full of guns? He was the man with the cane that shot a bullet into one of the walls of Cabin 13 and broke the mirror, remember?’ He had obviously followed up on my story. He looked at me expectantly.
‘I can’t remember his name, Dad,’ I replied. ‘He was a bald man. Tall. I was in the cabin because the Baroness had got me to lift her luggage. I had to escape and in the struggle there was a shot. Honestly.’ I knew by his solemn look that he believed me now. He folded his arms and listened carefully to everything that had happened to me up to my time in thehospital. It was a long story. I had tried to tell him some of it when I was sick, but he didn’t seem to understand me because of the fever. Now, here in New York, on the docks, he listened to it all and was amazed.
‘You see, Finbar,’ Dad began after I had talked for a long time, ‘we had a complaint during the voyage that someone heard a shot. We tracked it to Baroness Leonie von Leiditz in Cabin 13. She, of course, said there was no shot. But it all tied in with what I thought were your delusions. Now, is Aleister Crowley the name of the man who had the suitcase full of guns?’
‘Yes! That’s it! Crowley is the name. I remember now.’
Dad pushed his hat back on his head and took out a sheet of paper from his inside pocket. ‘Some of our cabin staff saw Crowley with Baroness von Leiditz and identified him for me.’ He read from the paper. ‘His full name is Edward Alexander Crowley. He’s British. He is a famous writer, a mysterious man – and obviously dealing in arms – but he denied everything as he hurried off the liner into a taxi this morning with a lot of heavy luggage, including the guns, I’d bet. But we can’t search a passenger’s luggage unless we have the police to supervise the situation,’ Dad explained. He was speaking low and in a voice I had never heard before.
‘You were in great danger when you met that man, Finbar.It is so lucky that you escaped his clutches.’ His tone was serious and he was talking to me as if I were another staff captain. ‘If by any chance you see him here in New York, get away from him immediately.’
I felt like a player in a big game all of a sudden. This was life and it was more exciting than school or anything that had happened to me up to now. But it was dangerous too.
‘I read an article about Crowley in the
New York Times
,’ he continued. ‘It said that he is a self-publicist and a propagandist. But he’s involved in shady things like gun-running too.’ Dad wiped his mouth slowly.
I was beginning to get anxious, but also hoping Dad would not stop telling me the details. ‘Is he going to kill someone?’ I tried to sound like an adult – after crossing the Atlantic on the
Lusitania
, I felt really grown up.
‘Crowley writes for a newspaper called
The Fatherland,
which is pro-German; in other words, it boosts German morale during the war and deliberately prints news that is anti-British. He even makes up lies to try to turn people against Britain. The newspaper can be published in America because America is not in the Great War. America is neutral, do you get it?’
‘Not really, Dad,’ I said.
‘Well, son, Britain and Germany spy on each other because they are at war. Crowley, as a British citizen, is up to no good mixing with a wealthy German Baroness, especially when they are enemies. British politicians treat Crowley as a crank or a kind of fool because he writes anything for any newspaper or magazine that pays him, but they largely ignore him. The man has no principles, no sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. But he’s no fool either.’ Dad exhaled loudly and looked at me. He had me scared now. His eyes were cold and he seemed to be far off in his thoughts. ‘He’s big trouble, and I’ll be glad to leave all that behind on our return journey. We wouldn’t want the likes of him on board again. He’s a really dangerous type.’
Dad looked up and down the
‘I can’t remember his name, Dad,’ I replied. ‘He was a bald man. Tall. I was in the cabin because the Baroness had got me to lift her luggage. I had to escape and in the struggle there was a shot. Honestly.’ I knew by his solemn look that he believed me now. He folded his arms and listened carefully to everything that had happened to me up to my time in thehospital. It was a long story. I had tried to tell him some of it when I was sick, but he didn’t seem to understand me because of the fever. Now, here in New York, on the docks, he listened to it all and was amazed.
‘You see, Finbar,’ Dad began after I had talked for a long time, ‘we had a complaint during the voyage that someone heard a shot. We tracked it to Baroness Leonie von Leiditz in Cabin 13. She, of course, said there was no shot. But it all tied in with what I thought were your delusions. Now, is Aleister Crowley the name of the man who had the suitcase full of guns?’
‘Yes! That’s it! Crowley is the name. I remember now.’
Dad pushed his hat back on his head and took out a sheet of paper from his inside pocket. ‘Some of our cabin staff saw Crowley with Baroness von Leiditz and identified him for me.’ He read from the paper. ‘His full name is Edward Alexander Crowley. He’s British. He is a famous writer, a mysterious man – and obviously dealing in arms – but he denied everything as he hurried off the liner into a taxi this morning with a lot of heavy luggage, including the guns, I’d bet. But we can’t search a passenger’s luggage unless we have the police to supervise the situation,’ Dad explained. He was speaking low and in a voice I had never heard before.
‘You were in great danger when you met that man, Finbar.It is so lucky that you escaped his clutches.’ His tone was serious and he was talking to me as if I were another staff captain. ‘If by any chance you see him here in New York, get away from him immediately.’
I felt like a player in a big game all of a sudden. This was life and it was more exciting than school or anything that had happened to me up to now. But it was dangerous too.
‘I read an article about Crowley in the
New York Times
,’ he continued. ‘It said that he is a self-publicist and a propagandist. But he’s involved in shady things like gun-running too.’ Dad wiped his mouth slowly.
I was beginning to get anxious, but also hoping Dad would not stop telling me the details. ‘Is he going to kill someone?’ I tried to sound like an adult – after crossing the Atlantic on the
Lusitania
, I felt really grown up.
‘Crowley writes for a newspaper called
The Fatherland,
which is pro-German; in other words, it boosts German morale during the war and deliberately prints news that is anti-British. He even makes up lies to try to turn people against Britain. The newspaper can be published in America because America is not in the Great War. America is neutral, do you get it?’
‘Not really, Dad,’ I said.
‘Well, son, Britain and Germany spy on each other because they are at war. Crowley, as a British citizen, is up to no good mixing with a wealthy German Baroness, especially when they are enemies. British politicians treat Crowley as a crank or a kind of fool because he writes anything for any newspaper or magazine that pays him, but they largely ignore him. The man has no principles, no sense of what’s right and what’s wrong. But he’s no fool either.’ Dad exhaled loudly and looked at me. He had me scared now. His eyes were cold and he seemed to be far off in his thoughts. ‘He’s big trouble, and I’ll be glad to leave all that behind on our return journey. We wouldn’t want the likes of him on board again. He’s a really dangerous type.’
Dad looked up and down the
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