The Studied Financier (18)

 18

“I don’t care frightfully about this case after all,” I told my father at breakfast the next day.

“Which, the man in the tub or Mr. Nuavy?”

“Both. I say, should we go to the Virtual Escape Room, today?”

“You can if you like,” replied the detective; “but you forget I have to run this cruiseshuttle.”

“I just don’t know what to do. I have my theory as to what happened to Nuavy, and I’m fairly certain the man in the tub ties in, somehow. My problem is how do I connect them.”

“I’d start interviewing all the people who were in the cabins around 14105. I’d beguile them into conversations and suddenly mention the words ‘body’ and ‘pince-nez,’ and see if they squirmed.”

“You would, would you?” I said with a grin. “Well, I’m going to review the files Marshaggins sent me that we got from Nuavy’s room. I don’t suppose you would like to find a few of those people who are still floating around on the ship and interview them?”

My father grimaced.

“Well,” he said, “I would love to track down all these leads for you, but I was planning on meeting an old friend for lunch. Would you like to come with? He knew Mr. Nuavy.”

“I’d love to,” I said. “But now, I have to check in and make sure everything is going well in reception.”

“We’ll be at the Supernova at 12:00 sharp.”

“See you then!” 

The Studied Financier (17)

 17

“I mean to say,” I interrupted excitedly, “that it was not Nuaban Nuavy who was seen entering this suite. I say that it was another man, perhaps a several inches shorter, who came here in Nuavy’s clothes and let himself in with Nuavy’s latchkey. Oh, he was a bold, cunning devil. He had on Nuavy’s boots, and every stitch of Nuavy’s clothing down to the skin. He had rubber gloves on his hands which he never took off, and he did everything he could to make us think that Nuavy slept here. He took his chances and won. He walked into his room, undressed, and he even brushed his teeth, though he didn’t use the hairbrush for fear of leaving red hairs in it. He had to guess what Nuavy did with boots and clothes. He happened to get one guess wrong and the other right. The bed needed to look as if it had been slept in, so he got into it, and lies there—probably in the victim’s pajamas. Then, in the morning sometime, probably in the deadest hour between 02:00 and 03:00, he gets up, dresses himself in his own clothes that he brought with him, and creeps downstairs. If anybody wakes, he is lost, but he is a bold man. He takes his chance. He knows that people do not wake as a rule—and as he expects, they don’t wake. He opens the door—he listens for the stray passer-by. He slips out. He pulls the door quietly shut. He walks briskly away in rubber-soled shoes—he’s the kind of criminal who isn’t complete without rubber-soled shoes.”

I paused for a moment then added, “He did all that, and he had everything at stake. Either Nuaban Nuavy has been spirited away for some silly practical joke, or the man with the auburn hair has the guilt of murder upon his soul.”

“Dear me!” ejaculated the gendarme. “You’re very dramatic about it.”

I ran my fingers through my hair distractedly. The personal assistant looked horribly disturbed.

“But what happened to Mr. Nuavy?” he asked, his voice cracking. 

“Well, he was spirited away—which seems to be such a joke because I don’t believe he’d hurt a fly himself. I’m sorry, but I don’t have all the answers, yet. It could be he is just being held captive somewhere.” That helped the man regain some of his hope. “Thank you for your time. I’ve finished what I needed to do here,” I said.

“Yeah, I got everything I was supposed to get and then some,” the gendarme confirmed. 

“We’ll let ourselves out. Thank you for helping us.”

The personal assistant gave a grim smile and went to do continue his work. I had little hope of finding Nuavy alive—people who kidnap others generally want to be found so they can get a ransom—but I hoped I was wrong for the servants’ sake.

The Studied Financier (16)

16

“Five foot eight,” I said, “and not an inch more.” I peered dubiously at the depression in the bed clothes, and measured it a second time just to be sure. The gendarme wrote the number in the notebook.

“I don’t see why that’s important,” he said. 

“I suppose,” I said, “a six-foot-two man might leave a five-foot-ten depression if he curled himself up.”

“Here am I, sweating my brains out to introduce a really sensational incident into your police investigation, and you refuse to show a single spark of enthusiasm,” I said.

“Well, it’s no good jumping to conclusions.”

“Jump? You don’t even crawl distantly within sight of a conclusion. I believe if you caught a cat with her head in a cream jug, you’d say it was conceivable that the jug was empty when she got there,” I said peevishly. 

“Well, it would be conceivable, wouldn’t it?”

I let out a frustrated sigh and bent over the pillow. “Give me the tweezers, please,” I said. 

“What is it?” the gendarme asked.

“It’s a hair,” I said grimly. “Let’s go and look at Nuavy’s hats, shall we? And do you mind finding that personal assistant?”

I was squatting on the floor of the dressing room before a row of hats arranged upside down when the gendarme returned with the personal assistant.

“There you are,” I said cheerfully. “Now, this is a guessing game. Here are nine hats, including three top-hats. Do all these hats belong to Nuaban Nuavy?” The personal assistant nodded. “Very good. Now I have three guesses as to which hat he wore the night he disappeared, and if I guess right, I win; if I don’t, you win. See? Ready? Oh, wait—I suppose you know the answer yourself, by the way?”

“Do I understand you to be asking which hat Nuaban wore when he went out the night he disappeared?”

“No, I’m asking if you know, but don’t tell me. I’m going to guess.”

“I do know,” the personal assistant said reprovingly.

“Well,” I said, “since he was dining in the main dining room, I think he wore a top hat. Here are three. Hmm, I guess if I give myself three guesses, I’d be bound to hit the right one, wouldn’t I? That doesn’t seem very sporting. I’ll take one guess. It was this one.”

I pointed to a hat next the door.

“Am I right—did I win the prize?”

“That is the hat in question,” the personal assistant said without excitement.

“Thanks,” I said. Turning to the gendarme, I asked, “hat fingerprints have you found?”

“Well, I haven’t photographed them yet, but I won’t deny that their appearance is interesting. The little book off the night table has only the marks from one set of fingers—there’s a little scar on the right thumb which makes them easy to recognize. The hairbrush, too, has only the same set of marks. The umbrella, the waterglass, and the boots all have two sets of fingerprints: the hand with the scarred thumb, which I believe is Nuaban’s and a set of smudges superimposed upon them, which may or may not be the same hand in rubber gloves. I could tell you better when I’ve got the photographs made and had time to look at everything more closely. The bathroom floor was gratifying, though. Besides the marks of Nuaban’s boots, there’s the print of a naked foot—a much smaller one. It measured not more than nine inches.”

