‘He’d had more than enough time to wipe it clean,’ said the judge, ‘leaving just his fingerprints for you to find. But what about the contents?’

‘The ship’s doctor confirmed it was nothing more than a mild sedative, just as Hamish had claimed,’ replied William.

‘They saw you coming,’ said the judge, ‘and have made it almost impossible for you to prove that Hamish Buchanan and Dr Lockhart were working together as a team.’

‘That would have been the case, if it hadn’t been for the resourceful and observant James Buchanan, who some of them still think of as a child, rather than a young man who plans to become the Director of the FBI, not chairman of the Pilgrim Line.’

‘And what did he observe?’ asked Catherine.

‘Before I answer that, you need to take another look at the seating plan that night. You’ll see that young James was placed opposite his uncle Hamish, from where he had a perfect view of everything that was going on, including when Hamish drank from his hip flask. But it was only later that “the penny dropped”, to quote him, when he realized his uncle wasn’t drinking from the same hip flask as his grandfather.’

‘What made him think that?’ asked Beth.

‘Hamish had placed his flask on the table during dinner for everyone to see,’ said William. ‘A foolish mistake, because James noticed the initials “HB” engraved on one side, whereas the one the chairman drank from had no such engraving, as I was able to confirm when later I found it in the doctor’s cabin.’

‘Bright young man,’ said the judge. ‘However, it still may not be enough to convict them.’ He stopped and pondered for a moment. ‘If I was representing Hamish Buchanan, I would suggest to the jury that they could not rely simply on missing fingerprints, and the uncorroborated testimony of a minor, to send two men down for a life sentence.’

‘I agree,’ said William. ‘But don’t forget we still have the body of the late Fraser Buchanan. I’ve already called ahead to the NYPD to let them know I have reason to suspect a murder has been committed, and they’ve agreed to meet me on the quayside when we dock tomorrow morning. I’m confident an autopsy will show the chairman was poisoned, and end up convicting both of them.’

‘Bravo,’ said the judge. ‘You are indeed the son of Sir Julian Warwick.’

‘Not to mention the formidable Lady Warwick,’ suggested Beth.

‘They would have got away with it if I hadn’t had young James Buchanan to assist me,’ admitted William, as Franco served them coffee and poured the judge his usual brandy, before handing William a sealed envelope.

‘A signed confession?’ suggested Catherine, as William tore open the envelope.

‘I don’t think so,’ he said, after extracting a voucher for one thousand pounds. He read out the accompanying letter.

‘It was my holiday that was spoilt, not yours,’ said Beth. ‘In fact, I’ve never seen you happier,’ she added, as she grabbed the voucher and dropped it into her bag.