“Oh, yes; I did. How-d’-you-do?” Staff offered his hand.
“Sure I recognised you just now – saw you on the main-deck – talking to Miss Landis, I believe.”
“Yes …?”
“Beg pardon; I don’t wish to seem impertinent; but may I ask, do you know the lady very well?”
Staff’s eyes clouded. “Why …”
“Knew you’d think me impertinent; but it is some of my business, really. I can explain to your satisfaction. You see” – the purser stepped nearer and lowered his voice guardedly – “I was wondering if you had much personal influence with Miss Landis. I’ve just had a bit of a chat with her, and she won’t listen to reason, you know, about that collar.”
“Collar?” Staff repeated stupidly.
“The Cadogan collar, you know – some silly pearl necklace worth a king’s ransom. She bought it in Paris – Miss Landis did; at least, so the report runs; and she doesn’t deny it, as a matter of fact. Naturally that worries me; it’s a rather tempting proposition to leave lying round a stateroom; and I asked her just now to let me take care of it for her – put it in my safe, you know. It’d be a devilish nasty thing for the ship, to have it stolen.” The purser paused for effect. “Would you believe it? She wouldn’t listen to me! Told me she was quite capable of taking care of her own property! Now if you know her well enough to say the right word … it’d be a weight off my mind, I can tell you!”
“Yes, I can imagine so,” said Staff thoughtfully. “But – what makes you think there’s any possibility – ”
“Well, one never knows what sort of people the ship carries – as a rule, that is. But in this instance I’ve got good reason to believe there’s at least one man aboard who wouldn’t mind lifting that collar; and he’s keen enough to do it prettily, too, if what they tell of him is true.”
“Now you’re getting interesting. Who is this man?”
“Oh, quite the swell mobsman – Raffles and Arsène Lupin and all that sort of thing rolled into one. His name’s Ismay – Arbuthnot Ismay. Clever – wonderful, they say; the police have never been able to fasten anything on him, though he’s been known to boast of his jobs in advance.”
“You told Miss Landis this?”
“Certainly – and she laughed.”
This seemed quite credible of the lady. Staff considered the situation seriously for a moment or two.
“I’ll do what I can,” he said at length; “though I’m not hopeful of making her see it from your point of view. Still, I will speak to her.”
“That’s good of you, I’m sure. You couldn’t do more.”
“You’re positive about this Ismay?” Staff pursued. “You couldn’t be mistaken?”
“Not I,” asserted the purser confidently. “He crossed with us last year – the time Mrs. Burden Hamman’s jewels disappeared. Ismay, of course, was suspected, but managed to prove every kind of an alibi.”
“Queer you should let him book a second time,” commented Staff.
“Rather; but he’s changed his name, and I don’t imagine the chaps in Cockspur Street know him by sight.”
“What name does he travel under now?”
The purser smiled softly to himself. “I fancy you won’t be pleased to learn it,” said he. “He’s down on the passenger-list as Iff – W. H. Iff.”
V
ISMAY?
When Staff went below a little later, he was somewhat surprised to find his stateroom alight, – surprised, because he had rather expected that Mr. Iff would elect to sleep off his potations in darkness.
To the contrary, the little man was very much awake, propped up in his berth with a book for company, and showed no effects whatever of overindulgence, unless that were betrayed by a slightly enhanced brightness of the cool blue eyes which he brought to bear upon his roommate.
“Good morning!” he piped cheerfully. “What on earth got you up so early? The bar’s been closed an hour and more.”
“Is that why you came to bed?” enquired Staff.
“Sure,” agreed Mr. Iff complacently.
Staff quietly began to shed his clothing and to insert his spare frame into pajamas. Iff lay back and stared reflectively at the white-painted overhead girders.
“Got to slip it to you,” he observed presently, “for perfect mastery of the dignified reserve thing. I never knew anybody who could better control his tumultuous emotions.”
“Thanks,” said Staff drily as he wound up his watch.
“Anything ’special troubling you?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You talk so darn much.”
“Sorry if I’m keeping you awake,” said Staff politely.
“Oh, I don’t mean to seem to beef about it, only … I was wondering if by any chance you’d heard the news?”
“What news?”
“About me.”
“About you!” Staff paused with his fingers on the light-switch.
“About my cute little self. May I look now?” Iff poked his head over the edge of the upper berth and beamed down upon Staff like a benevolent, blond magpie. “Haven’t you heard the rumour that I’m a desperate character?”
“Just what do you mean?” demanded Staff, eyeing the other intently.
“Oh, simply that I overheard the purser discussing me with his assistant. He claims to recognise in me a bold bad man named Ismay, whose specialty is pulling off jobs that would make Sherlock Holmes ask to be retired on a pension.”
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are you Ismay?”
A broad, mocking grin irradiated the little man’s pinched features. “Don’t ask me,” he begged: “I might tell you.”
Staff frowned and waited a minute, then, receiving no further response to his enquiry, grunted “Good night,” turned off the light and got into his berth.
A moment later the question came out of the darkness overhead: “I say – what do you think?”
“Are you Iff or Ismay – you mean?”
“Aye, lad, aye!”
“I don’t know. It’s for you to say.”
“But if you thought I was Ismay you’d shift quarters, wouldn’t you?”
“Why?”
“Because I might pinch something of yours.”
“In the first place,” said Staff, yawning, “I can’t shift without going into the second cabin – and you know it: the boat’s full up. Secondly, I’ve nothing you could steal save ideas, and you haven’t got the right sort of brains to turn them to any account.”
“That ought to hold me for some time,” Iff admitted fairly. “But I’m concerned about your sensitive young reputation. Suppose I were to turn a big trick this trip?”
“As for instance – ?”
“Well, say I swipe the Cadogan collar.”
“Then I’d stand just so much the better chance of catching you red-handed.”
“Swell notion you’ve got of the cunning of the Twentieth Century criminal, I must say. D’ you for an