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By Root 1019 0

and so forth infused dinner conversation. If such talk ever lagged, there was always the compelling subject of Germany, which by the day seemed to grow more pompous and bellicose. Another foolproof way to inject life, if not violence, into a moribund conversation was to comment upon the apparent decline of morality, as made evident most shockingly in Bernard Shaw’s recent play, Misalliance, which Beatrice Webb, the social reformer, called “brilliant but disgusting,” with “everyone wishing to have sexual intercourse with everyone else.” If all the above failed to ignite a good conversation, one could always talk about ghosts. The whole country seemed engaged in the hunt for proof of an afterlife, with the exploits of the venerable Society for Psychical Research often in the news. And if by chance a conversation became too heated, too lively, one could recall anew how one felt upon the death of King Edward and remark upon how eerie it was that Halley’s comet should appear at nearly the same time.

Shortly before his passengers were due to board, Kendall bought a copy of the continental edition of London’s Daily Mail, an English-language newspaper distributed in Europe. The edition was full of fresh detail about the North London Cellar Murder and the escalating search for two suspects, a doctor and his lover. Back in London, the ship had been visited by two officers from Scotland Yard’s Thames Division, patrolling the wharves in hopes of thwarting the couple’s escape.

Everyone loved a mystery. Kendall knew at once that this would be the mainstay of conversation throughout the voyage—not aircraft or dead kings or haunted country houses, but murder at its most loathsome.

The question at the fore: Where were the fugitive lovers now?

THE JOURNEY BEGAN IN TYPICAL fashion, with Kendall greeting his second-class passengers as they came aboard. Passengers always seemed at their best at the start of a voyage. They dressed well, and their faces bore an appealing flush of excitement and apprehension. They stepped from the boarding ramp carrying few belongings, but this did not mean they were traveling light. The bulk of their baggage—typically multiple trunks and valises—was stowed belowdecks or delivered to their staterooms. Many chose to keep with them a small carrying case containing their most important belongings, such as personal papers, jewels, and keepsakes. Nothing about the passengers struck Kendall as unusual.

The Montrose eased from the wharf amid the usual squall of white handkerchiefs and began making its way down the River Scheldt toward the North Sea. Stewards helped passengers find the ship’s library and its dining room and lounges, known as “saloons.” Despite the modest proportions of the Montrose, its second-class travelers felt as pampered as they would have felt on the Lusitania. The stewards—and stewardesses—brought blankets and books to passengers, and took orders for tea, Belgian cocoa, and scotch, and carried pads and envelopes upon which passengers could write messages for transmission via the Marconi room. Kendall made it a point to stroll the deck several times a day looking for untidy uniforms, tarnished fittings, and other problems, and trying always to greet passengers by name, a good memory being another attribute necessary for the captain of a liner.

Three hours into the voyage Kendall saw two of his passengers lingering by a lifeboat. He knew them to be the Robinsons, father and son, returning to America. Kendall walked toward them, then stopped.

They were holding hands, he saw, but not in the manner one might expect of father and son, if indeed one could ever expect a boy on the verge of manhood to hold hands with his father. The boy squeezed the man’s hand with an intensity that suggested a deeper intimacy. It struck Kendall as “strange and unnatural.”

He paused a moment, then continued walking until he came abreast of the two. He stopped and wished them a pleasant morning. As he did so, he took careful note of their appearance. He smiled, wished them a fine voyage, and moved on.

He said