“Yes, sir. But whether it’s broadcast over the tannoy system or whispered in a dark corner, it’ll make no difference. If Benson is missing and is going to stay that way it will be all over the ship by midnight to-night. Or earlier.”

“Job’s comforter,” Bullen growled. “All right, Johnny, you, too, Howie, see what you can find.”

“Your authority to look anywhere, sir?” I asked.

“Within reason, of course.”

“Everywhere?” I insisted. “Or I’m wasting my time. You know that, sir.” “My god! And it’s only a couple of days since that Jamaican lot. Remember how our passengers reacted to the customs and American navy going through their cabins? The board of directors are going to love this.” He looked up wearily. “I suppose you are referring to the passengers’ quarters?”

“We’ll do it quietly, sir. They’re still at dinner. And Howie here can fix anything that comes up.”

“Twenty minutes then. You’ll find me on the bridge. Don’t tramp on any toes if you can help it.”

We left, dropped down to “A” deck, and made a right left turn into the hundred-foot central passageway between the cabin suites on “A” deck: there were only six of these suites, three on each side. White was about halfway down the passageway, nervously pacing up and down. I beckoned to him and he came walking quickly towards us, a thin, balding character with a permanently pained expression who suffered from the twin disabilities of chronic dyspepsia and over conscientiousness.

“Got all the passkeys, White?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine.” I nodded to the first main door on my right, number one suite on the port side. “Open it, will you?”

White looked at Cummings. It was an understood thing at sea that deck officers never, never went into the Campari’s passenger accommodation except by passenger invitation, and even then only by kind permission of the purser and head steward. But to burgle the passenger accommodation.

“You heard the Chief Officer.” I wondered when I’d previously heard a harsh note in Howie’s voice and decided never; he and banana-legs Benson were pretty good friends. “Open up.”

He opened up. I brushed past him, followed by the purser. There was no need to switch on the lights — they were already on; asking the Campari’s passengers, at the prices they were paying, to remember to turn off the lights would have been a waste of breath and an insult. There were no bunks in the Campari’s cabin suites. Four posters, and massive four posters at that, with concealed and mechanically operated sideboards which could be quickly raised in bad weather; such was the standard of modern weather reporting, the latitude allowed Captain Bullen in avoiding bad weather, and the efficiency of our Denny-Brown stabilisers that I don’t think those sideboards had ever been used. Seasickness was not allowed aboard the Campari. The suite was composed of a sleeping cabin, an adjacent lounge and bathroom, and beyond the lounge another cabin. All the plate-glass windows faced out over the port side. We went through the cabins in a minute, looking beneath beds, examining cupboards, wardrobes, behind drapes, everywhere. Nothing. We left. Out in the passageway again I nodded at the suite opposite. Number two. “This one now,” I said to White.

“Sorry, sir. Can’t do it. It’s the old man and his nurses, sir. They had three special trays sent up to them — when, now let me see; yes, sir, about six-fifteen to-night, and Mr. Carreras, the gentleman who came aboard to-day, he gave instructions that they were not to be disturbed till morning.” White was enjoying this. “Very strict instructions, sir.”

“Carreras?” I looked at the purser. “What’s he got to do with this, Mr. Cummings?”

“You haven’t heard? No, I don’t suppose so. Seems like Mr. Carreras — the father — is the senior partner in one of the biggest law firms in the country, Cerdan and Carreras. Mr. Cerdan, founder of the firm, is the old gentleman in the cabin here. Seems he’s been a semi-paralysed cripple — but a pretty tough old cripple — for the past eight years. His son and wife — Cerdan junior being the next senior partner to Carreras — have had him on their hands all that time, and I believe the old boy has been a handful and a half. I understand Carreras offered to take him along primarily to give Cerdan junior and his wife a break. Carreras, naturally, feels responsible for him, so I suppose that’s why he left his orders with Benson.”

“Doesn’t sound like a man at death’s door to me,” I said.

“Nobody’s wanting to kill him off, just to ask him a few questions. Or the nurses.” White opened his mouth to protest again, but I pushed roughly past him and knocked at the door. No answer. I waited all of thirty seconds and then knocked again, loudly. White, beside me, was stiff with outrage and disapproval. I ignored him and was lifting my hand to put some real weight on the wood when I heard a movement and suddenly the door opened inwards. It was the shorter of the two nurses, the plump one, who had answered the door. She had an old-fashioned pull-string linen cap over her head and was clutching with one hand a light woollen wrap that left only the toes of her mules showing. The cabin behind her was only dimly lit, but I could see it held a couple of beds, one of which was rumpled. The free hand with which she rubbed her eyes told the rest of the story. “My sincere apologies, miss,” I said.

“I had no idea you were in bed. I’m the Chief Officer of this ship and this is Mr. Cummings, the purser. Your chief steward is missing and we were wondering if you may have seen or heard anything that might help us.”

“Missing?” she clutched the wrap more tightly. “You mean -you mean he’s just disappeared?”

“Let’s say we can’t find him. Can you help us at all?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been asleep. You see,” she explained, “we take it in three-hour turns to be by old Mr. Cerdan’s bed. It is essential that he is watched all the time. I was trying to get in some sleep before my turn came to relieve Miss Werner.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “You can’t tell us anything then?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Perhaps your friend Miss Werner can?”

“Miss Werner?” she blinked at me. “But Mr. Cerdan is not to be…” “Please. This might be very serious. One of the crew is missing, and delay doesn’t increase his chances.”

“Very well.” like all competent nurses she knew how far she could go and when to make up her mind. “But I must ask you to be very quiet and not to disturb Mr. Cerdan in any way at all.” She didn’t say anything about the possibility of Mr. Cerdan disturbing us, but she might have warned us. As we passed through the open door of his cabin he was sitting up in bed, a book on the blankets before him, with a bright overhead bed light illuminating a crimson tasselled nightcap and throwing his face into deep shadow, but a shadow not quite deep enough to hide the hostile gleam under bar straight tufted eyebrows. The hostile gleam, it seemed to me, was as much a permanent feature of his face as the large beak of a nose that jutted out over a straggling white moustache. The nurse who led the way made to introduce us, but Cerdan waved her to silence with a peremptory hand. Imperious, I thought, was the word for the old boy, not to mention bad-tempered and downright ill-mannered.

“I hope you can explain this damnable outrage, sir.” His voice was glacial enough to make a polar bear shiver. “Bursting into my private stateroom without so much as by your leave.” He switched his gimlet eyes to Cummings. “You. You there. You had your orders, damn it. Strictest privacy, absolutely. Explain yourself, sir.”

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am, Mr. Cerdan,” Cummings said smoothly. “Only the most unusual circumstances…”

“Rubbish!” Whatever this old coot was living for, it couldn’t have been with the object of out live his friends; he’d lost his last friend before he’d left the nursery. “Amanda! Get the captain on the phone. At once!” The tall, thin nurse sitting on the high-backed chair by the bedside made to gather up her knitting — an all but finished pale-blue cardigan — lying on her knees, but I gestured to her to remain where she was.