I smiled jubilantly. 

“It had to be a mistake,” I breathed. “It’s a little one, but he can’t afford it. When was the floor washed last?” I asked the personal assistant.

“Monday morning. The housemaid did it,” he replied.

His features expressed disdain.

“What did I say, Parker? Five-foot-ten and not an inch longer. And he didn’t dare to use the hairbrush. Why? But he had to risk the top hat. That’s how he concealed his face. Look! what do you make of it? Two sets of fingerprints on everything but the book and the brush, two sets of feet on the floor, and two kinds of hair in the hat!” 

He lifted the top hat and extracted the evidence with tweezers before placing it in an evidence bag and sealing it.

“Think of it—to remember the hairbrush and forget the hat—to remember his fingers all the time, and to make that one careless step on the tell-tale tile floor. Here they are, you see, black hair and tan hair—black hair in the bowler and the panama hat and black and tan in last night’s top hat. And then, just to make certain that we’re on the right track, just one little auburn hair on the pillow—on this pillow, which isn’t quite in the right place.”

“Do you mean to say—” said the gendarme.

The Studied Financier (14)

14

“If this were a detective story, the murderer would have tracked in a beautiful set of muddy marks, which could only have come there between 06:00 and 07:00, but this being real life on a cruiseshuttle, there will never be footprints, I suppose,” I said. “I set up a diagram last night of all the occupied cabins nearby—and came to the conclusion that any person in any cabin down the entire hall might have done it. To make matters worse, all the stairs and elevators are right there! Anyone on the entire ship could have easily accessed the cabin and then darted into the elevator to another deck without being noticed.”

“Well, look at this, Vixie, your notice about the found chain for the pince-nez is running in the newsfeed today!” I glanced over curiously at his com-tab. He continued, “You don’t think the fellow who left that chain on the body is going to give himself away by coming to reception and inquiring about it, do you?”

“Of course not, Pops,” I said a politely as my haughtiness allowed. “That’s why I’ve tried to get hold of the jeweler who originally sold the chain. See?” I pointed to the paragraph describing it. “It’s not an old chain—hardly worn at all.”

Detective Marshaggins entered the dining room at that moment and came directly to our table.

“Hello, Detective, will you join us?” I asked. 

“I just wanted to let you know I sent you the copy of all the data we have. I was very excited about the fingerprints one of my subordinates found. I’d overlooked them. I give her full credit for the discovery.”

I got into the files he had sent me and pulled up the fingerprints. My father looked over my shoulder as we examined them.

“The criminal,” said the detective bitterly, “must have gotten something on his fingers. He arranged the body in the bath, and wiped away all traces of himself except two, which he obligingly left to show us how to do our job. We learned from a smudge on the floor that he wore rubber boots and from this admirable set of fingerprints on the edge of the bathtub that he had the usual number of fingers and wore rubber gloves. That’s the kind of man he is.”

Unimpressed, I closed the file.

“What do you suggest doing this morning?” my father asked me.

“Well,” I said, “it seems to me it’s about time I learn a little more about this financier that’s missing. Do you have any objections to me looking over Nuaban Nuavy’s cabin, Detective?”

“I don’t know how you can jump from this crime to that disappearance all at once like that,” he replied. “You’re welcome to go look around.”

“Would I also be welcome to get the video and evidence you collected from that?”

“We haven’t done much up there because he’s still missing. With all his connections there isn’t much of a case until we find him or his body. Since you say the guy in the tub wasn’t him, I have to have some other data—like the DNA results to make that connection and solve both of these cases.”

I struggled to keep the shock from showing on my face. One thing was certain, I was glad I was not a missing person!

“Marshaggins, how can you delay such a thing? The case will be cold!” my father said through gritted teeth.

“It’s always the budget.”

“You have a rather large budget since this is a luxury cruise,” I countered.

“But there are only twenty-six hours in the day. It’s my time that’s the problem. And the distraction of it. Working on two cases at once gets a little confusing.”

“But according to you, this is the same case. Didn’t it occur to you that if your aim is to prove the body is Nuavy, you might find clues to that part of the case in his room?” 

The detective leaned back in his chair with a look on his face as if I had slapped him. 

“That’s a very good point. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I send someone up to you as soon as I can.”

The Studied Financier (15)

 When I arrived at the stateroom suite, Nuavy’s maid answered the door. After explaining who I was and that I was interested in looking for her employer, she invited me in anxiously.

“I hope you can put more effort into finding him than that detective,” she said leading me to the sitting area. “He told me Mr. Nuavy probably went on a little mini-vacation to tour the first city the original colonists built. That’s a bunch of malarky! Mr. Nuavy lives by his schedule book and never missed an appointment before this.” 

“What if something comes up?” I asked.

“You always know his schedule, so there isn’t a surprise really. A quiet, orderly, domestic life has much to be said for it. Meals at regular hours; decent, respectable families to dinner—even when his wife is gone there’s no sneaking other women in and out—and no servants are needed at night. There’s much to be said for it. I will say. no one could call Mr. Nuavy vulgar, and my lady at any rate is country-simple, and both of them always most considerate. Regular hours and considerate habits have a great deal to recommend them.” 

When I finished interviewing the maid, I wandered into the kitchen area and found the cook. 

“I heard he had very simple in his tastes—for such a rich man, I mean.”

“Very simple indeed,” he replied. “The meals he and her ladyship have when they’re by themselves—well, there now—if it wasn’t for the dinners, which is always good when there’s company, I’d be wastin’ my talents and education here, if you understand me, Major Thomatian.”

After asking a few more questions in a roundabout way, I then went in search of the personal assistant. I found him shutting the curtains in all the rooms. 

“Ah! Not fond of the view, are you?” I asked.

“Mr. Nuavy believes that sleep cycles are most important. He feels that space travel interferes with them drastically. For that reason, he has the curtains opened and closed every day at the same time. I, personally, feel that if he isn’t here it should make no difference, but who am I to complain?” he replied. 

