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.”