The Man Who Was Not on the Passenger List

"The Man Who Was Not on the Passenger List" by Robert Barr is a gripping mystery that unfolds aboard a passenger ship. The story follows an unlikely protagonist who becomes embroiled in a suspenseful scenario when a man goes missing, raising questions about identity and deception. As the narrative progresses, the characters navigate a web of intrigue and danger, leading to surprising revelations. Barr's deft storytelling, combined with atmospheric settings and a memorable cast, ensures a compelling read that keeps readers guessing until the end.

• Travel

								
“The well-sworn Lie, franked to the world with all
    The circumstance of proof,
Cringes abashed, and sneaks along the wall
    At the first sight of Truth.”

The Gibrontus of the Hot Cross Bun Line was at one time the best ship
of that justly celebrated fleet. All steamships have, of course, their
turn at the head of the fleet until a better boat is built, but the
Gibrontus is even now a reasonably fast and popular boat. An accident
happened on board the Gibrontus some years ago which was of small
importance to the general public, but of some moment to Richard
Keeling—for it killed him. The poor man got only a line or two in the
papers when the steamer arrived at New York, and then they spelled his
name wrong. It had happened something like this: Keeling was wandering
around very late at night, when he should have been in his bunk, and he
stepped on a dark place that he thought was solid. As it happened,
there was nothing between him and the bottom of the hold but space.
They buried Keeling at sea, and the officers knew absolutely nothing
about the matter when inquisitive passengers, hearing rumours,
questioned them. This state of things very often exists both on sea and
land, as far as officials are concerned. Mrs. Keeling, who had been
left in England while her husband went to America to make his fortune,
and tumbled down a hole instead, felt aggrieved at the company. The
company said that Keeling had no business to be nosing around dark
places on the deck at that time of night, and doubtless their
contention was just. Mrs. Keeling, on the other hand, held that a
steamer had no right to have such mantraps open at any time, night or
day, without having them properly guarded, and in that she was also
probably correct. The company was very sorry, of course, that the thing
had occurred; but they refused to pay for Keeling unless compelled to
do so by the law of the land, and there matters stood. No one can tell
what the law of the land will do when it is put in motion, although
many people thought that if Mrs. Keeling had brought a suit against the
Hot Cross Bun Company she would have won it. But Mrs. Keeling was a
poor woman, and you have to put a penny in the slot when you want the
figures of justice to work, so the unfortunate creature signed
something which the lawyer of the company had written out, and accepted
the few pounds which Keeling had paid for Room 18 on the Gibrontus.
It would seem that this ought to have settled the matter, for the
lawyer told Mrs. Keeling he thought the company acted very generously
in refunding the passage money; but it didn’t settle the matter. Within
a year from that time, the company voluntarily paid Mrs. Keeling £2100
for her husband. Now that the occurrence is called to your mind, you
will perhaps remember the editorial one of the leading London dailies
had on the extraordinary circumstance, in which it was very ably shown
that the old saying about corporations having no souls to be condemned
or bodies to be kicked did not apply in these days of commercial honour
and integrity. It was a very touching editorial, and it caused tears to
be shed on the Stock Exchange, the members having had no idea, before
reading it, that they were so noble and generous.

How, then, was it that the Hot Cross Bun Company did this commendable
act when their lawyer took such pains to clear them of all legal
liability? The purser of the Gibrontus, who is now old and
superannuated, could probably tell you if he liked.

When the negotiations with Mrs. Keeling had been brought to a
satisfactory conclusion by the lawyer of the company, and when that
gentleman was rubbing his hands over his easy victory, the good ship
Gibrontus was steaming out of the Mersey on her way to New York. The
stewards in the grand saloon were busy getting things in order for
dinner, when a wan and gaunt passenger spoke to one of them.

“Where have you placed me at table?” he asked.

“What name, sir?” asked the steward.

“Keeling.”

The steward looked along the main tables, up one side and down the
other, reading the cards, but nowhere did he find the name he was in
search of. Then he looked at the small tables, but also without
success.

“How do you spell it, sir?” he asked the patient passenger.

“K-double-e-l-i-n-g.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Then he looked up and down the four rows of names on the passenger list
he held in his hand, but finally shook his head.

“I can’t find your name on the passenger list,” he said. “I’ll speak to
the purser, sir.”

“I wish you would,” replied the passenger in a listless way, as if he
had not much interest in the matter. The passenger, whose name was not
on the list, waited until the steward returned. “Would you mind
stepping into the purser’s room for a moment, sir? I’ll show you the
way, sir.”

When the passenger was shown into the purser’s room that official said
to him, in the urbane manner of pursers—

“Might I look at your ticket, sir?”

The passenger pulled a long pocket-book from the inside of his coat,
opened it, and handed the purser the document it contained. The purser
scrutinized it sharply, and then referred to a list he had on the desk
before him.

“This is very strange,” he said at last. “I never knew such a thing to
occur before, although, of course, it is always possible. The people on
shore have in some unaccountable manner left your name out of my list.
I am sorry you have been put to any inconvenience, sir.”

“There has been no inconvenience so far,” said the passenger, “and I
trust there will be none. You find the ticket regular, I presume?”

“Quite so—quite so,” replied the purser. Then, to the waiting steward,
“Give Mr. Keeling any place he prefers at the table which is not
already taken. You have Room 18.”

“That was what I bought at Liverpool.”

“Well, I see you have the room to yourself, and I hope you will find it
comfortable. Have you ever crossed with us before, sir? I seem to
recollect your face.”

“I have never been in America.”

“Ah! I see so many faces, of course, that I sometimes fancy I know a
man when I don’t. Well, I hope you will have a pleasant voyage, sir.”

“Thank you.”

No. 18 was not a popular passenger. People seemed instinctively to
shrink from him, although it must be admitted that he made no advances.
All went well until the Gibrontus was about half-way over. One
forenoon the chief officer entered the captain’s room with a pale face,
and, shutting the door after him, said—

“I am very sorry to have to report, sir, that one of the passengers has
fallen into the hold.”

“Good heavens!” cried the captain. “Is he hurt?”

“He is killed, sir.”

The captain stared aghast at his subordinate.

“How did it happen? I gave the strictest orders those places were on no
account to be left unguarded.”

Although the company had held to Mrs. Keeling that the captain was not
to blame, their talk with that gentleman was of an entirely different
tone.

“That is the strange part of it, sir. The hatch has not been opened

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