“And all of those were at dinner last night when Brownell and Benson were killed,” Mcllroy said thoughtfully, “except the old man and his nurses. Which leaves them as the only suspects, which is not only ridiculous but far too obvious. I think we’ve already had plenty of proof that whatever the people behind all this are guilty of, being obvious is not one of them. Unless, of course,” he added slowly, “some of the passengers are working in collusion with each other.”

“Or with the crew,” Tommy Wilson murmured.

“What?” old Bullen gave him the full benefit of his commodore’s stare. “What did you say?”

“I said the crew,” Wilson repeated clearly. If old Bullen was trying to frighten Tommy Wilson he was wasting his time. “And by the crew I also include the officers. I agree, sir, that I heard — or knew if those murders for the first time only a few minutes ago, and I admit that I haven’t had time to sort out my thoughts. On the other hand, I haven’t had the chance to become so involved as all the rest of you are. With all respects, I’m not so deeply lost in the wood that I can’t see the trees. You all seem to be convinced that it must be one or more of our passengers responsible your chief officer here seems to have set this bee firmly in all your bonnets but if a passenger were in cahoots with one of the crew, then it’s quite possible that that member of the crew was detailed to hang round in the vicinity of the wireless office and start laying about him when necessary.”

“You said the chief officer was responsible for planting this idea in our minds,” Bullen said slowly. “What do you mean by that?”

“No more than I said, sir. I only…” Then the implications of the captain’s question struck him. “Good God, sir! Mr. Carter? Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No one thinks you’re crazy,” Mcllroy put in soothingly. Our chief engineer had always regarded Wilson as a bit of a mental bantamweight, but you could see him slowly revising his opinion. “The crew, Tommy. What makes you suspect the crew?”

“Elimination, motive, and opportunity,” Wilson said promptly. “We seem to have more or less eliminated the passengers. All with alibis. What are the usual motives?” He asked of no one in particular.

“Revenge, jealousy, gain,” said Mcllroy. “Those three.”

“There you are, then. Take revenge and jealousy. Is it conceivable that any of our passengers should have their knives so deeply stuck in Brownell, Benson, and Dexter as to want to kill them all? Ridiculous. Gain? What could that bunch of bloated plutocrats want with any more lucre?” He looked round slowly. “And what officer or man aboard the Campari couldn’t do with a little more lucre? I could, for one.”

“Opportunity, Tommy,” Mcllroy prompted him gently. “Opportunity, you said.”

“I don’t have to go into that,” Wilson said. “Engineer and deck crews could be eliminated at once. The engineering side, except for officers at mealtimes, never go anywhere near the passenger and boat decks. The bo’sun’s men here are only allowed there in the morning watch, for washing down decks. But” — he looked round him again, even more slowly every deck officer, radio officer, radar operator, cook, galley slave, and steward aboard the Campari has a perfect right to be within a few yards of the wireless office at any time; no one could question his presence there. Not only that a knock came at the door and assistant chief steward White came in, hat in hand. He was looking acutely unhappy and looked even more so when he saw the extent and composition of the welcoming committee.

“Come in and sit down,” Bullen said. He waited till White had done this, then went on: “Where were you between eight and half-past eight this morning, White?”

“This morning. Eight and half-past.” White was immediately all stiff outrage. “I was on duty, sir, of course. I…”

“Relax,” Bullen said wearily. “No one is accusing you of anything.” then he said, more kindly: “We’ve all had some very bad news, White. Nothing that concerns you directly, so don’t get too apprehensive. You’d better hear it.”

Bullen told him, without any trimmings, of the three murders, and the one immediate result was that everyone present could immediately remove White from the list of suspects. He might have been a good actor, but not even an Irving could have turned his colour from a healthy red to a greyish pallor at the touch of a switch, which was what White did. He looked so bad, his breathing got so quick and shallow that I rose hastily and fetched him a glass of water. He swallowed it in a couple of gulps.

“Sorry to upset you, White,” Bullen went on. “But you had to know. Now then, between eight and eight-thirty: how many of your passengers had breakfast in their rooms?”

“I don’t know, sir, I’m not sure.” He shook his head, then went on slowly. “Sorry, sir. I do remember. Mr. Cerdan and his nurses, of course. The Hournos family. Miss Harcourt. Mr. and Mrs. Piper.”

“As Mr. Carter said,” Mcllroy murmured. “Yes.” Bullen nodded.

“Now, White, be very careful. Did any of those passengers at any time leave their rooms during this period? At any time? Even for a moment?”

“No, sir. Quite definitely not. Not on my deck, anyway. The Hournos are on “B” deck. But none of the others went in or out of any of the suites, only stewards with trays. I can swear to that, sir. From my cubicle — Mr. Benson’s, that is — I can see every door in the companionway.” “That’s so,” Bullen agreed. He asked for the name of the senior steward on “B” deck, spoke briefly on the phone, then hung up. “All right, white, you can go. But keep your eyes — and ears — open and report to me immediately you come across anything that strikes you as unusual. And don’t talk about this to anyone.” White rose quickly and left. He seemed glad to go.

“There it is, then,” Bullen said heavily. “Everyone — every one of the passengers, that is — in the clear. I’m beginning to think you may have the right of it after all, Mr. Wilson.” he looked speculatively at me. “How about it now, Mr. Carter?”

I looked at him, then at Wilson, and said: “Mr. Wilson seems to be the only one of us that makes any sense. What he says is logical, completely plausible, and fits the facts. It’s too logical, too plausible. I don’t believe it.”

“Why not?” Bullen demanded. “Because you can’t believe that any crew member of the Campari could be bought? Or because it knocks your own pet theories on the bead?”

“I can’t give you any why’s or why not’s, sir. It’s just a hunch, the way I feel.”

Captain Bullen grunted, not a very kindly grunt either, but unexpected support came from the chief engineer.

“I agree with Mr. Carter. We’re up against very, very clever people — if it is people.” He paused, then said suddenly: “Is the passage money for the Carreras family, father and son, paid in yet?”

“What the devil has that to do with anything?” Bullen demanded.

“Has it been paid?” Mcllroy repeated. He was looking at the purser.

“It’s been paid,” Cummings said quietly. He was still a long way from getting over the shock caused by the murder of his friend Benson.

“In what currency?”

“Traveller’s cheques. Drawn on a New York bank.”

“Dollars, eh? Now, Captain Bullen, I submit that’s very interesting indeed. Paid in dollars. Yet in May of last year the Generalissimo made it a penal offence to be in possession of any foreign currency whatsoever. I wonder where our friends got the money from. And why are they permitted to be in possession of it? Instead of lingering in some jungle jail?”

“What are you suggesting, chief?”

“Nothing,” Mcllroy confessed. “That’s the devil of it. I just don’t see how it can tie up with anything. I just submit that it is very curious indeed and that anything curious, in the present circumstances, is worth investigating.” He sat silently for a moment, then said idly, “I suppose you know that our Generalissimo friend recently received a gift from the other side of the iron curtain? A destroyer and a couple of frigates? Trebled his naval strength in one fell swoop. I suppose you know the Generalissimo is desperate for money — his regime is coming apart at the seams for lack of it, and that’s what lay behind last week’s bloody riots. You know that we have a dozen people aboard who would be worth God knows how many millions in ransom money? And that if a frigate suddenly did heave over the horizon and order us to stowell, how could we send out an SOS with all our transmitters smashed?”