The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

Thirty-three

I sat at their writing desk and wrote Daniel a note, telling him that Mabel had vanished and he needed to send men to start looking for her immediately. I also wrote down Dr. Werner’s address, but added that I understood he had sailed for Germany yesterday. Then I decided I would deliver the note myself, even if I incurred Daniel’s wrath. So I set out for Mulberry Street, noting as I walked that I was feeling the effects of a long day on a jolting train and wagon. But my own small ailments were of no importance compared to a missing girl. The tension that had been growing inside me all day had now reached the point of explosion. Mabel had been kidnapped, I was sure of it—kidnapped by the monster who killed her parents.

I forced my way through the crowds on Mulberry, dodging around pushcarts and playing children until I came to police headquarters. The same young officer was manning the desk, and I saw wary recognition in his eyes. He had probably gotten an earful for allowing me upstairs the last time I came.

“I need to speak with Captain Sullivan immediately,” I said. “Could you go and fetch him for me? Just tell him that Mabel has been kidnapped.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, ma’am,” he replied, and when I was about to explode he added quickly, “Captain Sullivan’s not here. He came in about half an hour ago, was only here a few minutes, then left again.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“I wouldn’t ever ask a captain where he is going,” the young man replied. “But he seemed in a great hurry.”

I sighed. “Then please give him this letter the moment he comes back. Tell him it’s very important. A matter of life and death.”

He took it from me. “I will, ma’am.”

I lingered, but there was nothing else to say or do. I wondered if somehow the police had been told about Mabel, or—and I felt a sudden chill gripping at my stomach—her body had been found. I wanted to do something useful, to help, to be involved, but I couldn’t think what. Then I decided that at least I could go to the shipping offices, and confirm that Dr. Werner had indeed left New York. That would be useful without interfering.

I threw caution to the winds and took a cab to the Hudson piers from which the ocean liners departed. No German liner was docked there at the moment, only a smaller steamship called, inappropriately, Queen of the Amazon, and the French liner La Lorraine, on which I had sailed earlier this year. She evoked no fond memories, and I walked past her to where a board announced sailings for the month. There I saw that the Deutschland, a ship of the Hamburg-Amerika line, had indeed sailed yesterday. I found their offices and asked whether a Dr. Otto Werner had been on the passenger list.

A very correct German clerk looked for me. Yes, indeed, he said. Dr. Otto Werner had been on the passenger list. I gave a sigh. That was that, then. Now we’d never know exactly what had transpired between him and Edward Deveraux. I thanked the clerk and was about to walk to the door when he called after me, “Fraulein. I have a message here that it appears Dr. Werner did not sail after all. He was checked in on board, but his cabin was never occupied. He must have changed his mind at the last minute.”

“Thank you,” I said. I left. A blustery wind swept in from the Atlantic, bringing with it the promise of more rain. I held onto my hat as I walked along West Street, deciding what to do next. I should go home, I supposed. Resume my wifely duties and leave the hunt for Mabel to Daniel and his men. Then I started to wonder why Dr. Werner had changed his mind at the last minute. Was it possible he saw the La Lorraine in port, and decided it would make more sense to sail into France if he was finally heading for Vienna? There was a shipping agency nearby, advertising everything from cruises to the Bahamas for forty-seven dollars, to sailings to Canada and England. Your shipping needs taken care of, said the sign. Let us whisk you to Europe in the lap of luxury.

A bell jangled as I went inside.

“I wonder if a Dr. Werner was recently in here, and booked a crossing on the La Lorraine?” I asked.

The man behind the counter ran a finger down a ledger. “No, madam. There is nobody of that name on board.”

Was it possible he’d chosen another ship? “So he never came into this office? Tall, thin man, with hollow eyes and a trimmed black beard? Rather pale complexion. Probably wearing a black suit and a monocle?”

The clerk shook his head. “I don’t believe…”

“Wait,” said a young sandy-haired clerk looking up from his desk. “A man like that was in here, a couple of weeks ago. But he didn’t have a monocle.”

“With a strong German accent?”