“I know that sometimes I don’t get back to my cabin until very late, but I enjoy looking out nonetheless. My sleep’s a lot better on the cruiseshuttle though because all the shops close and there really isn’t much to do at 03:00 or 04:00. I have to be up again early each day to deal with some new difficulty that might arise. I have so many options here, though, I no longer need any of my servants except my own personal assistant. If I have to collapse on the bed in the middle of the night, I can chuck my muddy footwear into a corner and toss my clothes in a pile on the floor. By morning, it’s all taken care of as if I never wore the things.” 

“With Mr. Nuavy,” the servant countered defensively, “he’s never lost his good old-fashioned habits. Clothes folded up neat, boots put in his dressing room where they belong. If he gets a stain or scuff, I am told so I can fix it immediately. There is nothing worse than trying to deal with a stain days after the fact.”

“But Mr. Nuavy forgot them the night before last, though.”

“The clothes, not the boots. He’s always thoughtful for others. Ah! I hope nothing’s happened to him.” The man turned away for a moment, and I could tell he was fighting tears.

“Indeed, no, poor gentleman,” I said, resting my hand upon his shoulder for comfort. 

He turned back to me so quickly that I jumped backward. 

“And as for what they’re sayin’,” he said sharply, “that he’d have gone out surreptitiously to do something he shouldn’t have, well, I’d never believe it of him, not if I had to take my dying oath upon it.” After a few moments the anger in his eyes subsided. “If you’ll excuse me, now, I have other things that I must attend to. I want everything in order the moment he arrives back.” 

With that, he left the room. Thankfully, I only had a short while to wait before the gendarme from the detective arrived.

The Studied Financier (13)

 13

“It’s all a mess, and they still haven’t found Nuaban. I must send Mrs. Nuavy a message of condolance. I used I remember the dreadful trouble there was about her marrying him. She had very little money, you see. His family wanted him to marry Juliagana Pakefre because she was already on her way to becoming a top doctor and was connected with the family. But Mr. Nuaban fell in love with the current Mrs. Nuavy and eloped with her to Themisto. 

“Mrs. Nuavy was very beautiful, then, you know, but she hadn’t any means and was not in the right family for a financier. Of course, now people tend to look the other way when young people arrange their own marriages—so foolish, you know—as if a person in love knows anything about what’s good for him. Still, there it was. I guess it was much better for the girl to marry him if she was really fond of him. Although, I believe young Pakefre was really devoted to her,

“Apparently, Dr. Pakefre took it very well and they’re still great friends. Not that there was ever a real engagement or formal contract, only a sort of understanding between their fathers. But, she’s never married, you know, and lives all by herself. She’s very rich and distinguished now, and I know ever so many people have tried to get hold of her—there was Mr. Waringpepper who wanted her for that eldest son of his. I remember saying at the time it was no use expecting a surgeon to be taken in by a figure that was all shapewear and plastic surgery.”

“Mrs. Nuavy must have had the knack of making people devoted to her,” I said.

“That’s quite true, dear; she was a most delightful girl. Although I find my own daughter ten times more delightful.” I rolled my eyes at him. “I rather lost sight of them a while ago, but I know everybody always said they were a model couple. In fact, it was almost a proverb that Nuaban was as well-loved at home as he was hated abroad.”

“Yes,” I said, “I daresay the man made one or two enemies.”

“Dozens—financing is such a dreadful line of work, isn’t it?”

I laughed.

The Studied Financier (12)

 12

The nest day, my father met me for lunch in a dither. 

“That silly detective is determined to prove that the dead person in found in the Cullchipps’ bathtub is Nuaban Nuavy. His line of reasoning is: We’ve lost a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on Deck 18; we’ve found a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on Deck 14. Therefore, they’re one and the same person, Q.E.D., and put poor Cullchipps in jail. The DNA testing won’t be back for a week.”

“Why should Mr. Cullchipps be arrested even if they are the same?” I asked.

“Marshaggins must arrest somebody,” my father said, “but there is one odd little bit of evidence come out which goes a long way to support Marshaggins’ theory, but I know it to be no good by the evidence of my own eyes. On the night of Nuaban’s disappearance at about 21:15 a young woman was wandering around Deck 14 purportedly looking for the Virtual Escape Room, when she saw a gentleman in a fur coat and top-hat, lookin’ at the numbers on all the cabins. He asked her if she knew which way to the 14000’s. She said she did and pointed him toward them because she had already looked down those halls, but she admitted to Marshaggins that she found him attractive and asked if he wanted to go to the Escape Room with her. Anyway, the man said he couldn’t go with her just then as he had an appointment. Then, he walked the direction she had shown him. Just then, a friend of hers joined her and said: ‘It’s no good wasting your time with him—that’s Nuavy—I met him in the Dark Adaptation a few nights ago. He’s married.’ 

“She thought no more about it until she saw the man was missing on the news feed this morning. Interestingly, she told Marshaggins the man her friend said was Nuavy had a beard and glasses—but the body only had the glasses since it had been shaved. That’s her story. Marshaggins is delighted, of course, and that’s why Cullchipps is in jail.”

“But they weren’t even in the room that night!” I argued.

“Cullchipps went and did a silly thing. I got that out of Marshaggins, too, though he was sitting tight on the information. Seems Cullchipps got confused about when he arrived. He first said they came here at 10:30, but the records show they did an early check-in and got here at 8:00. Then, when Cullchipps was asked to explain the discrepancy, she stammers and bungles and says, first, that she must have looked at the clock wrong. Then she keeps stammering and tells him that she can’t say what time she did get here—can’t explain how she got a bruise on her forehead. In fact, can’t explain herself at all. Then, her grandfather was questioned and he gets all mixed up on everything, too, and contradicts himself. Needless to say everyone is upset and Marshaggins is going to keep both of them until the authorities can unravel it.”

“I wonder what they did do that morning. Certainly it wouldn’t have taken that long to unpack,” I said thoughtfully. “I really don’t think she was committing and hiding a murder. Besides, I believe the fellow has been dead a day or two or even longer. It’s an entertaining little problem.”

The Studied Financier (11)

 11

“It could have been a madman—” my father suggested doubtfully.

