Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen

(reply to Annie's narrative) It was the night of the masquerade and I decided it was time for me to find someone I could trust.So far, I've been solitary and enjoying myself.Now suddenly, everything changes.I began to mistrust my own judgment, and for the first time felt a sense of isolation consume me. I sat on the edge of the bed, still in my gypsy suit, thinking about the situation.First I thought of Colonel Race, who seemed to like me.I'm sure he'll treat me well, and he's no fool.However, when I think about it again, I can't help but shudder.He is a man with a commanding personality.He'd take the whole thing out of my hands and deal with it alone.And this is my secret!There were other reasons, unknown to me, which made me think it unwise to rely on Colonel Race.

Then I thought of Mrs. Blair.She also treats me well.It's not that I don't think that does mean something.Maybe it was just a passing thought.I still have the same ability to interest her.She is a woman who has experienced most of her everyday experiences, and I am going to offer her an unusual experience!And I like her; I like her easy manner, her stable mood that is not affected by any emotion. I have made up my mind.I decided to go to her right away, she was unlikely to be asleep by now. I remembered that I didn't know her cabin number.My friend, the night maid, may know. I rang the bell.After a while a bell boy came and gave me the information I needed. .Mrs Blair's cabin was No. 71.He apologized for his lateness, but explained that he had to attend to all the rooms.

"Where have all the maids gone?" I asked. "They get off work at ten o'clock." "No—I mean the night maid." "There is no night maid, miss." "But—but a waitress came that evening—about one o'clock in the morning." "You must be dreaming, miss. There are no maids after ten o'clock." He retired and I was left to chew on his words. Who was the maid who came to my room on the night of the 22nd?When I learned of the cunning and boldness of my unknown opponent, I couldn't help but grimace.Having regained my composure, I left the stateroom to seek Mrs. Blair's room.

I knock on the door. "Who?" Her voice came from inside. "It's me—Anne Beddingfeld." "Oh, come in, Gypsy girl." I go in.There was a lot of laundry scattered about, and Mrs Blair herself was wearing the loveliest dressing gown I've ever seen, all gold, orange and black, which made my mouth water. "Mrs. Blair," I said suddenly, "I want to tell you the story of my life—that is, if it is not too late and you are not bored." "Not at all. I've always hated going to bed," said Mrs. Blair, with a pleasant smile on her face. "And I must love your life story, you're a very special character, gypsy girl. No one else would come into my room at one o'clock in the morning and tell me your life story, especially After weeks of you snubbing my natural curiosity! I'm not used to being snubbed. This is actually quite new and interesting. Sit back and let your soul rest easy."

I told her the whole story.It took me a while to recall all the details.When I finished, she sighed deeply, but didn't say what I expected her to say.She looked at me, smiled and said: "You know what? Anne, you're a very ordinary girl! Have you never been disturbed?" "Uneasy?" I asked puzzled. "Yes, uneasy, uneasy, uneasy! Going out alone without much money. When you find yourself in a foreign country and have no money, what do you do?" "It's no use worrying beforehand. I've got plenty of money. I haven't spent the twenty-five pounds that Mrs. Fleming gave me, and I won some bets yesterday, which was another fifteen pounds. Why, don't I?" Less money, forty pounds!"

"A lot of money! My God!" said Mrs. Blair. "I can't, Anne, I've got a lot of courage myself, but I can't go out happily with only a few dozen pounds in my pocket, I don't know what I'm doing or where I'm going." "But what's so funny about that," I exclaimed, rising, "that gives a glorious sense of adventure." She looked at me, nodded, and laughed. "Lucky Anne! There are not many people in the world who feel like you." "By the way," I said impatiently, "what do you think, Mrs. Blair?" "I think it's the most shocking thing I've ever heard! Now, first of all, stop calling me Mrs. Blair and call me Suzanne."

"I like it, Suzanne." "Now, good girl, let's get down to business. You said Sir Eustace's secretary—not the long-faced Pagett, the other—you knew the man who was stabbed and hid in your room?" I nod. "That gives us two threads between Sir Eustace and the tangled events. The woman was murdered in his house, and his secretary was stabbed at mysterious one o'clock. I don't doubt that Sir Eustace himself, but it couldn't all be a coincidence. Even if he didn't know it himself, there must be some connection." "Then there's that strange maid," she went on thoughtfully. "What does she look like?"

"I barely noticed her. I was nervous - and the presence of a maid just relieved my nervous orgasm. But - yes - I did think she looked familiar. Of course it could be that I was on the boat seen her." "You think she looks familiar?" Suzanne said. "Are you sure she's not a man?" "She's tall," I admit. "Well, I don't think it could be Sir Eustace or Pagett—yes!" She grabbed a piece of paper and began to draw hastily.She glanced sideways at the result of her drawing. "Very much like the Reverend Edward Chichester." She handed me the paper. "Is this the maid you saw?"

