Murder on the Lusitania by Conrad Allen Read Free Book Online Page B

relatively mild, one side of the café had been opened up so Dillman simply had to step a few yards before he was out on deck. Many passengers were sauntering along in the sunshine, some with dogs on leashes. Dillman strolled in the direction of the stern but he did not get very far before he recognized the two people who were coming toward him. They were the elderly ladies whom he had seen in the lounge on the previous evening with the mysterious young woman and the egregiousjournalist. It gave him the chance to do some detective work on his own account.
    Wearing coats, hats, and scarves to ward off the breeze, the Hubermanns walked along arm in arm. They had slept well the night before, eaten a hearty breakfast and an even more delicious luncheon, then spent the afternoon in a leisurely tour of the ship. When the tall young man confronted them with a polite smile, they came to a halt. Dillman touched the brim of his hat.
    “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said.
    “Good afternoon,” they chorused.
    “Ah, fellow Americans!”
    “There seem to be a lot of us aboard, sir,” said Carlotta, eyeing him with approval and noting his immaculate suit. “My sister and I are thinking of forming an American Society aboard the
Lusitania
.”
    “It was only a fanciful notion,” said Abigail dismissively.
    “An interesting one nevertheless,” observed Dillman. “I’m sorry to interrupt your stroll but I have the feeling that I saw you both in the lounge last night, talking with a British journalist.”
    “Yes!” said Carlotta ruefully. “He kept us up until all hours.”
    “Both you and the young lady with you.”
    “He was far more interested in her than in us.”
    “What did you make of Mr. Henry Barcroft?”
    “Why do you ask?” said Abigail suspiciously.
    “Because he set on me earlier in the voyage. I must say, I found him uncomfortably persistent. His manner was far too intrusive for my liking. I shook him off as soon as I could.”
    “I wish that we had done the same,” said Carlotta.
    “Yet your companion seemed to find his conversation interesting.”
    “It was for her sake that we tolerated him.”
    “Is the young lady traveling with you?”
    “Oh no. We met her on the train to Liverpool.”
    “She looks oddly familiar.”
    “Does she?” said Abigail, eyelids narrowing.
    “Her name would not happen to be Violet Weekes, would it?”
    “No,” said Carlotta. “It is—”
    “It is not,” said Abigail, interrupting firmly. “But, then, you already know that, sir. Had she really been the person whom you mention, you would have come across and spoken to her in the lounge last night. Let us be honest here,” she said, fixing Dillman with a withering gaze. “You caught sight of a beautiful young lady and wondered what her name was. That is why you accosted us just now, in the hope that you could trick the information out of us.” She took a tighter grip on her sister’s arm. “You have not succeeded.”
    “Allow me to explain,” he said.
    “No, sir. Allow
me
to explain. You are the fourth man today who has tried to wrest her name from us under false pretenses and you will not be the last. It is very ignoble of you. Stand aside, please.” Dillman moved out of their way. “Come along, Carlotta.”
    They swept past him and he touched his hat once more. His plan had gone awry but he was not abashed. His brief encounter with the Hubermann sisters had been stimulating. They were a formidable pair and seemed to be the self-appointed guardians of the young woman in question. If they kept him at arm’s length, they would also protect their friend from the attentions of Henry Barcroft. It was some consolation.
    Barcroft was ubiquitous. Having talked to a wide variety of first-class passengers, he spoke to several officers and crew members, even taking the trouble to chat to deckhands, window cleaners, stewards, linen keepers, hairdressers, and musicians. But the man he was most anxious to interview was