“With a lot of method in his madness. He hasn’t made a mistake—not one, unless leaving soap in the corpse’s mouth can be called a mistake,” I countered. “Well, anyhow, at least we know the body isn’t Nuavy. We don’t have much of a clue to go upon finding him, do we? And there don’t seem to be any motives knockin’ about in that case either.”

“I’d say we seem to be two suits of clothes short in last night’s work,” my father replied. “Nuaban makes tracks without so much as a fig-leaf, and a mysterious individual turns up in a pince-nez, which, in my opinion, is quite useless for purposes of decency.”

Just then, I got a message.  

“It seems the incomparable Marshaggins has made a discovery and arrested the young Cullchipps,” I told my father with a frown. “The detective is convinced, despite your negative identification, that the body is Nuaban. Although he doesn’t fault Cullchipps for killing a naked man who mistakenly walked into their room, he says it's still manslaughter. The grandfather is quite put-out by it.” 

“Is that all that surprising, Vixie?” 

“Of course not,” I said. “The authorities from the planet already removed the body a few hours ago, and the bathroom and the whole cabin had been examined, sampled, photographed, and videoed. He says he will send us a copy of everything in a day or two. He also says we are welcome to send in a cleaning crew and return the suite to use at our leisure.” 

“Well, I suppose that is all we can do tonight. Maybe a good night’s rest will help us see things clearer tomorrow.” 

With that, Pops left me sitting at the table and headed to his cabin. 

My mind was too busy going over facts to sleep right away, so I decided to make a diagram of the other cabins around the one with the body. Aside from 14104, where the professor stayed, they had been occupied respectively by a family of five who were touring the universe, an elderly major of ferocious manners, who lived alone with one servant and had business on Themisto, and a highly respectable family who had been outraged to the last degree by all the activity going in and out of the cabin today. The husband, indeed, showed a little human weakness. However, the wife had made numerous complaints while at the same time refusing to be transferred to another cabin.

“I am sorry,” she had said, “We have always found it better not to be mixed up with the authorities. Of course, if the people are innocent, and I am sure I hope they are, it is very unfortunate, but I must say that the circumstances seem to me most suspicious. Still, they need to be done going in and out of that room. Simply arrest whomever was there and close the case.”

I had to tell Berdelia I was busy for the rest of the day and push the lady onto her. 

The Studied Financier (10)

 10

“I can agree that Marshaggins conclusions are illogical. If you don’t like mine, what do you propose instead?” my father asked.

“The man in the bath,” I said, methodically, “was not a well-off man who was careful of his personal appearance. He was a laboring man, probably a miner. After the murderer killed him, the culprit washed him with antiseptic soap, dumped cologne on him, gave him a mani, and shaved him to disguise his social status and looks. I believe the murderer was a strong man or well-trained woman because the victim was killed with a single blow on the neck. I think he or she also must have been someone with a cool head and gifted intellect, since the offender did all that ghastly sprucing up business without leaving any additional marks or clues. I think we are looking for someone who is wealthy and refined since he or she could not have easily accessed a cabin on this ship otherwise. Quite frankly, the criminal must have bizarre and almost perverted imagination since whoever it was decided to add a pair of pince-nez after positioning it naked in the bathtub.”

“Perhaps we are dealing with a poetic murderer,” my father said. “So, do you think the pince-nez did not originally belong to the body? That only makes a fresh puzzle. One can’t suppose the murderer left them in that obliging manner as a clue to his or her own identity.”

“No. I’m afraid this murderer possessed what most criminals lack—a sense of humor.”

“That sounds like rather macabre humor.”

“True. Someone who can afford to be humorous in such circumstances is a terrible person. I wonder what happened with the body between the murder and depositing it on our cruiseshuttle? I mean, I actually have so many questions. How did the perpetrator get it there? And why? Was it brought in at the outside door as Marshaggins suspects? Or did it come through the adjoining door, as I think, on the not very adequate testimony of a smudge on the doorframe? Did the murderer have accomplices? Is Cullchipps really in it, or even the grandfather? It wouldn’t want to ignore that theory since Marshaggins is inclined to it. If they weren’t involved, why was their cabin selected for such an abominable practical joke? Has anybody got a grudge against Cullchipps or his grandfather? I also must find out who had the cabins around the crime aside from our good doctor. Did she perhaps play the piano at midnight or damage the reputation of this cruiseshuttle by bringing dubiously respectable men into it and thereby offend any of her neighbors? Has this victim had any other attempts on his life? I mean, there must be a motive somewhere. You can’t prosecute a crime without a motive, you know.”

 

(Sorry For the Break)

 I was doing a book show. I will be posting all the chapters that were missed and updating the main page with links between today and tomorrow. 

The Studied Financier (9)

 9

“Well, for me it’s the little contradictions. For example, here’s a man wears expensive gold-rimmed pince-nez and has had them long enough to be mended twice. Yet his teeth are not merely discolored but badly decayed and look as if he’d never cleaned them a day in his life. There are four molars missing on one side and three on the other and one front tooth broken right across. Yet, he’s a man careful of his personal appearance based on his hair and his hands. What do you think about that?”

“Oh, these newly rich men of low origin don’t think much about their teeth and are terrified of any oral hygiene even with the repetitive health classes the first colonizers took that should have brainwashed them and all their descendants for millennia to come.” 

“True; but one of the molars had a broken edge so rough that it had made a sore place on his tongue. Even if he was scared of the dentist, I would think he would get that fixes as long as he could afford it.”

“Well, some people are odd.”

“I daresay you are right,” I said without really believing it. “Second: The gentleman smelled of violets and had well-manicured hands, but he never washes his ears. They were full of wax to the point it was crusted on them. I found it quite nasty.”

“You’ve got me there, Vixie. I never noticed it. I wouldn’t want to see something like that, so I wouldn’t think to look there. Still—it could be explained because old bad habits die hard.”

“Okay, I’ll go with that to move forward. Third: Gentleman with the manicure suffers from kissing-bug bites.”

“That’s what they were! Kissing-bug bites. It never occurred to me.”

“No doubt about it. The marks were faint and old, but unmistakable.”

“Of course, now you mention it. Still, that might happen to anybody. I got one once after staying in the best hotel. I have no idea why our founders sent them along with the colonizers!”

