The Waylaid Count (5)

 5

“We are in staterooms 1709 and 1711,” I said, glad I had been with my father so he was not stuck roaming the ship all night. 

A dim electric light glowed here and there in the hallways and passing back through reception did not improve the lighting. All the shops, restaurants, and taverns on this deck were closed and dark. The fairy lights that continued to glow decoratively provided little lumination. Even the skyousel was shut down and lurked in shadows like a giant flying mecha. On the thick carpets, our thinly-shod feet made no sound. As we found one staircase behind the elevators, I was struck by the peculiar senses of night and mystery. At length we climbed the eleven flights of stairs, and presently we were on the sixteenth deck. Here the stairs ended. We looked around in opposite directions, and I soon encountered another staircase.

“Pops, over here,” I whispered as loudly as I dared. I could almost hear people snoring in their rooms peacefully. He joined me again, and we ascended to the seventeenth deck. By the decoration of the walls, I recognized this floor as our proper home. We heard a low whistled tune, and since we had seen no other person on our way here, we both naturally ducked into a recess which held a service-cabinet and a chair. Peeping cautiously out with my father, who was also trying to see, I perceived what I had not perceived earlier when I was moving my things into my stateroom: A piece of white ribbon had been tied round the handle of the door of one of the bedrooms. The whistling man came round the corner of the transverse corridor, and I drew back causing my father to do likewise. It was Julbo—Julbo with his hands in his pockets and a slouch hat over his eyes, but in other respects attired as usual.

For some reason at that instant, I remembered with a special vividness what Mr. Ritzavoy had told us about how little he trusted his staff. I wished I had brought my sonicpistol. I decided that if Julbo went past this recess where we hid, I would take him by the throat and in that position with my father at my back put a few plain questions to him to discover what he was doing on the highest levels of the ship so late at night. 

While I decided this, Julbo stopped. I peered out again to see him turning the handle of the door to which the white ribbon was attached with infinite gentleness. The door slowly yielded, and Julbo disappeared within the room. After a brief interval, the night-prowling maître d'hôtel reappeared, closing the door as softly as he had opened it. Then, he quickly removed the ribbon, returned the way he came, and vanished down the transverse corridor.

“This is quaint,” said my father, “quaint to a degree!”

Our eyes met, and both of us slunk over to look at the number of the room.

“Well, what’s the meaning of that!” he murmured wonderingly.

The number was 1709—his room! I tried to open it, but the door was locked. While my father fumbled for his key, I rushed to my room and grabbed a sonic pistol. My father was fumbling with his key in the door to his stateroom when I exited my room and motioned him to follow. At the end of the corridor was a balcony with a view of space and the rear of the ship. Julbo stood innocently gazing out of the window at the darkness. In ten silent strides, I was upon him.

“One word, my friend,” I began, making sure he noticed the sonicpistol. He was indubitably startled, but seemed to recover in a second.

“Ma’am?” he said.

“I just want to be informed, what the deuce you were doing in No. 1709 a moment ago.”

“I had been requested to go there.” I felt the response was a little to calm and rehearsed.

“You are a liar, and not a very clever one. That is my father’s room. Now—out with it, before I decide whether to shoot you or give you to the ship’s authorities for trespassing.”

“Excuse me, ma’am, No. 1709 is occupied by another gentleman.”

“I couldn’t get my key to work, Vixie. But it says 1709 on the sleeve,” my father interjected.

“I advise you that it is a serious error of judgement to contradict me, my friend. Don’t do it again. We will go to the room together, and you shall prove that the occupant is another gentleman.”

“Impossible, sir,” said Julbo.

“Scarcely that,” I said, taking Julbo by the sleeve. “Now open the door,” I whispered, when we reached No. 1709.

“I must knock.”

“That is just what you mustn’t do. Open it. No doubt you have your passkey since you just opened it a few minutes ago without knocking.”

Confronted by the sonicpistol, Julbo readily obeyed, gesturing as though he would not be responsible for this outrage against the decorum of cruiseshuttle life. When I entered with him, the room was brilliantly lighted.

“Two visitors, who insist on seeing you, sir,” said Julbo before he fled.

Major Cagginald Lodimmick, still in evening dress and smoking a cigarette, rose hurriedly from a table.

“Hello, my dear Major Raskelis, this is an unexpected—ah—pleasure.”

“Where are my things? This is my room,” my father stepped forward as he spoke.

“Did I catch what you said, Baron Raskelis?”

“I venture to remark that this is my room,” he lifted his keycard to show the “1709” in large numbers on the side of it.

“My good sir,” answered Lodimmick, “you must be mad to dream of such a thing. Only my respect for your daughter prevents me from expelling you forcibly, for such an extraordinary suggestion.”

“With your permission,” I said in a low calm voice, “I will examine the dressing room and the bathroom for the things I helped my father unpack earlier.”

“Just listen to me a moment,” Lodimmick urged, in his best diplomatic manner. “I will endeavour to explain things to you. I had specifically reserved this room because this is my usual place on this ship. However, when I arrived I discovered that one of the lower employees had made an error and placed you in it. I only discovered this after leaving your daughter. I insisted on our rooms being changed, but I was not informed that you were the original owner of this room. Our respective belongings were moved—and it was my understanding that you had been informed of the change. Julbo just told me that was not the case, but he stated your keycard would no longer work and when you went to get another one the change would be explained to you. 

I looked at the young man for a few seconds in silence.

“Mr. Lodimmick, I tender my apologies—my formal apologies,” my father said—finding a diplomatic way out of the mystery. “Good night.”

“Pray don’t mention it,” said Lodimmick suavely—and bowed us out.

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