...death, fires, and burglary make all men equals... -- Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist

When Yo-han left Király's room the first thing he saw was that the door directly opposite was ajar. He remembered Király's list of the other passengers. From there it wasn't hard to deduce Colman was back in his room. Now was as good a time as any to question him too.

Yo-han knocked politely. As he had expected, this made the door slide a little further open so he got a glimpse inside before Colman said, "Come in."

The main impression the cabin made on Yo-han was of absolute chaos. Sheets of sketches lay piled haphazardly on the chair, spilling over onto the floor. A suit was unceremoniously draped over the half-open wardrobe door. Since the chair was unusable, Colman was half-sitting half-lying on the bed and using a suitcase as a footrest. The suitcase was too full and looked like it would burst open at any minute.

Yo-han was hardly a tidy man. He had an amazing ability to get ink over everything when writing, he could never find his shoes without turning his cabin upside down, and he never bothered to fully unpack but instead hunted through his suitcase for what he needed. All the same, this was excessive. How could Colman bear to live in this mess?

Colman looked up from the book he was poring over. "Oh, hello, Mr. So! Have you caught the murderer yet?"

Yo-han let both the mispronunciation and the question pass without comment. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."

Colman's face fell. "Then you haven't caught him yet."

"Perhaps you can help me," Yo-han said.

"Won't you sit down?"

Yo-han looked pointedly at the chair. Colman laughed sheepishly and set down his book. While he removed the sheets from the chair, Yo-han craned his neck to read the book's title without having to go closer. Richard II. Hmm. He'd assumed Colman's acting career was confined to the sort of musical comedy that relied on twee songs and scantily-clad women to get an audience.

"Would you like some tea?" Colman asked, piling the papers haphazardly on top of a cupboard.

Yo-han slightly revised his opinion of the man. Clearly he had some manners. "No need to go to the trouble. I won't be here long."

Colman dropped the last sheaf of papers on top of the pile. He watched without apparent surprise as they promptly slid off and fell to the floor. Yo-han resisted the urge to suggest he should take housekeeping lessons.

"If you don't mind my asking, what are all those... drawings?"

This was clearly the right thing to ask, because Colman brightened up. "They're set designs. Some are sets other people designed for plays I've acted in, and some are my own invention. In case I ever become a director and can stage my own productions, you know. This one's for King Lear, this is for a play about Anne Boleyn, here's an idea for The Pirates of Penzance — with a few quick alterations during scene changes, the "ship" set can also be used for the Major-General's house — and this is the set from a Sherlock Holmes play I saw in January. I'm going to bring some of these to show Miss Patton when I visit her next. They might cheer her up."

Yo-han didn't offer an opinion on that. "Speaking of Miss Patton, I have some questions."

Colman put the drawings back on the cupboard and sat down on the bed again. "Fire away."

Now was a chance to investigate Király's theory. "Dr. Latimer has the cabin beside yours. What do you think of him?"

Colman looked blank. "Never thought of him at all. Never knew his name until now. Why?"

Yo-han continued as if he hadn't heard the question. "What about the cabin on the other side of yours?"

"No one's staying there. Do you mean the cabin beyond it? I don't know his name, but there's a very annoying man in it who turns his record player up as loud as it'll go. Especially in the evening. If there was a policeman around I'd report him for disturbing the peace."

That fit with what Király had said.

"Do you know any of the other people on this corridor?"

Colman thought for a moment. "Well, there's that secretary or whatever he is. Very grim chap. Always looks like he's on his way to a funeral. Then there's a little old lady who's quite deaf. I said good morning to her once and she told me to stop mumbling. Then Miss Patton, of course, and... and her aunt. I don't think there's anyone else. Do you suspect one of them? Personally I'd say the record man is the most likely. I can't hear myself think when he turns that machine on. He could shoot everyone on this storey and I'd never hear it."

"He is a suspect," Yo-han agreed, "but so far so is everyone else. So are you, for that matter."

Colman gawked at him as if he'd said water was dry. "Me? But— You can't believe I'd kill someone! Why, I didn't even know Mrs. Langdale!"

"Right now everyone who had an opportunity to commit the murder is a suspect. That includes very unlikely people indeed, like the deaf old lady and Miss Patton herself. When I learn more, I can eliminate names from the list. Would you mind telling me where you were at the time of the murder?"

Colman frowned. "That was... What time was it?"

"Between three and half four."

To Yo-han's surprise Colman took a notebook out of his bedside table and flipped through it.

"Lost by four to seven— No, that was this morning. Ah, here. At three o'clock I was playing cards with Hislop in the dining room. I won by two points." He set the notebook down. It was still open, so Yo-han could see scribbled numbers and sums. "After that... I think I went on-deck for a smoke. I didn't check my watch, but this must have been after half three. I'd left my script in the dining room by accident this morning, so when I remembered where it was I went down and got it. There was a party going on and I took a slice of cake. Then I came back on-deck to read, and I'd been there about... probably more than fifteen minutes when I saw you."

"Thank you," Yo-han said. "You say you didn't know Miss Patton before?"

