The Lusitania Murders d-4 Read online

  “People like these,” I reminded her, meaning the rich passengers of the ship, “made generous donations to your cause.”

  According to an article I’d read in the News, her final and very successful stop had been on Fifth Avenue, where she spoke to a wealthy bunch called the Special Relief Society; and the J.P. Morgan Company was one of her fund-raising tour’s chief sponsors.

  “Please do not misunderstand, monsieur-in Pittsburgh, in Washington, D.C., the response. . the generosity. . it was tremendous. The people of your country have large heart. . liberty, they love. But the big conflict of this war is still in the future. The worst fighting, yet to come. We must foresee the coming slaughter, and be prepare to help the t’ousands of wounded, friend or foe. . I tell my American friend. .”

  She meant “friends.”

  “. . this war, in the night, like a thief, it will come for you.” She shrugged. “C’est la guerre.”

  “Madame,” I said, “as a friend. . I hope I might consider myself such?”

  “Ca va sans dire!” she said, which meant, “that goes without saying.”

  “And this is not for publication-merely comes from my own personal interest and concern. . Have you received any threats of any kind, during your stay in America?”

  She frowned, shook her head. “No. . the letters, they have all been on my side. . usually with money in them, I am please to say.”

  “No malicious phone calls, either, at the hotels or homes where you stayed?”

  “Nothing. . not even from the pro-German-American. . and I know there are some.”

  Strangely, it occurred to me at that instant that I was no longer as pro-German as I’d been the day before! Encountering saboteurs aboard the ship on which one is sailing can do that to a person.

  “Though the Allied cause is in my heart,” she was saying, “I am a neutral because of my work. . I do not discuss the atrocity, to stir passion for the people to open their heart and wallet. No, I speak only of the suffering of boys on both side, of the starvation of the noncombatant in this tiny strip from Nieuport along the Yaer to the French frontier. . ten mile wide, forty mile long.”

  “Madame, I know you feel great compassion for the boys fighting on either side of this conflict.”

  “Bien entendu. . but of course.”

  “Prior to boarding, were you approached by any young men to aid them in returning to their homes?”

  “I do not understand.”

  “German boys, stranded in America. .”

  She shook her head again. “This would be a good place for them, America, where they would have no guns to shoot at the Belgian boy.”

  That had seemed unlikely, her aiding the stowaways; but I’d had to inquire, however elliptically.

  Trying again, I asked, “Has anyone approached you on the ship, and struck up an acquaintance? By this I mean, someone you had not met previously.”

  She shrugged. “On shipboard, this happen all the time. You yourself, monsieur, this describes.”

  That was true. But I pressed on: “I mean someone unknown to you prior to boarding, who has made some effort to get close to you.”

  A new friend, taken into the madame’s confidence, might well have robbery in mind.

  Thoughtfully, she said, “I had not met before Miss Pope-but I knew of her, hear of her, we have the mutual friend. . She is an architect, you know, a designer of library, a leader of the party Progressive.”

  And a lunatic who believed in spooks and fairies.

  “Anyone else?”

  She nodded. “There is a Dr. Fisher-Howard Fisher. He travel with his wife’s young sister, a Miss Connor, Dorothy Connor.”

  Fisher, she said, wanted to help his British brother-in-law establish a hospital in France.

  “They say they would like to join forces with my husband at La Panne,” she said.

  “But you’d never heard of them before. And they are first-class passengers?”

  “Oui.”

  I wrote down their names. Later I would ask Miss Vance to investigate them, to which she readily agreed.

  “I’ve focused on your war efforts,” I said. “Is there anyone on the ship that you knew previously-someone out of your personal life who you did not expect to see? Anyone with a grudge?”

  “Au contraire. . but for my friend Dr. Houghton, who go to assist my husband at La Panne.”

  “How long have you known Dr. Houghton?”

  “A few week-he is from a town in New York. . Troy.”

  “He sought you out?”

  “Yes-at one of the rally where I raise the money.”

