Free Murder on the Marmora by Conrad Allen

important work to do. Take your next unnecessary fear to Martin Grandage.”
    He stalked off and left the detective both annoyed and pensive. Irritated by the purser’s abrupt manner, Dillman wondered yet again what had provoked it. How could a man who was so effortlessly pleasant to the passengers aboard the ship, be so offhand with one of his colleagues? Something more than mere dislike of the Cunard Line was involved. Dillman resolved to find out what it was. In the meantime, a more immediate problem confronted him. Polly Goss was bearing down on him with a mixture of nervousness and bravado. Her smile was tense.
    “Hello, Mr. Dillman,” she said.
    “Good morning, Miss Goss.”
    “I just wanted to apologize for my father. He does go on, I’m afraid. You must have been bored rigid over dinner.”
    “Not at all. I was fascinated by what he was saying.”
    “He treats everyone as if they were students in class.”
    “Well, I was only too grateful to be taught by him. Your father is obviously a leading expert on his subject.”
    “Yes,” she conceded, “but that subject is so frightfully dull.”
    “Not to anyone who’s interested in Egyptian civilization.”
    “I’m not, Mr. Dillman.”
    “You may change your mind when you actually get to Cairo,” he said. “I envy you the opportunity. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, myself. Before that, of course, you have the voyage to enjoy. There seem to be lots of young people aboard. I’m sure you’ll soon make new friends.”
    She grinned at him. “I’d like to think that you’re one of them.”
    “Of course. That goes without saying.”
    “And I will play the flute for you—if you wish, that is.”
    “Yes,” he said with feigned enthusiasm, “that would be very nice.”
    “Do you want to fix a time?”
    “Let’s wait a day or two, shall we? Then we can get used to the routine on board and find out when the music room is likely to be empty.”
    “We don’t have to go there,” she said, blurting out the suggestion. “We could always find somewhere more private than the music room.”
    “I’m sure your parents will want to be there to hear you.”
    “They’ve heard my repertoire dozens of times. I’d be playing for you.”
    “I see.”
    There was an awkward pause. “Are you glad that you left Boston?” she said.
    “Sometimes.”
    “I couldn’t wait to get away,” she confided. “It’s so predictable. I knew exactly what I’d be doing every day of every week. There were no surprises. And the worst of it was that it’s terribly conventional. There’s a way of doings things that you simply have to follow. I’d never dream of talking as freely as this to anyone in Boston.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because we’ve only just met, Mr. Dillman. You’re a stranger.”
    “I’m quite harmless when you get to know me.”
    “But that’s the point,” she stressed. “Back in Boston, it would take months to get to know you. We’d have to go through all those ridiculous social rituals first. Go to the right places, meet at the right times, say the right things.”
    “Some people find those rituals very comforting.”
    “Well, I’m not one of them. And I suspect that you’re not, either.”
    “No, Miss Goss. I’m not.”
    She grinned again. “Then why do you still conform to the rules?”
    “Rules?”
    “Why do you call me ‘Miss Goss’ when you know that my name is Polly?”
    He hunched his shoulders. “Courtesy, I guess.”
    “But I hate being ‘Miss Goss.’ It’s exasperating.”
    “May I call you Polly, then?”
    “Of course,” she said, grasping his arm. “We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
    She saw him first. He was alone. Genevieve found it remarkably easy to avoid being seen by him. Wearing a long coat and a large, wide-brimmed hat, she merged with all the other ladies on deck who were similarly attired. Genevieve simply had to turn her head and the brim of her hat obscured her face completely. Nigel