Colman shook his head. "I spoke to her for the first time in the dining-room."

"Then how can you be sure she didn't kill her aunt?"

For a minute Colman spluttered incoherently. "I— Well— She can't have! Young women don't go around murdering people in real life! Only in badly-written melodramas, like Philpott's trash!"

Yo-han didn't know who Philpott was, but he could have proved Colman wrong by recounting several previous cases. He decided not to bother.

"Well, that will be all for now. In the morning I'll question the other people on this corridor, and I'm sure before long you'll be relieved to hear I've caught the killer."

"I certainly hope so," Colman said with a disdainful expression. Clearly he hadn't forgiven the implied aspersion on Miss Patton's innocence.

"By the way," Yo-han said as he stood up, "what is that drawing meant to be?"

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He pointed to a paper that had floated to the floor. The drawing resembled nothing so much as Tower Bridge seen late at night, in a fog and by someone who had spent too long in the pub. His mind boggled at what sort of play that set could be for.

Colman picked it up. "It's another for King Lear. It's meant to be his castle. It would be in the background every time he's on-stage and would tilt further and further onto its side as he goes mad. Then it would collapse when he dies."

"Hmm," Yo-han said. "What if it injures the actors?"

Colman stared at him, then at the drawing. "...Oh."

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Despite how late it was, and how long the day had been, Yo-han did not go to bed for another hour. First he asked a steward for the names of the staff who had been working at the time of the murder. He discovered that a maid had been hoovering a few cabins away and had heard nothing. He also learnt some interesting things about Mr. Tremaine, the man in Cabin 181, otherwise known as the man who insisted on playing loud music at all hours.

Finally he sent a message to Király asking him to visit Miss Patton with him in the morning. Then at long last he went to sleep.

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Phil, locked up in a cold room with only the guard outside for company, didn't sleep much at all.

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The next morning Yo-han got up at six and went straight to the telegraph office. The radio operators took turns working through the night. One of them was spending off the last of yesterday's messages when Yo-han arrived. He sent urgent messages to Hong Kong, London, Belfast, Sydney, and after some thought, Tiflis.

By the time he was finished it was seven o'clock and he had already received an answer from Hong Kong. It wasn't what he expected. He read over it twice, considering how it fit in with the case. Then he went downstairs.

He had to knock repeatedly before Dr. Latimer finally opened the door. The doctor was still in his pyjamas and looked half-asleep. He groaned when he saw Yo-han.

"Not another murder, please," he said in-between yawning.

"No. I have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind."

"You couldn't come back later?" Latimer grumbled, but he let Yo-han in anyway.

"In the first place, I know you and the victim stayed in the same hotel in Hong Kong. I know you had some sort of argument with her. What was this argument about?"

The doctor stared at him. "...Are you by any chance a mind-reader?"

Yo-han stopped himself from audibly scoffing, but only just. "Certainly not. I have a brain, knowledge of human nature, and access to a telegraph machine. Your explanation, please."

Latimer didn't so much sit down as collapse onto the side of the bed. "It's... Well, there's really not much to tell. I attended a series of lectures at Hong Kong's medical school, and I stayed in that hotel because it was nearby. The lectures ended six days before Mrs. Patton-Langdale and her family arrived. I stayed on because I missed my original ship to Sydney, and there is only one per week.

"When Mrs. Patton heard I was a doctor she asked me to prescribe sleeping pills for her. I listened to her symptoms and decided she didn't really need them, so I told her to wait until she could consult her own doctor.

"I have a stomach problem and I take tablets to control it. Mrs. Patton saw me taking them. She assumed they were opium and tried to blackmail me into giving her the sleeping pills. I told her what my tablets actually were and reminded her blackmail is illegal. She left me alone after that until we ended up on the same ship and she insisted on her niece having my room. I was happy enough to switch; didn't fancy the idea of having a room right next to the old harridan's."

Latimer opened his bedside cabinet. He took out a small bottle. "These are the tablets, if you want to have them examined."

"That won't be necessary. I believe you're telling the truth." Yo-han went back to the last part of the story. "You were the original occupant of Cabin 174. The murder was committed from Cabin 174, apparently to throw suspicion on Miss Patton. But it was only a coincidence she had that room at all. Do you know of anyone on the ship with a grudge against you?"

Latimer shrugged. "Patton-Langdale herself, I suppose, but if that was a suicide I'll eat my hat. I don't know the niece or the secretary at all. Can't imagine either of them disliking me just because the aunt did. Other than them, the only person I know at all is Colman, and I only know him by sight. He was at the hotel too. Doubt if he knew anything about the sleeping pills business, though. Spent most of his time at the card table. The man must have the devil's own luck, or so much money he doesn't care how much he loses. Or maybe he can earn a lot of money with that violin."

"Actors rarely care about money," Yo-han said. "Violin? I didn't know Mr. Colman played it."

Yo-han pictured Colman's cabin. He couldn't remember a violin case anywhere.

"He keeps it in a special case and guards it like it's a Stradivarius. I only saw him playing it once, and then only because some actor friends of his were having dinner at the hotel."

