Free Murder on the Lusitania by Conrad Allen Page A

’Arf a mo, sir!”
    He turned to see Albert furtively beckoning him back down the corridor. Garrow followed the steward until they came to a storeroom. After checking that nobody could see them, Albert ushered him inside before shutting the door behind them and switching on the light. The steward was panting slightly and there was a light film of perspiration on his brow. He gave a conspiratorial smirk.
    “More private in ’ere, sir.”
    “Have you spoken to your brother?”
    “Don’t rush me,” said the other, holding up a palm. “Been all over the place, looking for you. Give me time to catch my breath.”
    “I thought you’d forgotten me,” said Garrow.
    “Not that stupid, sir. Never forget someone as generous as you. Not that I ’aven’t earned my money, mind you,” he asserted, flicking a speck of dust off his white jacket. “Broke lots of rules on your be’alf. Lots.”
    “Does that mean you made contact with your brother?”
    “Yes. Wasn’t easy, though.”
    “But you managed it.”
    “Me and Jack is old ’ands at this, sir.”
    “Did he agree to do it?”
    “Only when I gave him your fiver.”
    “And?” pressed Garrow, twitching with impatience. “What, then?”
    “Jack said he’d do what he could. Not as simple as it sounds. Stewards only cover their own cabins. They don’t get to see the full list of passengers. Jack ’ad to do a bit of snooping. Took time.”
    “But he got results?”
    “Eventually.”
    “Wonderful! Which cabin is it?”
    “Suite, sir.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Two bedrooms leading off a shared lounge and dining room. One of the regal suites. ’er parents must have money.”
    Garrow was dejected. “So she doesn’t have a separate cabin?”
    “No, sir. You’d ’ave to go past them to get to ’er.”
    “That’s nothing new!”
    “Tricky situation.”
    “Yes,” said the other, running a pensive hand across his chin. “I suppose that I should have expected something like this. They never let her out of their sight. No wonder she feels suffocated.” He stepped closer to the steward. “Could your brother get a message to her?”
    “Depends.”
    “He won’t lose by it. Nor will you, Albert.”
    The steward grinned. “Expensive young lady!”
    “Worth every penny.”
    “Take your word for it, sir. Jack
might
be able to get a message to her. On the quiet, like. But there’s no telling when that might be. If they got a suite, they might be taking their meals in there as well.”
    “They’re bound to let her out at some stage.”
    “Jack’ll be waiting.”
    “How will he recognize her?”
    “ ’e knows ’er name. And he’ll speak to the steward who looks after their suite. Casual, like. Ask ’im what sort of people these Rymers is. Probe ’im about the daughter. We always gossips about passengers, sir. Don’t you worry. Jack will pick ’er out.” He gave another smirk. “Don’t want my brother slipping a love letter to the wrong young lady, do we? Could be embarrassing, that.”
    “Actually, it won’t
be
a letter.”
    “Oh?”
    “I want your brother to give her this,” he said, feeling gingerly in his pocket. “And he must be discreet. Completely discreet.”
    “Family characteristic of ours, sir.”
    The steward held out his hand and Garrow placed a small object into his palm. Albert squinted down at it and then wrinkled his brow.
    “A tie pin, sir?”
    “She’ll understand.”
    Dorothea Erskine began the exodus. After sitting in the lounge with the others for the best part of an hour, she decided it was time to leave.
    “I’m ready for bed,” she announced, brushing her necklace with a reverential palm. “And I must have this locked up in the safe again.”
    “Shall I fetch your husband, Mrs. Erskine?” volunteered Dillman.
    “No, thank you. Let him smoke on. Mrs. Weekes?”
    “I’ll come with you,” said Ada Weekes, getting up from her chair. “It looks as if Cyril will be in there for some time yet. If you