“Well, at least they don’t give us Chagas disease like they did on Earth. I think they probably felt they would be important gecko food and weren’t thinking they would become such a pest. Anyway, moving on to my fourth point: This gentleman who likes violet cologne also washes his body in strong antiseptic soap—so strong that the smell hangs about at least a day later.”

“Obviously he was using that to get rid of the kissing-bugs.”

“I will say this for you, Pops, you’ve got an answer for everything. Fifth: His chewed fingernails had a nice manicure, but he had filthy black toe-nails which looked as if they hadn’t been cut for years.”

“These points seem to follow all the same lines and can be answered in the same way, Vixie. I’m beginning to think you have gotten on your own one-track thought pattern and will soon leave reception and start working with Marshaggins.”

“Yes, I know, but it wasn’t just one observation that gave me this idea. Now, here’s my last point: This gentleman with the erratic habits arrived presumably in the middle of the night because the maids did not mention a body the previous day, when he has already been twenty-four hours dead and lies down quietly in the bathtub, unseasonably dressed in an old-fashioned pair of pince-nez. Not a hair on his head is ruffled. In fact, the hair has been cut so recently that there are quite a number of little short hairs stuck on his neck and the sides of the bath. He has shaved so recently that there is a line of dried soap on his cheek—”

“Vixie!”

“Wait a minute—and dried soap in his mouth.”

Before my father could comment, the waiter appeared.

“Another drink?” he murmured. My father waved him away.

“Vixie,” he said, “you are making me feel cold all over.” He emptied his glass. Then he stared at it as though he were surprised to find it empty, set it down, and said, “Look here, Vixie—you’ve been reading too many detective stories. You got excited when you helped catch Julbo, but now you’re talking nonsense.”

“No, I’m not,” I said. “It would make a good plot for a detective story, though. Maybe I should write one, and you could illustrate it for me with photographs,” I teased.

“Soap in his—I don’t believe it!” Pops said. “It was probably something else—some discoloration—”

“No,” I insisted. “There were hairs as well. Bristly ones. He originally had a beard.”

“Do you mean to tell me, Vixie, that any man would shave off his beard with his mouth open, and then go and get killed with his mouth full of hairs? You’re mad.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “The detective just has one idea in his skull. And now you’ve gotten a different odd one in yours. I think he was shaved after he was dead. I’m sure the barber enjoyed shaving a dead body, don’t you think? Worse things happen. This is only a little shocker. But I’ll tell you what, Pops, we’re up against a criminal with imagination—this murder was artistic in a way.”

The Studied Financier (8)

 “What does Marshaggins make of the body in the tub, by the way?”

“He talked with the doctor, who said the body died from a blow on the back of the neck, and it’s been dead a day or two. He says it’s the body of a well-to-do man of about fifty.”

“The manicured nails were a dead giveaway on that one,” I interjected.

“He says it’s ridiculous to suppose the body came in through the passage between the rooms without anybody knowing anything about it because it would have had to have gotten into the other room first. His logic is that since the renowned university professor, Juliangan Pakefre was in the adjoining room, he believes the professor would know if a dead body was walking through it—his words, not mine. Oh, and the detective said when he called Juliangan, he was very kind. Even though he was at work in the dissecting room. He checked his com-tab to see that all the bodies were accounted for, and then very obligingly came back here to look at this one”

“What did he make of it?”

“Juliangan said he was afraid he couldn’t help us: There was no corpse missing from the hospital, and this one didn’t answer to the description of any they’d had.

“The detective’s best theory is that the whoever the body is walked in through the front door while the family was unpacking, and one of them hit him in surprise and he died. This, of course, doesn’t account for several facts, like what happened to the man’s clothing or how could they do that when they had just arrived and the body had been dead a couple days, but Marshaggins insists he must start somewhere—so that’s the premise he is investigating right now.”

“Well, I’m glad the Cullchipps have so much of an alibi,” I said. “I suppose if we only glue our faith in them to liver mortis, rigor mortis, and all the other mortises that are the essence in estimating times of death, we would have to be prepared to have some skeptical beast of a prosecuting counsel mess up all the medical evidence. 

“Remember Timpey Biggsation defending that tea shop affair? They had six medical experts all contradicting themselves on the stand, and Timpey had dug up several abnormal cases and started reading them to further confuse the jury.  ‘Are you prepared to swear, Dr. Whatever-his-name-was, that the onset of rigor mortis indicates the hour of death without the possibility of error?’ ‘In the majority of cases,’ the doctor replied. ‘Ah!’ says Biggsation, ‘but this is a modern Court of Justice, Doctor, not some old-fashioned Earth election. We can’t move forward without a report on those minority cases. The law, Doctor, respects the rights of the minority, alive or dead.’ 

“Of course, since it was murder, it was a public trial and there was some suppressed giggling in the jury box and among the attendees. ‘Gentlemen, this is no laughing matter,’ Timpey started in again. ‘My client—an upright and honorable gentleman—is being tried for his life—for his life, gentlemen—and it is the business of the prosecution to show his guilt—if they can—without a shadow of doubt.’ You have to love how all those lawyers—even the ones provided by the state—twist reasonable doubt into any doubt—even the illogical ones. Of course, Timpey went on and made a show of pressuring the doctor into solemnly swearing, without the least shadow of doubt, that the poor woman met her death no sooner or later than the estimated time.”

“Timpey’s man was guilty all the same,” my father said decidedly.

“Of course he was. But he was acquitted all the same, and I am sure Timpey would love to sue you for libel if he hears your opinion on the matter. Hmm…” I checked my com-tab to find out a bit more about the states of death. 

“’Rigor mortis,’” I read aloud from a medical jurisprudence source, “‘can only be stated in a very general way—many factors determine the result. On the average, however, stiffening will have begun—neck and jaw—5 to 6 hours after death.’ Hmmm… ‘In all likelihood it will have passed off in most cases by the end of 36 hours. Under certain circumstances, however, it may appear unusually early or be retarded unusually long!’ Well, that’s helpful, don’t you think, Pops?” I continued scanning the article.

“Listen to this: ‘Modifying factors: age, muscular state, diseases, or when the temperature of environment is high or low’. Wow. I wonder if the detective believes the doctor got it wrong.” I put my com-tab to sleep. “What did you make of the body?”

“Well,” my father began, “not very much. I was puzzled, frankly. Based on what I saw, I think he had been a rich man but that his good fortune had come to him fairly recently.”

