Free The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray

I guess.”
    The mood of the audience was turning impatient. “The Panama Canal?” suggested a hesitant voice, from the back of the room. The tall woman closed her eyes.
    â€œOne minute more, the port side!” the purser called cheerfully.
    â€œThat explains a great deal,” said Olympia. “By the by, do you happen to be acquainted with that woman at the front of the room?”
    Morrison startled. “Her? I don’t suppose so. I believe she’s the attendant to poor old Miss Crawley, in the invalid’s chair.”
    â€œYes, I know that. But where is the large-throated Miss Crawley now? I don’t see her here.”
    Morrison looked about the room. “That’s curious. I guess she’s resting.”
    â€œNo doubt.”
    â€œTime!” called out the purser.
    The tall woman planted her hands on her hips and glared accusingly at her side through those round thick-lensed spectacles. The afternoon light fell through the great glass dome onto her hair. “For God’s sake!” she told them. “‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’!”
    Olympia turned and inclined his head, amid a chorus of groans and recrimination. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Morrison.”
    He made his way thoughtfully up the main staircase to the promenade deck, where a man might have a smoke and a think. On the way, he paused at the deckhouse to send a message to Mr. Simmons: the Duke of Olympia requested the favor of a moment’s conversation at the first officer’s earliest convenience.
    The deck brimmed pleasantly with walkers, the agreeable sort of people who didn’t go in for charades and instead bundled in tweeds and scarves to go tramping about in the sharp air. Olympia nodded and smiled and chose a spot in the corner, amidships, where he could observe the goings-on along the second-class portion of the deck. He removed his cigar from his inside pocket and lit it slowly, sucking the air inward, until the flame had caught properly. There was no sign of Mr. Langley among the mill of second-class passengers on the other side of the rail, but he hadn’t really expected to see the young man. Langley was probably composing sonnets in his cabin.
    â€œYour Grace!” Mr. Simmons appeared at his elbow, pink-cheeked. “I’m glad to find you.”
    Olympia removed the cigar from his mouth. “Thank you, my good man, for answering my little summons so quickly.”
    â€œYour summons, sir?” The first officer was bemused.
    â€œYou didn’t receive the message?”
    â€œNo, sir. I’ve just come from the ship’s safe, sir, because a certain matter has arisen in which I thought you might have some interest.” He lowered his voice and cast the old furtive glance, just in case someone might not have suspected him before. “It’s Miss Morrison, sir. Miss Ruby Morrison.”
    â€œYes, someone’s been inside her room,” Olympia said impatiently. “That’s what I mean to talk to you about.”
    â€œBeen inside her
room
? Are you certain?”
    â€œYes, not an hour ago. I shall want a full list of—”
    â€œOf course, sir. I shall command a thorough investigation. But there’s more—it’s why I came to find you—you see, Miss Morrison herself has just had some papers placed in the ship’s safe. A leather portfolio, that’s all.” Mr. Simmons ducked his head. “I thought you’d want to know, sir.”
    â€œMiss Morrison, did you say?” Olympia drew on his cigar. His heart made a series of eager movements beneath the neat woolen breast of his coat, or perhaps it was just the freshness of the breeze, which was now blowing in gusts, catching in little white pockets atop the surrounding sea. “How very resourceful of her.”
    â€œYes, sir. I do wonder if the two events are possibly related?”
    â€œI think it very likely. In fact, I propose