“You see,” said Suzanne, “it’s the same, but not quite. It’s one o’clock still, and the 22nd—but it’s cabin 71! My cabin, Anne!”
We stood staring at each other, so pleased with our new discovery and so rapt with excitement that you might have thought we had solved the whole mystery. Then I fell to earth with a bump.
“But, Suzanne, nothing happened here at one o’clock on the 22nd?”
Her face fell also. “No—it didn’t.”
Another idea struck me.
“This isn’t your own cabin, is it, Suzanne? I mean not the one you originally booked?”
“No, the purser changed me into it.”
“I wonder if it was booked before sailing for someone—someone who didn’t turn up. I suppose we could find out.”
“We don’t need to find out, gipsy girl,” cried Suzanne. “I know! The purser was telling me about it. The cabin was booked in the name of Mrs. Grey—but it seems that Mrs. Grey was merely a pseudonym for the famous Madame Nadina. She’s a celebrated Russian dancer, you know. She’s never appeared in London, but Paris has been quite mad about her. She had a terrific success there all through the War. A thoroughly bad lot, I believe, but most attractive. The purser expressed his regrets that she wasn’t on board in a most heartfelt fashion when he gave me her cabin, and then Colonel Race told me a lot about her. It seems there were very queer stories afloat in Paris. She was suspected of espionage, but they couldn’t prove anything. I rather fancy Colonel Race was over there simply on that account. He’s told me some very interesting things. There was a regular organized gang, not German in origin at all. In fact the head of it, a man always referred to as ‘the Colonel’ was thought to be an