Read Online Murder on the Lusitania by Conrad Allen - Free Book Online Page B

proximity to the morose Jeremiah Erskine, he instead found the man in an almost lighthearted vein. Champagne was the main reason for this transformation but the other was the presence of his wife, Dorothea. She was the biggest surprise of all. Years younger than her husband, she was a slender woman in a most striking pink evening gown and wearing a diamond necklace the equal of any piece of jewelry in the room. Dillman was amazed that Erskine was even married. The man’s funereal manner suggested a lonely and disappointed bachelor. That his wife should be so young and handsome was astonishing,but it certainly made for a more pleasant meal as far as the American was concerned.
    Dorothea Erskine was an alert, intelligent woman with firm opinions on every subject that came up. She was even ready to contradict her husband from time to time. Instead of resenting her opposition, Erskine reveled in it, chortling into his beard at each new polite rebuke. Cyril Weekes also came into his own at the table, revealing a gift for humorous anecdote that brought titters of amusement from all of them, including his wife—even though the stories must all have been wearisomely familiar to her. There were five other people at the table and Dillman was glad of the opportunity to widen his circle of friends. As the only American present, he came in for some gentle ribbing and fielded the inevitable questions about New York.
    “Is it really as different as they say?” asked Ada Weekes.
    “In some ways,” replied Dillman.
    “New York is surprisingly civilized,” added Erskine with a muted guffaw. “One might almost be in London!”
    “I hope not,” said Weekes. “I want it to be delightfully
foreign
.”
    “I’m sure that none of you will be disappointed,” said Dillman, looking around the table. “Visitors from England are always given a warm welcome. You just have to allow for the idiosyncrasies of the American way of life.”
    Dorothea Erskine agreed with him and started a debate about national characteristics. It carried them right through the main course. Dillman was just about to eat his dessert when he became conscious that someone was watching him. It was a strange feeling, and he could not make out if it was pleasant or unsettling. His initial hope was that he was arousing interest in a certain person between the Hubermanns, but he saw that she was, in fact, giving instructions to one of the waiters. His gaze searched the saloon until it finally rested at the Rymers’ table. It was the pale blue eyes of Violet Rymer that were fixed on him with a mixture of curiosity and appeal. Dillman felt that she was issuing a silent cry for help. When he met her gaze, she gave a brief smile, thenseemed to lose her nerve and look away. It was puzzling.
    When the meal was over, some guests remained at their tables to prolong their conversations but most began to disperse. Dillman saw the alacrity with which Lord Carradine crossed to the Hubermanns’ table to extend an invitation to his new young acquaintance. Since he wisely included the two sisters in his invitation, it was readily accepted and all three ladies rose from their seats. Dillman accepted that she was beyond reach for the rest of the evening. Lord Carradine would have a private lounge to which he could adjourn with his select friends. Dillman had already noted that the aristocrat was unencumbered by a wife or a partner. It allowed him to be singularly attentive to the young lady who had sparked his interest.
    “I feel the need of a cigar,” declared Erskine.
    “Then go to the smoking room,” urged his wife. “You know how much I hate the smell of those foul cigars.”
    “Of course, my dear.” He glanced up. “Anyone care to join me?”
    “I will,” said Weekes.
    “Anyone else? Dillman?”
    “No, thank you, Mr. Erskine. I don’t smoke.”
    “How bizarre!”
    Everyone at the table rose to their feet and made for the door. Cyril Weekes fell in beside Dillman and