The Lusitania Murders Read Online Free PDF

positive-minded Sage of East Aurora, Elbert Hubbard himself, scowled. In fact, he wadded his telegram up, and hurled it to the cement.
    No—wait . . . I’d been wrong: Six telegrams had been delivered. Vanderbilt’s dark-haired slender friend had also received one, and he and Vanderbilt were shaking their heads, discussing what was obviously a mutually shared distaste for what they had just read. Only Hubbard, however, had discarded his telegram, the others folding theirs and sticking them away, into suit or pants pockets.
    The line was moving forward now, and I shook hands with Rumely, and gathered my single suitcase, and got into the back of the queue. No one seemed to notice me pick up the wadded telegram Hubbard had discarded.
    Nor did anyone seem to notice when I unfolded it likea crumpled flower to read: FRA HUBBARD—LUSITANIA TO BE TORPEDOED. CANCEL PASSAGE IMMEDIATELY IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE.
    It was signed, rather melodramatically (and redundantly, I thought), MORTE.

THREE

A Self-Confident Fool
    Off the coast of Scotland, the day before the Lusitania left port, one of the Kaiser’s submarines sent a British coal-carrying steamer to the ocean’s floor. In the Dardanelles, fierce fighting was afoot; and Britain and her allies were bombing German towns while warships attacked U-boat bases. And yet the passengers aboard the Lusitania —my innocent self included—seemed to feel immune from the conflict.
    Even with the journalistic espionage I intended to carry out, I found myself lulled into peacetime complacency by the Big Lucy ’s lavishness. Despite my criticism of its unlovely top-heavy exterior, I could only applaud the elegance of the ship’s internal beauty, from public rooms to accommodations; I had travelled numerous times on so-called luxury liners, but truly Cunard had set the standard with the Lusitania (and, presumably, with her sister, Mauretania ).
    This was obvious from the moment I boarded throughthe first-class entrance on the Main Deck. The entryway area—where a flock of ship’s crew (stewards overseen by a purser’s clerk) checked names off a list, dispensed room keys and gave directions—had a light, airy feel. The floor was tile, white with black diamond shapes, the furnishings white wicker, the woodwork a blazing white with golden touches, and scarlet brocade-upholstered settees were built into the walls. Potted ferns shared space with floral arrangements; there were so many flowers aboard the ship, the sweetness in the air was almost overpowering, like the visitation area of a funeral home whose current attraction was a popular fellow indeed.
    As we all waited our turn with the stewards and purser’s clerk, the only annoyance was an overabundance of children, not all of whom were well-behaved, despite the best efforts of nannies; tiny shod feet echoed off the tile floor like gunfire, shrill little voices tearing the air. Oh well—this was to be expected. Cunard’s advertising bragged of the safety the Big Lucy provided mothers and children. *
    “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you,” a rich alto voice almost whispered in my ear.
    I looked to my left, where that tall hatless blonde female in the tan cotton pongee, Madame DePage’s friend, stood next to me. At the moment, her strong, handsome face tweaked itself with a smile, and her blue eyes had a twinkle; tendrils of her piled-high hair seemed to have a mocking life of their own. While no physical giant, I am certainly not a small man, and it was startling to lookdirectly into the eyes of a woman on my own level.
    “Pardon me?” I said.
    “The kiddies,” she said, a corner of her mouth turned up, in sweet irony. “The ship provides numerous playrooms and nurseries. . . . In the days to come, you’ll be little troubled by having them underfoot.”
    I could only return the smile. “Am I really that easily read?”
    She gave me a tiny shrug. “Most people’s features are a map of their inner thoughts.”
    “And