“Ah, you noticed the calluses on the hands. I thought you wouldn’t miss that.”

“Both his feet were also badly blistered. Apparently, he has been wearing tight shoes.”

“And walking a long way in them, too,” I agreed. “Didn’t that strike you as odd for a person evidently well off?”

“Well, I don’t know. The blisters were older looking. He might have missed his ride recently and had to walk home.”

“Possibly.”

“There were some little red marks all over his face and over his neck that I couldn’t quite account for.”

“I saw them,” I said.

“What did you think they were?”

“I’ll tell you afterwards. Go on.”

“He was very far-sighted—the glasses were like a very old man’s glasses, but he was a younger man. By the way, the chain they were on was unique and expensive. It struck me he might be traced through it.”

“I’ll send out some notes to local jewelers about it,” I said, turning on my com-tab again. “Go on.” 

“He had had the glasses some time. They had been mended twice. He was probably a sullen, ill-tempered man because his nails were filed down to the quick as though he habitually bit them. In fact, his fingers looked bitten as well. He smoked quantities of cigarettes without a holder. He was particular about his personal appearance.”

“Did you examine the room at all? I didn’t get a chance.”

“Like you, I found the utility passage locked. The detective and his crew seem to have tramped all over the place, to say nothing of the Cullchipps. The only thing I noticed was a very indefinite patch of water near the head of the bath as though something damp might have stood there. You could hardly call it a footprint. Did you notice that the soot on the vanity?”

“I did,” I said, pleased that we had both seen almost all the same clues. “I examined it but I couldn’t make anything of it except that something or other had rested there.” 

“Marshaggins and I explored the adjoining cabin,” my father continued, “but there wasn’t a trace of anything.”

“That’s interesting. Usually guests leave a few traces of a lot of things when they finish their vacation.”

“Maybe you and I can go over it tomorrow,” he suggested. 

“Anything more that you found?” I asked.

“I’m afraid not. Did you see something else I missed?”

 

The Studied Financier (7)

  7

“Was the front door closed?” I asked in shock that someone could have been walking around the ship naked and no one had reported it. 

“Yes. But people have found a way of getting around some of our locks, and that room has a secret passage to the other suite, remember.”

“But we had the locksmith put locks on all those passages, I thought?”

“Vixie,” I could hear the annoyance in his voice, “You know that even though we fixed them a determined criminal can find his or her way around it.”

“And that’s really all you know?”

“That’s everything—except for one very trifling circumstance.” Sometimes, I felt like my father enjoyed teasing me by dragging things like this out. 

“I love trifling circumstances,” I said. “So many men have been hanged by trifling circumstances. What was it?”

“Nuaban and his wife, who are a most devoted couple, always share the same room. She, as I said before, is currently on vacation elsewhere for her health. In her absence, Nuaban slept in the double bed invariably on his own side of the bed. Last night, he put the two pillows together and slept in the middle. Our maid, who is a most intelligent girl, noticed this when she went up to make the bed and with admirable detective instinct. Since she knew by that time that he was missing, she refused to touch the bed or let anybody else touch it until Marshaggins got there.” 

“Were Nuaban and his servants alone in the suite?”

“Yes, he had three servants traveling with him, and they were the only people with him last night. I got there about 08:40 after Marshaggins was called. He notified me.”

We had to pause here as the waiter appeared with our food. 

“After I finished checking people in with Feliste, I tried to track down who had an appointment with Nuaban last night since with the exception of the waiter, that was the last person who saw him before his disappearance. There may be some quite simple explanation given the quirks of some of our passengers, but I can’t think of one for the moment. Why would anyone come back to their cabin, go to bed, and walk out again baby naked in the middle of the night?”

“Maybe he wore a disguise that wasn’t accounted for—maybe he bought something in one of the shops.”

“I thought of that—in fact, it seems the only possible explanation. But it’s still odd. An important man on the eve of an important transaction without a word of warning to anybody slips off in the middle of the night in disguise and leaves behind his watch, wallet, and—most mysterious—his glasses, without which he can’t see a few feet in front of him. He—”

“That is important,” I interrupted. “Are you sure he didn’t have another pair?”

“His servants vouch for it that he had only two pairs. one of which was found on his dresser, and the other in the desk drawer.” 

“You’ve got me there, Pops. Even if he’d gone out to commit suicide, I think he’d have taken those.”

“So you’d think. However, I didn’t overlook that possibility. I’ve checked sickbay to see if any of the patients had any accidents on the ship today—maybe knocked their head and can’t remember who they are. None of them is Nuaban. Besides, even though he left with nothing, he took his key with him, which looks to me as though he’d meant to come back at some time.”

“Have you spoken to the men he dined with?”

“I found two of them at the Skyfall Casino. They said that he seemed in the best of health and spirits, spoke of looking forward to joining his wife later on—although perhaps not for a few months yet—and referred with great satisfaction to this morning’s business transaction, in which one of them—a man called Aumanderson—was involved. Up until about 21:00, he had no apparent intention or expectation of disappearing.”

“Unless he was an excellent actor. Whatever happened to change his mind must have happened either at the mysterious appointment or while he was in his cabin,” I said.

“It is also odd that a gentleman who was too flurried or unwell to fold his clothes as part of his usual routine would remember to clean his teeth and take care of other menial bedtime tasks.”

“It’s a second mystery in addition to the man in the tub. I wonder if they are connected, Pops? I mean both of them were naked. Did we secure Nuaban’s room?”

“That, at least, is one thing Marshaggins excels in doing.”

“I should dearly love to see his bedroom.”

“Of course, you can come and see it—you’ll probably find lots of things we’ve overlooked,” said my father. “I did check the passage and it was locked.”

The Studied Financier (6)

 6

“Marshaggins reminds me of the bumbling detective in a novel to some extent. I’ve seen the body, but I don’t know anything about Nuavy. Do you know how he went missing?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a story about it,” my father said. “It’s just one of those mysteries that have nothing to grab onto. Nuaban Nuavy dined last night with three friends. I happened to see him in our main dining room. After dinner, the friends went to the Emperor’s Theatre on deck five, but he refused to go with them on account of an appointment. I haven’t yet been able to trace anything about the appointment, but he returned to his cabin—at 0:02.”

“Did anyone see him?”