  I had already jotted the good doctor’s name down, and would request Miss Vance investigate him, as well.

  “These question,” she said, and her eyes were amused and yet her aspect remained one of tristesse, “they are not for your newspaper, no?”

  “No.” I glanced at Miss Vance for help.

  “Madame,” the lady Pinkerton said, “Mr. Van Dine and I have become good friends. .”

  The regal woman smiled. “Perhaps he is the man I hear in your room last night?”

  This astonished both of us, but Madame DePage only laughed, the weight of the war finally disappearing from her shoulders. “I am French. Do you think I would judge you?. . You know the expression le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait point?”

  The heart has reasons of which reason knows nothing.

  Suddenly I wondered just how friendly she and Dr. Houghton had become, no matter how dedicated she might be to her husband and his cause.

  “A la belle etoile,” I said, “who knows what harmless time might pass, aboard a ship like this?”

  Madame DePage smiled, eyes atwinkle, nodding her approval of starry nights and shipboard romance.

  “Mr. Van Dine and I have become friends,” Miss Vance said, trying again-and this was the first time I’d seen this calm and collected woman show any sign of embarrassment, “and he is helping me investigate. We believe a ring of thieves may be aboard the ship.”

  She did not mention that the members of this ring-at least, the three German stowaways-were in cold storage.

  “I see,” Madame DePage said. “And you seek the faux bonhomme? The false friend, who tries to become close?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Even a crew member who you might find in your room, seemingly quite innocent. . Ask yourself, does he belong here? Is he serving some ship’s purpose, or his own?”

  The lovely envoy nodded and smiled. “Your concern is appreciated, monsieur. But I think the. . Miss Vance, what is the word?. . The precautions we have take, this will make the effort of any thief foolish. . And now I must bring our conversation to a close. I wish some time in my suite before luncheon-can you believe it is almost time to eat again?”

  She rose, bid us bonjour, and Miss Vance and I were suddenly alone in our nook of the lavish lounge.

  “Madame DePage does seem a terribly unlikely suspect,” I said.

  Miss Vance had shifted to the chair vacated by Marie DePage, to sit closer. “I would agree-and the time I’ve spent with her, which is considerable, only underscores that notion.”

  “Nonetheless, we had to have this interview.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “And we did learn some things.”

  It was at this point that I suggested Miss Vance investigate Dr. Fisher and his sister-in-law, Dorothy Connor, and Dr. Houghton, madame’s male companion. She said she would wire Pinkerton to make what she called “background checks” on all of them-which she of course had already put into motion for the crew members Williams and Leach.

  “What are these precautions to which madame referred?” I asked her. “What secrets are you keeping from me, Vance?”

  She arched an eyebrow, and her half-smile dug a dimple in her left cheek. “After last night, Van, I would say precious few.”

  I did not blush. “If you don’t trust me, well then. . you don’t trust me.”

  Miss Vance touched my hand.
“I would be violating Pinkerton procedures.”

  “It’s really none of my business. None of my concern.”

  “Don’t pout! It’s not manly. . ” She leaned conspiratorially close, her tone shifting from quiet to near whisper. “Madame DePage has a steamer trunk in her suite. Inside is a locked strongbox in which one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, in cash, resides.”

  I frowned. “How is this a precaution?”

  She shrugged in a matter-of-fact manner. “The bills are counterfeit.”

  I sat back, eyes wide. “What? But surely that’s illegal. . ”

  “Not in this instance. In cooperation with the U.S. Secret Service, Pinkerton placed this fake money, as bait, in madame’s possession. Should it be stolen, and the culprits not apprehended aboard ship, those counterfeit bills will lead the authorities to them. Lists of those bills will be distributed internationally.”

  “That is clever,” I admitted. “And the real money is in safekeeping?”

  “It’s somewhere in my cabin,” she said. “Isn’t that enough information for you?”

  It was. But I did have to wonder if it had been in her mattress-if so, I’d never been that close to so much money in my life.

