Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine. Vol. 38, No. 13, Mid-December 1993

“Not so fast, Lila.” Maxim scratched the side of his face for a moment. “There is another part to our assignment, you know. A couple of disconnected ideas have been bouncing around in my head for a while now. It may be a big stretch of logic, but I’d like to talk to you about some thoughts before we call Fernet.”

In their cabin, Maxim made sure the door was locked, then seated himself on his bed near the porthole and as far away from the door as possible so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. Lila sat down opposite him and leaned forward attentively.

“That business about the word ‘lighthouse’ has been bothering me since I heard it,” began Maxim. “The fact that Interpol could turn up nothing... and that it meant nothing to Alex’s contacts there... But when you said what you did on the pier—”

Lila looked confused. “What was that?”

“You said let’s call Fernet.”

“So?”

“Don’t you see? If Alex was indeed murdered, it probably was because he had discovered something about the smuggling operation — probably in much the same way you did. He would have had the same reaction as you, but without the knowledge that there was someone on board the ship who was connected to the smugglers. He would have gone immediately to the radio room to send a cable to Fernet explaining what he had found.”

“But Interpol received no cable.”

“That’s right. And that’s why I think my theory is right, because the radioman’s name is Mark.”

“So?”

“So, in the Cyrillic alphabet that the Russians use, except for the letter R being written in reverse, mayuk, the Russian word for lighthouse, is spelled ‘mark.’ The reversed R would have meant as little to the cook as it would to you if you had seen a reversed S written by a child. Alex actually wrote the name of his murderer — ‘Mark.’ ”

Maxim watched as a whole parade of expressions raced across Lila’s face. Doubt, surprise, shock, anger, and finally, sadness. “You might be right, Maxim,” she said slowly, “but there’s no way we can prove it.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. When the authorities receive the information we can give them about the pallets, they’ll break up the smuggling ring all right, and they might even implicate Mark, but only as a minor cog in the ring, not as a murderer. Still, there might be something we can do about it.” Lila looked hopefully at him. “I’ve tried to figure out what the function of a member of a smuggling gang would be on board a ship,” continued Maxim. “After all, the contraband was safely stored away, so there was nothing he would have to do about it while the ship was in transit.”

“Maybe his job was to see that the loading and unloading of the marked pallets took place smoothly.”

“Maybe — but a more important job has to be done. You’ve figured out how the narcotics were being transported into the countries, but how were the payments for the narcotics getting out?”

“Oh,” said Lila. “So he must be the conduit.”

“If he is, well, I have a suggestion. It might mean bending the rules a little, but the result could take care of Mark to your satisfaction.”

During the trip from Con-stanza to Odessa, it was more difficult for Maxim to play the part of the carefree, older newlywed. He felt himself tense up every time Lila and Mark met at mealtime, or casually on deck, but Lila was a pro. She even let the tour of the galley go by without a word to the unsmiling Feador. Her feelings never surfaced. Maxim felt sure that as far as Mark was concerned Lila was just another lady passenger enjoying her second chance at married life.

In line with their plan, they did not go immediately into Odessa to sightsee with the other passengers. Instead, they spent their time enjoying the cool breezes on the passenger deck while taking turns watching the loading operations on the dock below.

“There he goes now,” said Lila to Maxim, who was relaxing in a deck chair. Maxim hopped up to the rail, and both of them watched as Mark, casually swinging a small duffle bag, threaded his way among the workers and cargo. He headed towards a quiet area near the stem of the ship, where piles of material waiting for shipment had created a labyrinth of streets and avenues on the broad dock. For a while Mark leaned against a stack of spooled wire and watched the men on the dock as they unloaded Athenia’s cargo. Occasionally he looked at his watch. At precisely two P.M., he suddenly turned, walked into one of the “avenues,” and disappeared from sight behind the piles of stacked material. There was nothing Maxim and Lila could do except wait. In no more than three minutes he reappeared, coming out from behind the same pile of stacked material. He sauntered back towards the ship, still swinging the duffel bag, which seemed to have gained some weight.