“A waiter from the Exosphere Kitchen, who had just left work, saw him let himself into his state suite. His greatcoat is still on the peg in the entryway. This morning, he wasn’t there,” he said abruptly with a wave of the hand. As we entered the main dining room, I led my father to a table on the third-floor balcony.

“That can’t be all! Pops, go on, that’s not half a story,” I pleaded.

“But it is all. When one of his servants came to awaken him for the meeting he had today, he didn’t answer. The bed had been slept in. His pajamas and all his clothes were there. The only odd thing was that they were thrown rather untidily on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, instead of being neatly folded on a chair, as was Nuaban’s custom. From that perspective, it looked as though he had been rather agitated or unwell when he went to bed. No clean clothes were missing, no suit, no boots—nothing. The boots he had worn were in his dressing-room as usual. There was evidence had brushed his teeth and done all the usual things. One of our maids were cleaning the main area at 06:15 and can swear that nobody came in or out after that until it was noticed he was missing. The only thing I can suppose that a respectable middle-aged financier either went mad this morning and walked quietly off this cruiseshuttle in his birthday suit or else he was spirited away, body and bones, leaving only a heap of crumpled clothes behind him.”

The Studied Financier (5)

 5

My cabin was one of the most delightful cabins on the ship. Its scheme was cream, gray, and teal. When I walked in, my small table was to my left and my kitchenette on my right. The Chesterfield sofa was beyond the table. In one corner stood a teal electric piano, an electric fireplace with a com-tab over it was opposite the sofa, and the mock-Sèvres vases on the mantle framed the huge, wall-mounted, com-tab and were filled with cream and teal amaryllis. To me, it was friendly and familiar, like a colorful and gilded paradise.

After getting through the rest of the interesting day, I returned to it and was relaxing before dinner when the doorbell rang sharply.

I jumped up and found my father waiting on the other side.

“Pops! I’m delighted to see you. You won’t believe the day I’ve had. Can I get you some coffee?”

“I was hoping you’d come with me for a pre-dinner Angel Kiss.”

“Let me grab my shoes. I just kicked them off. Would you believe we had another crime today?” I asked, unable to wait any longer to tell him.

“I knew you’d been round to Marshaggins.” Pops replied. “I went to see him, and he told me he’d seen you earlier today.”

“I knew he would,” I said. “Why’d you need to see him? Don’t tell me we have two crimes committed in one day!”

“To tell you the truth,” he said, “I went round to report one of my friends missing. When I found out about the murder, I went to see if the stranger in the tub was by any extraordinary chance Nuaban Nuavy. But he isn’t.”

“Nuaban Nuavy? Wait a minute, isn’t he the famous financier that was staying in the state suite? Is he missing?” I asked as we left for the main dining room.

“Well, I daresay it’s nothing really—he may have disappeared for some reason best known to himself. It only happened last night. Nobody would have thought anything about it except today he was going to attend an important financial meeting and do some deal involving billions. I know he’s got enemies who’d just as soon the deal didn’t come off, so when I got wind of this fellow in the tub, I ran to the morgue to have a look at him before the Themistese authorities arrived. 

“It didn’t seem likely, of course, but unlikelier things do happen on our ship, apparently. The funny thing is, Detective Marshaggins had sunk into the idea it is him, and was wildly messaging his wife to come up here and identify him. But as a matter of fact, the man in the bath is no more Nuaban Nuavy than I am the Sultan of Upsilon Andromedae. Oddly enough, though, he would look extraordinarily like Nuaban if he had a beard. I’m sure his wife would know, but she’s on vacation right now. So, I informed Marshaggins since I am familiar with the man. You should have seen his face sink,” he concluded.

The Studied Financier (4)

 4

Miss Alfuzu Cullchipps was a small, nervous woman, whose flaxen hair was thinning. One might say that her only marked feature was a large bruise over her left eyebrow, which gave her a faintly rough air incongruous with the rest of her appearance. 

“Oh,” she said when she opened her cabin door. “Welcome.”

She must have saw me staring at the bruise, wondering how I had missed it the first time I saw her. 

“Sorry, I ran into an open door trying to find the lights in here.” I made a mental note to remind the staff to leave at least one light on in every room after they finished cleaning. 

“It’s most kind of you to check up on us,” she kept repeating as we walked into the living area of the cabin, rapidly blinking her weak little eyelids. “I appreciate it very deeply, very deeply, indeed, and so would my grandfather, only he’s so deaf. Don’t feel bad if you want to give up making him understand anything. It’s been very hard all day,” she added, “with the body in the last room and all this commotion of moving. It’s what Pappy and me have never been used to, always living very relaxed. It’s been most distressing to a those of us with regular habits. I’m almost thankful Pappy doesn’t understand. I’m sure it would worry him terribly if he knew all about it. He was upset at  first because we had to move, but he’s made up some idea of his own about it now. I’m sure it’s all for the best.”

The old man who sat watching the wall com-tab, he had turned as we entered and then nodded grimly in response to his granddaughter.

“I always said as you ought to complain about that leaky faucet, Alfuzu,” he said suddenly, in the high, piping voice peculiar to the almost-deaf, “and I hope they will see to it now. But I think we might have managed without having to change rooms! You always were one to make a fuss about a little thing.”

“You see how it is,” said Miss Cullchipps repentantly to us as she invited us to sit down at the dining table. “Granted, it’s just as well he’s settled on that, because it was easier to get him to move. My nerves are all to pieces. This is the second time this has happened to us.” I couldn’t stop my eyebrow from shooting up. 

“This cruiseshuttle was so much higher rated than the last,” she continued, “I never imagined it would happen again. Such a state I was in this morning—I didn’t know if I was on my head or my heels. I’ve hardly known what to do with myself. I am just happy that you were so understanding and let us move. I guess that’s what your higher rating is for. The last shuttle made us stay in the room and just ‘cleaned up’ around us. I don’t think I was able to eat the rest of that trip.”

“I’m sure it must have been uncommonly distressing,” I said sympathetically. “We here at the Ritzavoy IX do our best to keep dead bodies out of all the rooms and would never make a guest stay in a room with one.”

Detective Marshaggins snorted. I kicked him under the table, maintaining my concerned smile. His snort turned into a groan, and Miss Cullchipps looked at him and frowned.

