Free Murder on the Caronia by Conrad Allen Page A

this morning. And yesterday, Miss Peterson actually challenged me to
prove
their guilt. She’d lost that simpering look completely. Her eyes were blazing.”
    “That could have been anger at wrongful arrest.”
    “No, Mr. Dillman. What I saw was a woman, brazenly confident that she and her accomplice had got away with it. Until then, she’d been meek and mild. In a flash her real character suddenly revealed itself.”
    “Are you sure that they’re safe where they are, Inspector?” said Taggart.
    “Quite safe.”
    “A strong man could break out of that cabin.”
    “Where would he go? Heritage can’t escape from this ship. Besides,” he said, “the only place he wants to be is with Miss Peterson. Sergeant Mulcaster and I would hear the noise if he tried to break down any doors. We keep a close eye on both of them.”
    “I wonder if I might make a suggestion,” Dillman said gently.
    “Go ahead.”
    “Well, I know that Sergeant Mulcaster doesn’t have too high an opinion of the Pinkerton Agency but it has had considerable success. One of the things it taught me was the value of using female operatives, especially when it came to questioning female suspects.” He saw Redfern purse his lips in irritation. “We don’t want to tread on your toes, Inspector. This is your case and we respect that. I just feel that Genevieve Masefield might be able to talk to Miss Peterson as a woman and draw things out of her that neither you nor Sergeant Mulcaster ever could do.”
    “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Dillman, but I’ll have to decline it.”
    “Don’t you want any help?”
    “We don’t need it.”
    “Very well. I won’t press it.”
    “You’d be wasting your time, Mr. Dillman.”
    “Then let me leave you with this thought, Inspector. You toldus, I believe, that both the suspects have repeatedly denied their guilt.”
    “Most villains do.”
    “But they’re not typical villains, are they?” said Dillman. “Until recently, they were well-behaved British citizens who went about their lawful business without causing a moment’s concern. They then commit a heinous crime—allegedly.”
    “Who else could have murdered Mrs. Heritage?”
    “That’s beside the point. What I’m asking you to consider is this. The husband may indeed have poisoned his wife—all the signs indicate that—but supposing that Miss Peterson was not directly implicated…. Suppose that, until you arrested her, she didn’t even know that Mrs. Heritage had been killed?”
    “She did seem overwhelmed by the news,” Redfern conceded.
    “Could that be the reason she was so angry yesterday?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Innocent of the crime herself,” argued Dillman, “she refuses to believe that her lover could have committed it. That’s why her denials are so vehement, Inspector. You can’t prove that she has blood on her hands if they’re completely clean, can you?”
    “That’s marvelous!” exclaimed Cecilia Robart. “Where did you find them?”
    “I didn’t,” said Genevieve. “The bath steward did.”
    “Bath steward?”
    “You’d be surprised what people leave in a bathroom. They take off watches, necklaces, earrings, and everything else they’re wearing before they get into the water. Then they simply forget to pick them up again. It may seem incredible, but a glass eye was once found in a bathroom on the
Carmania
.”
    “Who could possibly leave that behind?”
    “An old gentleman who was ever so grateful when it was returned to him.”
    “Well, he couldn’t have been more grateful than I am, MissMasefield,” said Mrs. Robart. “I’d given up all hope of ever seeing the earrings again.”
    “You’re certain they’re the right ones?”
    “No question of that.”
    When Genevieve had called at her cabin to return the items, Mrs. Robart was quite overjoyed. Now, taking the earrings across to the mirror, she held them up to the lobes of her ears and beamed happily.
    “How on earth did they get into