  Then it was time for the first luncheon sitting, though I stopped by the switchboard first-seemed we had appointments this afternoon with George Kessler, Charles Frohman and Elbert Hubbard. . and the latter one would no doubt try my digestion.

  TEN

  Money Bags

  Charles Frohman’s suite was on the starboard side of the ship. With the exception of last evening’s meal, Frohman had apparently not ventured out of his quarters since boarding; and he was not your typically blustery theatrical character, despite a propensity for surrounding himself with specimens of that obnoxious breed.

  I was aware of him by reputation, vaguely at least-Frohman was one of the best-known and most beloved men in New York-but it was Miss Vance, that delightful actress turned detective, who prepared me for the interview.

  “It’s rather remarkable,” she told me over luncheon, “that he agreed to see us at all.”

  “And why is that?” I asked.

  “Well, the word is he’s surprisingly shy, considering his profession-they call him ‘the Silent Man.’ He never solicits interviews and his celebrity is something he himself has never encouraged.”

  Charles Frohman, she explained with respect and even awe, was widely credited with raising the standards of the American theater, almost single-handedly dragging it out of the muck of disrepute, where fifty years ago John Wilkes Booth and his pistol had sent it crashing.

  In an effort to see to it that the authors and actors he favored received proper exposure, Frohman bought theater after theater; he often had as many as eight new plays in rehearsal at once-and upward of five hundred companies touring. He became much more than just a business manager to these clients-he was friend, confident, father confessor and artistic adviser. This galaxy included Maude Adams, Ellen Terry, Otis Skinner, Ethel Barrymore, William Gillette and many more.

  Frohman insisted on quality-mounting well-written plays, as intelligent as they were entertaining (Miss Vance said)-and employing actors whose talent was matched by private lives clean of scandal. Miss Vance felt that the American theater was now on an equal footing with its European counterpart, and acting would soon achieve a level of respectability equal to any of the professions.

  I took in this information gratefully, along with the rest of my meal, and did not point out to her how ridiculous these last few assertions struck me. My silence may have been hypocritical, but even a man of letters knows when to shut up, around a woman of pulchritude.

  Standing outside the door of Frohman’s suite, Miss Vance and I exchanged smiles-the rather raucous strains of “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” were bleeding through. I knocked several times-firmly, to be heard over Irving Berlin.

  The music ceased, and in short order the door opened, and we were met by Frohman’s valet, a slender, cheerful, rather effeminate young man in a dark gray suit. The valet showed us into the study of the suite, which was in the Colonial style.* A desk against the wall was piled with play manuscripts; an occasional table next to it bore an elaborate ship-shaped basket filled with flowers and fruit.

  The frog prince of a producer was perched on a damask print settee by an open porthole-though he’d confined himself to his quarters, he could at least smell the sea air-and his squat frame was wrapped up in a burgundy silk smoking jacket, a script folded open and in his lap. His left slippered foot was on a padded stool, and his cane leaned against the sofa near his right hand. On a round table next to him was an array of dishes filled with various bite-size chocolate candies and salted nuts; and on a matching round table, on the opposite side of the settee, a gramophone rested with a stack of cylindrical discs-the source of that ragtime tune.

  “I must apologize for not rising,” Frohman said. His voice was a nasal, soft-spoken baritone, pleasant enough, but unsuited for the stage. “My rheumatism can be a demanding travelling companion, when it’s so inclined-and it is, this trip, I’m afraid.”

  I introduced Miss Vance, and myself, and shook hands with him-his hand was small, almost dainty, surprising for such a roly-poly fellow-and we took chairs on either side of him, pulled in to face him.

  Homely as he was-his head was as squashed as a Hallowe’en pumpkin-his genial, self-deprecating nature soon lent him an attractiveness of character that dispelled his physical shortcomings.

  Almost immediately he put Miss Vance at her ease, winning her over entirely.

