was none.
“No, madame, no one’s asked for you.”
“Well, he might have been somewhat embarrassed. I really feel quite guilty.”
“I’m sorry, Madame Scarlatti. Outside of yourself there’ve been only three passengers here all evening. First night out, y’know.”
“Since there were only three, would you mind terribly describing them to me?”
“Oh, not at all.… Well, there was an elderly couple from tourist and a gentleman, a bit squiffed, I’m afraid, who wanted the wireless tour.”
“The what?”
“The tour, madame. We have three a day for the first class. Ten, twelve, and two. Nice chap, really. Just a pint too many.”
“Was he a young man? In his late twenties, perhaps? Dressed in a dinner jacket?”
“That description would apply, madame.”
“Thank you, Officer Peters. It’s an inconsequential matter, but I’d appreciate your confidence.”
“Of course.”
Elizabeth rose and walked to the sitting room. Her bridge partner might not be very skilled at cards, but he was a superb actor.
CHAPTER 19
Matthew Canfield hurried down the corridor for the simple reason that his stomach was upset. Maybe the bar—and the crowd—on B deck would make him feel better. He found his way and ordered a brandy.
“Hell of a party, isn’t it?”
A huge, broad-shouldered fullback-type crowded Can-field against the adjacent stool.
“Certainly is,” Canfield replied with a. meaningless grin.
“I know you! You’re at the captain’s table. We saw you at dinner.”
“Good food there.”
“Y’know something? I could have been at the captain’s table, but I said shit on it.”
“Well, that would have made an interesting hors d’oeuvre.”
“No, I mean it.” The accent, Canfield determined, was Tiffany-edged Park Avenue. “Uncle of mine owns a lot of stock. But I said shit on it.”
“You can take my place, if you want to.”
The fullback reeled slightly backward and grasped the bar for support. “Much too dull for us. Hey, barkeep! Bourbon and ginger!”
The fullback steadied himself and swayed back toward Canfield. His eyes were glazed and almost without muscular control. His very blond hair was falling over his forehead.
“What’s your line, chum? Or are you still in school?”