Yo-han returned to the main subject. "Do you suspect anyone specifically of the murder? Anyone whose cabin is on this hall?"

"Not the niece, because only an idiot would use their own room for a murder. Not the secretary, because why would he put himself out of a job? Not the old lady opposite me, because at four I was playing croquet on-deck and she was sitting on the side-lines pointing out all my mistakes. The only possibilities are Colman and that chap in the cabin near the stairs. Don't know his name, but I think he's a cad. I saw a woman sneaking into his room the day before yesterday. I'll bet you anything that's why he plays records so loudly."

"Having a clandestine relationship does not necessarily make one a murderer," Yo-han pointed out.

"No, but if Patton-Langdale spotted the woman too and tried to blackmail them?" Latimer shook his head. "I'll eat my hat if he's not the murderer."

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When Yo-han left the doctor's cabin he went straight to Mr. Tremaine's. The record player was silent now. If the doctor's theory was right, that meant Tremaine was alone. Yo-han knocked sharply. No answer, so he knocked again.

A voice with a distinct American accent grumbled, "All right, I'm coming!"

The bed creaked. Heavy footsteps approached the door. Someone fumbled with the key. The door opened to reveal a tall, stout man in a nightshirt, with a goatee beard so pointed it looked like it had been borrowed from a theatre's costume department. His nightcap was half-over his eyes. He shoved it back, and in the process banged his elbow on the door.

He said a few words that would be considered offensive even in America. Nor did his language improve when he got a good look at Yo-han.

Holding his elbow, he growled, "Damn it, another—!" and he used an extremely offensive word for Chinese people. Slowly and loudly he said, "What you want?"

Yo-han had always been good at accents. Now he put on an English accent so posh it would have put George V to shame. "I'm the detective in charge of the murder investigation. I have a few questions for you, Mr. Tremaine. I advise you to keep a civil tongue in your head."

Tremaine's small eyes bulged out of his face, which was gradually turning red. His mouth hung open. A less attractive spectacle would be hard to imagine.

Yo-han continued without waiting for him to recover. "First, where were you at the time of the murder? That was four o'clock yesterday afternoon." He paused, but Tremaine was still incapable of speech. "Either you were in your room or you wished people to think you were. I have the testimony of a maid who said you were playing loud music at a quarter past three when she began to hoover, and you were still playing it a full hour later when she stopped."

Tremaine made a noise at the back of his throat. It sounded like a malfunctioning clock struggling to tick.

"I believe you were here during that time, and if so I am sure you weren't alone. Even with the music you are sure to have heard the gunshot. Did you? Or must I find your paramour and question her?"

Tremaine seemed to have shrunk while Yo-han spoke. Now he was practically cowering.

"Don't talk so damn loud!" he begged. "Everyone will hear!"

Yo-han said nothing and gave him a look. It was the look he had perfected from years of dealing with suspects, and it never failed to make them quail. Tremaine shuddered.

"I didn't hear no shot," he said. "Yeah, we heard the girl hooverin'. That was how we knoo the coast was clear, 'cause no one stays down here when they're hooverin'. We play the moosic just to be safe."

"But you heard something," Yo-han said.

"We heard a door, that's all." Yo-han raised an eyebrow. Tremaine practically fell over himself to elaborate. "Someone closed a door real loud. We heard it over the moosic and everythin'. Thought it was the girl hooverin'. Didn't sound like a gun."

That confirmed what Yo-han had suspected: the murderer had used a silencer. The maid hadn't heard it because she mistook it for a drum. "What record were you playing at this point?"

Tremaine stumbled over his own feet in his haste to find the record. "This one. Divverak."

Yo-han didn't bother to correct his atrocious pronunciation, but only because he wasn't entirely sure how to pronounce Dvořák himself. "Play it now, please."

Tremaine set the record on the turntable, moved the needle to a random track, and turned it on. It started off softly. The volume increased, then decreased. So far there was no loud crescendo that would cover a shot.

Yo-han picked up the record cover. He took note of the run-time of each movement. "When did you begin to play this record? Before your paramour arrived?"

"No, 'cause we had to change the record. This would've been 'bout... after half three."

With a little calculation, that meant the piece playing at the time of the murder was the finale. He moved the needle. This music was much louder. He picked out cellos, drums and violins amongst the instruments. He turned the volume up, and it would certainly have disguised a gunshot.

Now the only real mystery was how Tremaine and his paramour could endure all that noise in such a small room. They must have invested in industrial-strength earmuffs.

Out in the hall a door was flung open with force.

"Stop that racket!" Király roared. In Hungarian he added his opinion of Tremaine's ancestry and where he could expect to spend eternity.

Yo-han turned off the music. Király's door was closed again with equal force.

"Thank you, Mr. Tremaine," Yo-han said politely. "You have helped me answer two important questions."

He left the room and almost bumped into a very annoyed Colman, who was still in his pyjamas. They exchanged greetings. As Yo-han continued down the hall he heard Colman begin, "I've tried to be understanding, Mr. Tremaine, but this simply must stop. This isn't the Royal Albert Hall. How can you expect the rest of us to get any sleep?"