The Man Who Was Not on the Passenger List Page #2

"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

								

this voyage, sir, and was securely bolted down.”

“Nonsense! Nobody will believe such a story! Some one has been
careless! Ask the purser to come here, please.”

When the purser saw the body, he recollected, and came as near fainting
as a purser can.

They dropped Keeling overboard in the night, and the whole affair was
managed so quietly that nobody suspected anything, and, what is the
most incredible thing in this story, the New York papers did not have a
word about it. What the Liverpool office said about the matter nobody
knows, but it must have stirred up something like a breeze in that
strictly business locality. It is likely they pooh-poohed the whole
affair, for, strange to say, when the purser tried to corroborate the
story with the dead man’s ticket the document was nowhere to be found.

The Gibrontus started out on her next voyage from Liverpool with all
her colours flying, but some of her officers had a vague feeling of
unrest within them which reminded them of the time they first sailed on
the heaving seas. The purser was seated in his room, busy, as pursers
always are at the beginning of a voyage, when there was a rap at the
door.

“Come in!” shouted the important official, and there entered unto him a
stranger, who said—“Are you the purser?”

“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I have room No. 18.”

“What!” cried the purser, with a gasp, almost jumping from his chair.
Then he looked at the robust man before him, and sank back with a sigh
of relief. It was not Keeling.

“I have room No. 18,” continued the passenger, “and the arrangement I
made with your people in Liverpool was that I was to have the room to
myself. I do a great deal of shipping over your—”

“Yes, my dear sir,” said the purser, after having looked rapidly over
his list, “you have No. 18 to yourself.”

“So I told the man who is unpacking his luggage there; but he showed me
his ticket, and it was issued before mine. I can’t quite understand why
your people should—”

“What kind of a looking man is he?”

“A thin, unhealthy, cadaverous man, who doesn’t look as if he would
last till the voyage ends. I don’t want him for a room mate, if I
have to have one. I think you ought—”

“I will, sir. I will make it all right. I suppose, if it should happen
that a mistake has been made, and he has the prior claim to the room,
you would not mind taking No. 24—it is a larger and better room.”

“That will suit me exactly.”

So the purser locked his door and went down to No. 18.

“Well?” he said to its occupant.

“Well,” answered Mr. Keeling, looking up at him with his cold and fishy
eyes.

“You’re here again, are you?”

“I’m here again, and I will be here again. And again and again, and
again and again.”

“Now, what the—” Then the purser hesitated a moment, and thought
perhaps he had better not swear, with that icy, clammy gaze fixed upon
him. “What object have you in all this?”

“Object? The very simple one of making your company live up to its
contract. From Liverpool to New York, my ticket reads. I paid for being
landed in the United States, not for being dumped overboard in
mid-ocean. Do you think you can take me over? You have had two tries at
it and have not succeeded. Yours is a big and powerful company too.”

“If you know we can’t do it, then why do you—?” The purser hesitated.

“Pester you with my presence?” suggested Mr. Keeling. “Because I want
you to do justice. Two thousand pounds is the price, and I will raise
it one hundred pounds every trip.” This time the New York papers got
hold of the incident, but not of its peculiar features. They spoke of
the extraordinary carelessness of the officers in allowing practically
the same accident to occur twice on the same boat. When the Gibrontus
reached Liverpool all the officers, from the captain down, sent in
their resignations. Most of the sailors did not take the trouble to
resign, but cut for it. The managing director was annoyed at the
newspaper comments, but laughed at the rest of the story. He was
invited to come over and interview Keeling for his own satisfaction,
most of the officers promising to remain on the ship if he did so. He
took Room 18 himself. What happened I do not know, for the purser
refused to sail again on the Gibrontus, and was given another ship.

But this much is certain. When the managing director got back, the
company generously paid Mrs. Keeling £2100.
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