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paper on his desk. “Earlier on, when I met your partner, I assured him that the
Celtic
never had any serious trouble from its passengers. I spoke too soon.”
    â€œDid you?”
    â€œFive minutes ago the wireless operator brought me this.”
    â€œWhat is it, Mr. Rutherford?”
    â€œA warning from the New York Police Department. They were on the trail of a wanted man named Edward Hammond — there’s a brief description of him here — but he gave them the slip. They believe that he sneaked aboard this ship to escape them.” He passed the message across to her. “He could be armed and dangerous.”
    â€œWhat is he wanted for?” asked Genevieve.
    â€œMurder.”

THREE
    D inner on the first evening was a comparatively informal affair, but there were always those who believed in dressing up for the occasion. Amid the smart suits and pretty frocks in first class, therefore, was a scattering of men in white tie and tails. They escorted ladies in long evening dresses with an unashamed display of jewelry. On the second day at sea, such attire would be the norm. Until then, passengers like Frank Spurrier took advantage of the more relaxed dress code. He was astounded to see that Joshua Cleves had not done so. When they met in a corridor, Spurrier blinked in astonishment. His friend was resplendent in one of the curtailed dinner jackets that were becoming fashionable in some quarters, and he was sporting diamond cuff links. His hair had been brushed neatly back.
    â€œHello, Frank,” he said, eyeing his suit. “You remind me of that story about King Edward and the man in the Norfolk jacket.”
    â€œDo I?” asked Spurrier.
    â€œYes, it was at a formal garden party at the Palace. Someone had the temerity to violate the dress code, so the king sauntered across to him and said, ‘Good afternoon, Simpson. Going ratting?’ I guess that put him in his place.”
    â€œIt’s obvious that
you’re
not going ratting, Josh.”
    â€œI suppose that I am involved in a hunt of some sort.”
    â€œI’ve never seen you in formal wear on a first day before.”
    â€œI’ve never been invited to dine with the aristocracy before.”
    â€œAristocracy?”
    â€œLord and Lady Bulstrode,” explained Cleves, baring his teeth in a grin of triumph. “A charming couple. By the end of the evening I expect to be on first-name terms with them — Rupert and Agnes. It’s nice to rub shoulders with real quality.”
    â€œI thought you were a republican.”
    â€œAll societies must have their patrician element.”
    â€œWhat about royalty?”
    â€œI’d draw the line at that, Frank. We don’t recognize kingship in the United States. We fought to throw off that particular yoke.” He adjusted his black tie and pulled down his black waistcoat. “I meant to ask you if you’d managed to get anywhere near the young lady about whom we spoke earlier on.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, I did,” said Spurrier, spying a chance to boast about the progress he had made. “We had a long chat on deck just after we set sail. At close quarters she’s even more beautiful.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œHave you spoken to her?”
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œThen I’ve stolen a march on you, Josh.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œAh, that’s the one thing I didn’t find out.”
    â€œThen let me save you the trouble,” said Cleves, savoring his moment. “She’s called Miss Genevieve Masefield and she’s returning from a visit to friends in New York.”
    Spurrier was nonplussed. “How on earth did you find that out?”
    â€œBy the most effective means, Frank. While you rushed in too recklessly, I did a little research by ingratiating myself with Lord and Lady Bulstrode. They were the couple we saw talking to Miss Masefield when she came