Murder in the Gilded Cage

son, Henry Jr., then with the Countess von Giering-Trelovitch (Mrs. Breese said gaily: “Don’t forget the hyphen!”). Then another pose with both children. There was one with Gordon Rice, with my amazing employer looking up at him with an expression that was meant to convey faith and friendly affection. Over-riding my guarded protests, she laughingly put her arm on Guy Thomas’ shoulder and posed with that vindicated co-respondent. There followed a picture with the Captain of her yacht, and for comic relief one with a picturesque sailor, displaying huge tattooed arms. I was the only one that escaped. When the photographers had left, Mrs. Breese went immediately to her cabin. She was tired. We sailed one hour later. MAN OVERBOARD I  FIND upon refreshing my memory that the tragedy really had its beginning on the yacht Mary Rose , although no one was aware of it at the time. But the diabolical forces that created it were present and at work then, and to give you a proper understanding of its elements, I must proceed chronologically, from the time the Mary Rose made its graceful exit out of the New York harbor. After settling down in my snug cabin, I discovered the need of some masculine conversation. That session with the photographers and Mrs. Breese had provided all the feminine chatter I could stand. My steward proved a forbidding Jap with a perpetual scowl who gave me no encouragement. I discovered later he understood practically no English. Somewhere in her wanderings, Mrs. Breese had collected him, as she told me, for his scowl. So, somewhat disconsolate, I made my way to the music-room, and there I saw stretched out at his ease upon a silken couch the young man who had fought so valiantly for Mrs. Breese’s good name. I have already indicated that industry is not my forte, but Guy Thomas at ease was a picture that made even me squirm. Every line of his body bespoke self-pampering that would be unseemly in a spoiled child. His hands hung listlessly. His eyes were somnolent. He was smoking a cigarette, but even this effort seemed too much for him, for he dropped it weakly in the tray and shifted slightly for additional comfort. Finally he felt me looking at him and rose slowly. There was a challenge in the vacuous eyes now. He had not yet quite ascertained my status…