“Gout. Sorry.” 

Satisfied, she turned back to me. 

“When I saw that dreadful thing lying there in my bath baby-naked except for that odd pair of glasses, I assure you, it turned my stomach if you’ll excuse the expression. I’m not very strong, and I get that sinking feeling sometimes in the morning, and what with one thing and another I had to stop at the Cyborg Tavern for a stiff brandy, or I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Very wise of you,” I said cheerfully. “It’s wonderful what a little drink will do in an emergency.”

“Miss Cullchipps,” the detective began, “can you please relate everything you remember about this morning?”

“Well,” she said, getting more solemn as she tried to remember, “we got up around 05:00, and I fixed some bran cereal for Pappy—”

“I mean when you got to your room,” the detective said testily.

“Oh, Pappy and I were shocked we had been moved to such a nice one! Did you see—” 

“Not this room!” he said exasperated. I kicked him again and he grunted.

“Miss Cullchipps, can you remember what you were doing when you found the body?” I tried.

“Oh, that’s easy. We had gotten to the room and unpacked everything, but I kept hearing this odd noise. I told Pappy about it, but he couldn’t hear anything. That’s when I decided to check to see if the faucet in the bathroom was dripping. I didn’t turn on the light because I was just going in to make sure it was shut off properly. You know how some people are—they can never shut the faucet off all the way. So, I tried both knobs and found they were off, but the dripping continued. That’s when Pappy came to the door and turned on the lights. He never came into the bathroom but just stood there and lectured me about not being able to do anything with the lights off. Those lights came on, and that’s when I had the scare of my life because I saw the body sitting there staring at me in the mirror. 

“I screamed. Pappy thought I had seen a snake and went to find something to kill it with, and I got out of that bathroom quick. I shut the door and told Pappy to stay out before coming to ask for a change.” 

“Did you bring the body with you?” the detective asked gruffly. I glared at him.

“What good would a body be to us?” she asked. 

“No use at all. It stands to reason you wouldn’t go around collecting bodies and taking them on vacation. Who’d want to saddle herself with a body? It’s extraordinarily difficult to get rid of them,” I said. “Do you happen to remember if the door between the rooms was open when you got there?”

“Oh, that I know. Pappy was very upset about the whole thing and said burglars could have gotten in. I don’t know what they would have burgled since there was no one in our side and it looked like the other side was pretty cleared out, too, but it’s no use arguing with Pappy. Can I get you some tea?” 

“No thanks. I think that’s about all I need. Let me know if you think of anything else,” the detective said.

“I hope the rest of your cruise is exceptional,” I added as we headed out the door. 

The Studied Financier (3)

 3

Within five minutes, I found myself on the way to the room in question with the detective and four of his crew. I had briefly contemplated why the detective assumed it was murder. I mean, perhaps the former room lodger had fallen asleep in the tub and drowned. Or maybe he or she had a heart attack. Or maybe it was a plumber who slipped and whacked his or her head. My heart was pounding. Although I did not want someone to have been murdered exactly, there was nothing like trying to solve a murder to add a little excitement to your day.

The bathroom of cabin 14105 was spacious and only slightly smaller than mine. The body which lay in the bath was naked and semi-covered in ice. It was that of a tall, stout man of about fifty. The hair, which was thick and black and naturally curly, had been cut and parted by a master hand. The smell was putrid for the most part with undertones of a faint violet scented perfume. The features were thick, fleshy and strongly marked, with prominent dark eyes, and a long nose curving down to a heavy chin. The clean-shaven lips were full, and the dropped jaw showed teeth stained with tobacco. 

On the dead face the handsome pair of gold pince-nez mocked death with grotesque elegance; the fine gold chain curved over the man’s chest. The legs lay stiffly stretched out side by side; the arms reposed close to the body; the fingers were flexed naturally. The detective lifted one arm, and looked at the hand with a little frown.

“Hmm, violet scented hair gel and a manicure.” 

I looked over at the man’s fingernails and saw they were in fact manicured.

“At least we know he’s probably a guest. Although, that doesn’t make me feel any better about it.” My stomach was starting to turn from the smell, so I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my shirt. 

The detective dropped the hand and slipped his hand beneath the corpse’s head. This dislodged the pince-nez, and it fell onto the ice. The detective ignored them and finished lifting the body quickly and cautiously, causing the ice to shift loudly. He turned it over and inspected it, and I tried to get close enough to see what he was looking at. 

He then laid the head over his arm with the mouth open and bringing out a small light shone it in the corpse’s mouth. 

“Hmm…” he said.

“Those are the nastiest teeth I believe I have every seen,” I commented. The dead body had no effect, but between the smell and the teeth, I was definitely not hungry. 

He picked up the odd pince-nez, looked at it, put it on his nose and looked through it.

“Hmm…” he said before readjusting the pince-nez upon the nose of the corpse and rearranging the body as it was.

“Okay, we’re going to need the photographer in here,” he said as he walked to the bathroom door and consulted with the gendarmes. 

My first thought was to go to the mirrored wall behind the tub and start pushing on and around the panels to search for a secret passage. I was disappointed when none appeared. 

“There’s a door between the rooms, if you’re looking for another way in,” Detective Marshaggins said staring at me from the doorway. 

I pulled out my com-tab and quickly looked up who had been in the adjoining room last. It was a Dr. Juliangan Pakefre, a neurologist and the newly elected director of the Themisto surgical training center and teaching hospital. I shared this information with the detective.

“Perhaps it was some medical student from the training center who brought the corpse around for a joke. I’m sure they always have bodies lying around the dissecting rooms.”

I didn’t think it was a very funny joke to sneak a body onto a luxury cruise ship and leave it in the tub. 

“Okay, you two stay here and guard both doors. You get a photographer up here and call Juliangan. Ask him if any bodies are missing, then get him back up here and see if this matches the description of anyone they had recently,” he said. At first, I was a little shocked he would have the person who had been most likely to have accessed this room to try to identify the body, but after I thought about it, I supposed it made sense. 

“I hope it isn’t one of the recent hospital patients either,” I added. The detective looked at me blankly. 

“Check into that also,” he said under his breath and the gendarme took off to do the assigned task.

“Now, Miss Thomatian, if you will come with me, we’ll go interview the lady who allegedly found this.”