Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 5, No. 19, November 1944

Unfortunately Mr. Kendrick has never written a short story about Captain Maclain. Perhaps one of these days... But he has written shorts about Cliff Chandler who as a manhunting “type” is even more unusual than Captain Maclain. Indeed Cliff Chandler may actually be unique — your Editor knows of no other detective in fiction who specializes in protecting the welfare of transatlantic passengers on a giant ocean liner. Cliff Chandler is a ship’s detective. Odd? Not a bit: if a hotel can have a house detective, why not a ship, which is a hotel afloat.

Tired? Need a vacation? We prescribe an exhilarating trip on the S. S. Moriander...

* * *

Cliff Chandler, slim and debonair from crisp black hair to patent-leather pumps, stopped at the door of the Gold Lounge and looked inside. A delightful odor of expensive perfume drifted out into the corridor. Mingled with it was the soft laughter of many women.

The combination appealed to Cliff. In his capacity as ship’s detective of the luxurious S. S. Moriander, he was beginning to feel that life was unbearably dull. She was on her tenth voyage from Southampton to New York, and even the usual run of petty cardsharps seemed to have deserted her.

Of course you couldn’t expect trouble every time the Moriander shoved her flaring prow out into the Atlantic, but Cliff thrived on excitement. The lure of it had taken him into a private agency after college. There, his quick grasp of languages, his natural good breeding, and his hard common sense had rapidly carried him to the top. After six exciting years abroad he found himself comfortably ensconced guarding the passengers’ welfare on one of the largest ships afloat.

He leaned against the door of the Gold Lounge and looked inside. A long table had been set up near the center of the lounge. It was covered with a cloth of shimmering gold texture and topped with an array of cut-glass bottles and small ornate boxes of various shapes and sizes.

Presiding over the display was a dapper little Frenchman, Cliff recognized him from a previous trip as M. Jean Martone, manufacturer extraordinary of a select line of cosmetics. Gurgling enthusiastically over his wares were a dozen or more of the best-looking women on board.

As Cliff watched, M. Martone came around from behind the table to stand in front of a modishly gowned girl. She was touching powder to her cheeks, aided by a small mirror in a gold vanity. The Frenchman cocked his head to one side, and gave vent to a couple of disapproving clucks.

“Non! Non! Non! Mademoiselle. Not that shade, I beg of you! It is too dark, by far!” With a quick motion he reached for an open box on the table, and applied a different shade to her cheeks, wielding the tiny powder rag with a delicate touch. “Voilà!” He stepped back to regard his handiwork, twisting a waist so slender that Cliff suspected corsets under the French-cut evening clothes.

A quick flush colored the girl’s face at the Frenchman’s familiarity. With lifted chin she turned and started from the lounge. As she faced Cliff, he suddenly remembered that he had seen her once before. It had only been a brief glimpse in Clonnet’s jewelry shop in Paris, but the girl wasn’t a type easily forgotten. Her white evening gown was fitted close. Under its smooth embrace her rounded figure was slim and graceful.

Cliff followed her toward the dining saloon. It was no part of his duties to police the passengers in social pastimes, but the girl had a winsomeness which was appealing.

Several men looked up from a table in the corner. The girl passed them by unseeingly and followed the steward to a small table on the far side of the room. Cliff was pleasantly surprised to see that it was his table, too; for the rest of the voyage they would eat together, at least. Two minutes later he had introduced himself.

The girl’s name was Elsa Graves. She gave Cliff the kind of handclasp he liked, and said: “I’m such a dope at traveling. I’m scared to speak to people — and scared to tell them to go away when they speak to me.”

“If you’re traveling alone, I’d like to apply for the position of guardian for the voyage.” Cliff gave her his disarming smile.