The Pleasure Cruise Mystery Read Online Free

its correct status in a world of misplaced values. The only people who think that there’s anything more important than woman are either scientists or lunatics, and it’s damned hard to differentiate between them. Do you think that this lady who has already roused your interest is married?”
    â€œYes, I saw her left hand.”
    â€œA wedding ring’s not unimpeachable evidence; nowadays it frequently extends rather than circumscribes freedom.”
    â€œShe may be a widow. She’s travelling alone. I saw her talking to the married couple in the next cabin. The Colvins are friends or relatives. Mrs. Colvin’s her sister, I should say; they’re very much alike.”
    â€œSo Colvin’s their name. More natural curiosity on your part, Ricky?”
    â€œYes. I looked at the label on an exactly similar trunk to Mrs. Mesado’s that was finally dumped in their cabin.”
    â€œYou’re devilishly interested in your fellow passengers.”
    â€œI see no other way of entering into the charming social life of the ‘Mars.’ We must all get matey. Lands of sunshine, mystery and romance are only verbal flummery in connection with a pleasure cruise.”
    â€œYou’ve seen Mrs. Mesado at close quarters?”
    â€œI saw her back view when she was chatting with the Colvins in their cabin. She and Mrs. Colvin have the same proud carriage of the head and there’s a marked similarity in their fuselage. Of course they’re not to be compared with my Argentine maid.”
    â€œYou always preferred the Latin type.”
    â€œAlways; the Nordic’s a calculating barbarian.”
    â€œWhat’s the male Colvin like?”
    â€œShort stature, ginger hair, rufous eyed, rubicund. Looks as if he had been suckled on beer but will now drink anything from Schnapps to Tarragona. I passed the time of day with him, and he has a forced heartiness that’s almost ecclesiastical. He’s a lanigerous gent—the kind that wears Harris tweeds, a woolly jumper and superabundant stockings, May be a good fellow, but his chin’s in the wrong quarter and his mouth’s a bit medusal. I like his wife better.”
    â€œShe’s fair like her sister?”
    â€œI don’t know about her sister, but Mrs. Colvin’s almost platinum. Soft-eyed and sweet-mouthed, self-sacrifice will be a pleasure rather than a virtue with her. I should say Colvin trades on her complacency. Ah, there’s the bugle for lunch! Come on, Algernon, I yearn for a little nutriment.”
    Algernon Vereker took a last glance at the beautiful wide sweep of the grey estuary, every detail softened by an exquisite silvery haze, and accompanied Ricardo down the companion to the dining saloon.
    After lunch, which Ricardo asserted was the best he had eaten since he was paid for his last serial six months previously, the two men wandered up to the lounge where coffee was served. After coffee Vereker became absorbed in Miss Sackville-West’s Edwardians , which he had borrowed from the library.
    â€œThis was worth the two bob deposit, Ricky,” he remarked at length to his companion, who had sunk into the depths of an armchair beside him. A faint snore was Ricardo’s only reply, and noticing that he was fast asleep Vereker rose and wandered out on to the main promenade deck. On the north side of the river the “Mars” was passing a gigantic oil station with its gleaming silver tanks, and some time afterwards a bluish-grey mist swallowed up the coastline and all around seemed limitless ocean. Accustomed to a considerable amount of exercise, Vereker joined in the usual steady pacing round the promenade deck. He noticed the dark, beautiful Argentine of Ricardo’s fancy and her mother, a shrivelled, desiccated edition of the daughter. They were lounging in deck chairs, wrapped in rugs and in earnest conversation with a swarthy fellow countryman who gave Vereker an impression