15
On the following morning, just before lunch, a lady, accompanied by a maid and a considerable quantity of luggage, came to the Ritzavoy XI reception. It was our last day at the Majriti port before we took off to the planet’s moons. She was a plump, little old lady, with white hair and an old-fashioned bonnet. I had a simple smile of surprise at her full attire.
Nevertheless, she gave the impression of belonging to some aristocracy, though perhaps not Majritian aristocracy. Her tone to her maid, whom she addressed in an unplaceable accent, was distinctly insolent with the calm, unconscious insolence peculiar to nobility. The name on the lady’s card was: Baroness Mazerlin. Despite the fact she was checking onto the ship at the last possible moment, she desired rooms on the seventeenth deck.
“On the seventeenth deck, madam?” I asked, in my best clerkly manner.
“I did say de seventeent deck,” the plump little old lady replied.
“We have accommodation on the fourteenth deck.”
“I wish to be high up, out of de dust and in de light,” explained the Baroness.
“We have no suites on the seventeenth deck, madam.”
“Never mind, no mattaire! Have you not two rooms that communicate?”
I consulted my books, rather awkwardly.
“Numbers 14305 and 14306 communicate.”
“Are you sure it isn’t 14306 and 14307?” the little old lady remarked quickly and then bit her lip.
“I beg your pardon. I should have said 14306 and 14307.”
When she said it, I regarded the Baroness’ correction of my numbers as a curious chance, but afterward, when the Baroness headed for the lift, the thing struck me as somewhat strange. If this had been the only strange incident that had occurred since my father bought the Ritzavoy XI, I might have brushed it off as the Baroness Mazerlin having stayed on the cruiseshuttle before. But this was not.
I quickly found myself looking through the index of previous guests, extending back for thirty years. I searched it in several ways, but it did not contain the name of Mazerlin nor did it have anyone with similar personally identifiable information. As I sat thinking, I stared at the image of the Baroness captured when she approached the reception area. The features of the Baroness were remotely familiar to me. It was not that I had seen the old lady’s face before but rather that I had seen somewhere, sometime, a similar face.
Unsatisfied, I opened my personal com-tab and pulled up the Almanach de Majritian—that record of all the Majritian nobility. There was no reference to any Barony of Mazerlin.
I inquired from the ship computer where the Baroness meant to take lunch and was informed that a table had been reserved for her in the main dining room. I at once decided to lunch in that restaurant myself. Seated in a corner, half-hidden by a pillar, I could survey all the guests and watch each group as it entered or left. Presently the Baroness appeared, dressed in black with a tiny lace shawl. She walked very stately, looked very quaint, and was gently smiling. I observed her intently.
She ate heartily, working without haste and without delay through the elaborate menu of the luncheon. I noticed that she had beautiful white teeth. Then, a remarkable thing happened. A cream puff was served to the Baroness, and I was astonished to see her remove the top and with a spoon quietly take something from the interior which looked like a piece of folded paper. No one who had not been watching with the eye of a lynx would have noticed anything extraordinary in her action—indeed, I felt the chances were nine hundred and ninety-nine to one that it would pass unheeded. But, unfortunately for the Baroness, I was that one in a thousand chance. I jumped up and walked over to the Baroness.
“I’m afraid that the tart is not quite nice, your ladyship,” I stated.
“Thanks, it is delightful,” said the Baroness coldly. My smile had already vanished. “Who are you? I thought you were de office clerk.”
“My father is the owner of this cruiseshuttle. I thought there was something in the cream puff that should not to have been there.”
Vixie looked the Baroness full in the face, but saw out of the corner of my eye the piece of folded paper, to which a little cream had attached itself, lay under the edge of a plate.
“No, it is fine. Thank you for your concern.” The Baroness smiled simply.
I departed. I had noticed one more thing besides the paper—namely, that the Baroness could pronounce the English “th” sound if she chose.
That afternoon, in my own room, I sat meditating at the window for long time.
“I know,” I exclaimed, suddenly standing. “It’s Miss Surcer disguised!
Why didn’t I think of that before? My thoughts ran instantly to General Ribereus and his plea for help. With a little sigh, I hurried down to the office and inquired from the ship com-tab whether the Baroness had given any instructions about dinner. I felt that some plan must be formulated. I wanted to get hold of Rocco, and put him in the rack. I knew now that Rocco, the unequalled chef, was also concerned in this mysterious affair.
“The Baroness Mazerlin disembarked, about a quarter of an hour ago,” said the com-tab.
“But she only arrived this morning. What reason did she give? ”
“The Baroness’ stated she had received a message and must leave at once.”
“Is she coming back?”
“The Baroness paid the bill and left in the final shipping shuttle to Ventstot.”
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