  “I know you!” he said, eyes sparking. “Philomina Vance-I saw you in East Lynne, at the Chicago Theater!”

  She touched her bosom. “I had no idea you were there, sir!”

  “We won’t have any of this ‘sir’ nonsense-my friends call me C.F. And I must insist we be friends. . William! Ginger ales all around.”

  William had been sitting on the other side of the room, reading a magazine; he rose and fetched.

  Frohman’s cheeks plumped further as he beamed at Miss Vance. “You were quite wonderful-I know it was negligent of me, not to come backstage and meet you.”

  “How I wish you had. .”

  “We’d never been introduced, and I felt it would be a breech of etiquette.”

  “Sir. . C.F.-in our business, such propriety is put aside! If you don’t mind my saying, you’re royalty, in the theater. . and a king never has to stand on ceremony.”

  Still smiling, he shook his head. “My dear, ceremony is all a king has to stand on-not that I’m a king. A little success doesn’t warrant abandoning good manners, or common courtesy. . It was my intention to have one of my agents call you, but shortly after that performance, you left the theatrical profession, I understand.”

  “I did,” she said, “though if I’d had a call from Charles Frohman, I might not have!”

  His interest seemed genuine. “And how is that you’ve become a journalist?”

  “If I might interrupt,” I said, “Miss Vance is not the journalist-I am.”

  He nodded. “And I understand, Mr. Van Dine, you’re with Samuel McClure-which is why I consented to your interview. I admire the muckraking Mr. McClure very much.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear that. . Miss Vance is a friend, helping me out, you might say.”

  “Such charming company is always a help,” he said to me. Then to Miss Vance, he said, “Should you ever decide to return to the theater, my dear, let me know. You cut a commanding figure, on the Chicago stage, and New York needs to know of you.”

  Miss Vance was blushing from all this, and her delight was clear. “You’re very kind, C.F. Very kind.”

  William brought everyone glasses of iced ginger ale.

  “Help yourselves to the goodies,” Frohman said, even as he was doing so with chocolate kisses from one of the bowls. “I’m afraid I have a fierce sweet tooth. . and I’ve passed along my confection infection to W
illiam. . Isn’t that right, William?”

  “Yes, it is,” William said with smile, regarding his employer with obvious fondness, before returning to his chair elsewhere in the room.

  “We had a regular dessert orgy last night,” Frohman chuckled.

  I was beginning to wonder how chocolate had figured into that; but I was not here to pry into such things-I had several other agendas. I began with my duties for the News. .

  “I understand you visit London twice yearly,” I said, “to scout new plays and discover acting talent.”

  One of Frohman’s specialties was introducing American actors to English audiences-and English actors to American audiences.

  “I’m afraid I’ve fallen back to once a year,” he said. “These trips have become increasingly difficult for me.”

  The articular rheumatism had developed after a fall on the porch of his home at White Plains three years before; ever since, he’d been a virtual prisoner in a suite at the Knickerbocker Hotel in Manhattan. Travel might have seemed an escape, if it hadn’t aggravated his condition so severely.

  “That’s why I booked passage on this ship,” he said. “The Lucy’s the fastest ship on the Atlantic-and I can have the trip over and done with, as quickly as possible.”

  Miss Vance asked, “Have you ever considered sending one of your staff to go to London, to see the new productions?”

  “I’ve been tempted-but, in truth, I don’t trust anyone else’s judgment. . Whether a play works, or an actor has talent, that’s something I feel here. .” And he tapped his ample belly with a forefinger.

  I asked, “Weren’t you wary of this talk of U-boats?”

  “Frankly, I was. . My friends at the German Club. . Captain Boy-Ed and Colonel Van Papen. . advised me, in rather cryptic fashion, not to sail on this ship.”

  This was an interesting wrinkle.

  He was going on about the others who had tried to convince him not to travel on the Lusitania, which included many of his famous clients. Isadora Duncan and her dance troupe, and actress Ellen Terry, had cancelled their reservations on this ship to cross on the slower New York.