"Wow! Yes," I exclaimed, "Susanne, you're so smart!" She stopped my compliment with a gesture. "I've been wondering about that Chichester guy. Do you remember the day we were talking about Cliburn and he broke his coffee cup and turned green?" "And he's trying to get room seventeen!" "Yes, so far everything fits. But what does all this mean? What should really happen in Cabin 17 at one o'clock? It can't be the assassination of the secretary. If so, then specify the specific time and place It becomes meaningless. No, it must have been some kind of date, and he was shot on the way. But who? Not you, of course, maybe Chichester, maybe Pagett. "

"That seems unlikely," I said disapprovingly, "that they could see each other any time." We both sat in silence for a minute or two, and then Suzanne started to work the other way around. "Is it possible that there is something hidden in the cabin?" "That's more likely," I agreed. "It would explain why my stuff was rummaged through the next morning. But there's nothing hidden there, I'm sure." "It can't be that the young man dropped something in the drawer the night before?" I shake my head. "If there was one, I should have seen it."

"Could it be your note they were looking for?" "Maybe it was before, but it doesn't seem to make sense. It's just the time, the date - and it's all out of date by then." Suzanne nodded. "That makes sense. No, it's not the note. By the way, do you have it with you? I want to see it." I've always carried that note with me like a baby.I give it to her.She watched carefully, frowning. "There is a comma after 17, why is there no comma after 1?" "There's a gap, but—" She stood up suddenly and studied the note carefully, getting as close to the light as possible.She suppressed her excitement. "Annie, that's not a comma! It's a blot on the paper! A blot on the paper, you know? That's why you ignore it. Should just look at the interval,—the interval!" I stood up and stood beside her.I read the numbers. "17122" "You see," said Suzanne, "it's still the same, but not quite. It's still one o'clock, number twenty-two—but it's number seventy-one! My stateroom, Anne!" We stood there looking at each other, overwhelmed with joy at our new discovery, so excited and ecstatic that one might think we had unlocked the whole mystery.I fell to the ground with a thud. "But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one o'clock on the night of the 22nd?" Her face also sank. "Yes, not at all." Another thought came to mind. "It's not your own cabin, is it? Suzanne. I mean it wasn't your original order?" "No, the purser replaced it for me." "I wonder if it was ordered by someone before sailing—if that person isn't on board. I think we can find out." "Don't look up, Gypsy girl," cried Suzanne, "I know! The purser told me. The room was booked by a Mrs. Grey—but the name seemed to be that of the famous Madame Tina's pseudonym. You know, she's an acclaimed Russian dancer. She's never been seen in London, but Paris is crazy about her. She was very successful there, before and after the war. I think, Her fate was very bad, but charming. The purser, when he gave me her cabin, expressed his heartfelt regret for her absence, and Colonel Race told me a great deal about her afterwards. There seem to be some very curious stories going around in Paris where she was suspected of being a spy but couldn't be conclusively proven. I sort of think Colonel Race was there mainly for that. He also told me some very interesting things .There is a well-organized gang, not of German origin at all. In fact, the investment of this gang, known as 'The Colonel', is believed to be British, and there is no clue as to who he is. However, there is no There is no doubt that he controls a sizable international criminal organization. Robbery, espionage, raids, he does everything - and usually creates an innocent scapegoat to take the blame, he must be very vicious and cunning! This woman is believed to be his An agent of the police, but the authorities are unable to grasp any clues. By the way, Anne, we are on the right track. Nadina is the woman who confuses this matter. An appointment with her is arranged here in the early hours of the 22nd. But what about her? Why isn't she on board?" I suddenly felt a dawn. "She was going to take this boat," I said slowly. "Then why isn't she on board?" "Because she's dead. Suzanne, Nadina is the one who was killed in Marlowe!" My thoughts turned back to the empty rooms of the empty house, and again the sense of inexplicable guilt and ominousness consumed me.Then the memories of the dropped pencil and the discovery of the roll of negatives resurfaced.A roll of negatives - this triggers a recent memory.Where have I heard a roll of negatives?Why do I associate this line of thought with Mrs. Blair. I ran suddenly to Mrs. Blair, shaking her excitedly. "Your negatives! That roll thrown back at you through the transom? Wasn't it on the 22nd?" "The volume I lost?" "How do you know it's the same roll? Why did that guy return it to you that way—in the middle of the night? It's unreasonable. No—it contained information, and the negatives had been taken out and replaced with other ones. Something. Do you still have that roll of negatives?" "I might have thrown it off. No, it's still here. I remember dropping it on the shelf by the bed." She found it for me. It was an ordinary tin can, the way negatives are usually packaged in the tropics.I held it tremblingly, and my heart was beating up and down.That roll of negatives was obviously heavier than normal. With trembling fingers, I tore off the plastic wrap, opened the lid, and a stream of unremarkable glass-like pebbles cascaded onto the bed. "Pebbles," I said, disappointed. "Pebbles?" Suzanne called out. Her silvery voice excited me. "Pebbles? No, Anne, not pebbles! Diamonds!"