Hi all, here’s the second part of my old-time crime serial. In case you missed it, here’s Part One.
The story so far:
“Never mind that,” said Batty. “Who’s died?”
“…the drummer. …”
“Salvatore? God no!”
…The Captain sputtered. “How–“
“Well, it’s not very difficult. Chelmsford? Would you like to explain it to our friend here?”
Now read on!
“I don’t know,” said Chelmsford. “I mean…”
“Everyone’s a suspect?” said the Captain. “Even me?”
Chelmsford fingered his moustache. He was in the most dreadful fix and couldn’t make up his mind what to do.
“Don’t worry Captain,” said Batty. “You were with Chelmsford last night. You’d hardly have committed a murder under his very eyes!”
“That’s right!” The Captain’s jaw dropped with relief. “Salvatore even interrupted us to ask about moving to another cabin. Said he couldn’t sleep with all the flies buzzing around.”
Chelmsford made up his mind. He was going to shave it off. “There’s Lady Watling, of course.” He spoke automatically, his mind far away, reliving happier times, when there weren’t other sleuths with moustaches. “Married to industrialist and philanthropist, Edgar Watling. Quite stonkingly rich in her own right, too.”
“Why should she be a suspect?” Outrage rang in the Captain’s voice.
“Salvatore was popular with the ladies,” said Batty. “And both she and her husband are very particular about their reputation.”
“Her husband Edgar is famously hot-blooded.” Chelmsford remembered the first time a lady had complimented his moustache. He’d still been in his short trousers at the time and had blushed from chin to hairline.
“There’s the Oscar-nominated actress, Estefania Harmilland,” said Chelmsford. He blanched at the thought that had just occurred to him. If he shaved it off now, his upper lip would look pale and odd.
“Salvatore and Miss Harmilland are business partners. In financial distress,” said Batty.
“There’s the Viscount Pearlbus.” Chelmsford hoped the Captain didn’t see how his hands shook. “Where’s the next lay over?” he asked.
“I rather like Pearlbus,” said Batty. “He’s a nice man but a terrible—in every sense of the word—gambler. Good point, Chelmsford. The next stop being San Francisco, this would be a crucial time for the Viscount to act, if he thought Salvatore were going ashore.”
San Francisco. Good. He could shave and get some tanning solution, book into the Palace Hotel with Batty until he was fit for society again.
“There’s Reginald Bluford, who’s been vying with Salvatore for years.” Chelmsford was enjoying himself. It would be a jolt, but he imagined returning to the pool, with a fine smooth upper lip. Checkmate! He’d be very interested to see how the other sleuthy-man reacted to that.
“Both Reginald and Salvatore have been competing for Maria’s attention,” explained Batty to the Captain.
Chelmsford could hardly wait to get rid of the moustache now. The other man would look positively shaggy with all that fur on his face! “Well, now, Bretand!” he said.
“The great detec… the other detective?” said the Captain. Even Batty appeared surprised.
“Why not? Everyone is a suspect, isn’t they?”
“’Aren’t they’?” corrected Batty.
“Aren’t they?” said Chelmsford. “He looks damned shifty to my mind.”
“I suppose so. The Queen did knight him, you know.”
“And there’s our Captain,” said Chelmsford.
“We said him already,” said Batty.
“True, but I don’t like how he’s sticking up for this other chap. Suspicious.” The Captain had been pacing the room up to now. At this, he slumped in the room’s other free chair, at the desk where he played with an unopened bottle of wine in its ice bucket. Chelmsford recognised the tune.
“Well, and there are the 400 or so other guests,” Batty said, waving his hand to dismiss the matter.
“But the case is in expert hands, Captain. You just let the authorities know that we’ll have a murderer ready for collection as soon as we pull into port.”
