Voiture-Lit 2nd Classe № 7 ﹠ 8
“Monsieur Alphand,” Parthenope said softly while they moved through the connecting door into the second-class wagon-lit. “Forgive me, but I can’t help but notice that on the passenger list, your first name is…”
“Adolphe,” Alphand replied, a rueful smile playing on his lips. “I suppose Madame has heard the news?”
“Indeed, about the new Reichskanzler who unscrupulously seized power in the Königreich recently.” She turned her head around to look at him. “Might you perhaps be perturbed by how others will perceive you based on your name?”
The gentleman fell silent for a few seconds as if deep in thought. Drawing his hat brim over his eyes, he said, “I’m not a politician, Madame. How I may be perceived is hardly a point of concern for me. As an engineer, what’s ultimately important to me is serving the common people of the Empire in my own grounded way.”
Parthenope raised her eyebrow slightly. “You are an interesting individual, Monsieur Alphand.”
“I scarcely know if I should be discountenanced or gay after hearing your comment,” he joked.
They exited the vestibule and approached the first compartment along the aisle—belonging to a Monsieur and Madame Andrenyi, as stated on the passenger list. Though she didn’t mean to eavesdrop, Parthenope caught faint snippets of their conversation behind the door.
“…heard that the Federation is going to declare another war soon?” Madame Andrenyi’s voice seemed concerned as she spoke.
Monsieur Andrenyi’s tone was flippant. “Those bloody janissaries have a death wish, don’t they? I hope they’ll put up a better fight this time, Let the young men see a bit of action like our generation did.” His comment was followed by the sound of his hearty laughter.
Parthenope waited for the laughter to fade before knocking politely on the door. “Bonsoir, Monsieur et Madame. Is now a good time?”
Rustling of sheets, followed by the muffled thumps of footsteps. Moments later the lock on the door clicked open, and a tall, stern-looking gentleman with thin lips and a bushy moustache stepped out into the corridor.
His sharp eyes shifted apprehensively from her to Alphand and back. “Comment puis-je vous aider?”
“We—”
“I think they are here to interrogate us about the murder, dear.” Madame Andrenyi, who was wearing a heavy silk pelisse over her sheer white muslin night-rail, sat up on her bed and gave them a welcoming gesture. “It’s cold outside, please come in.”
That comment didn’t make much sense, considering they were all inside the same train carriage, but Parthenope figured the lady was just trying to be polite. “Thank you for your invitation.”
As expected of second class, there wasn’t much space to manoeuvre around. She quickly studied the small interior; the upper bed was untouched, looking as though it had never been slept in. Although Madame Andrenyi occupied the lower bed, she noticed that her bed had an additional pillow. Add to the fact that her sheets were unusually wrinkled in the middle, and Parthenope didn’t need to guess what the couple had been doing.
Alphand entered after her, removing his hat and nodding at the couple. “We’re terribly sorry for our intrusion at such a late timing.”
“It’s fine,” Madame Andrenyi replied. “No one can sleep well after knowing a life has been lost, frankly speaking.”
Monsieur Andrenyi closed the door and leaned against it. “You seriously aren’t suspecting me or my wife is the culprit, are you?”
“I’m afraid that as long as the murderer isn’t caught, everyone has to be considered a suspect, no matter how ridiculous,” Parthenope said. “Are you not going to sit with your wife?”
He stared at her briefly, then quietly walked over and sat on the stool by Madame Andrenyi’s bedside. “Please make this quick.”
She nodded her head at Alphand. “Start transcribing our conversation on the notepad.” Once he had prepared his quill, she turned to Monsieur Andrenyi. “You and your wife boarded the Orient Express at Lancashire station, is that true?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation.
“Can you tell us what you were doing at Lancashire? Do you live there?”
“No, we were just paying a good friend of mine a visit after hearing…about his unfortunate circumstances.” Monsieur Andrenyi let out a small sigh.
Madame Andrenyi wrapped her pelisse closer around her shoulders. “We live in Versailles—if that is what you wanted to ask.”
“So you are from Alsace-Lotharingia, I see,” Parthenope murmured. “Are you heading back home?”
“We originally wanted to see the Exposition Universelle,” he said, glancing at his wife. “I already purchased tickets for both of us. But I guess we will be going on another day after what has transpired…”
“Moving on,” she said offhandedly. “How long have you two been married?”
Monsieur Andrenyi seemed to be caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “U-uh…”
“Two years and sixty-four days,” Madame Andrenyi helpfully replied.
“I see.” Parthenope wrapped up the interview with a few more questions about the couple’s whereabouts and actions leading up to the discovery of the body. “Thank you for having us, Monsieur and Madame. We’ll be taking our leave now.”
“Oh vraiment?” The couple snapped their gazes up to her in surprise.
“So soon?” Alphand whispered, but she had already begun opening the compartment door. “Er…en vous souhaitant une bonne soirée, Monsieur et Madame Andrenyi.”
Parthenope waited in the aisle for him to come out of the compartment. “Did you take down everything as I’ve asked, Monsieur Alphand?”
“Of course.” He hesitated for a moment. “So, about the Andrenyis…”
“Doesn’t seem likely. We can cross them off the list once we meet up with the rest,” she said. “Let’s head over to the next compartment, shall we? We still have that girl who saw the deceased alive to interview.”
They passed through a second vestibule into the next aisle connecting the No. 9, 10, 11 and 12 berths together.
“Monsieur Cath and I reside here,” Alphand said, gesturing at the first compartment.
“Monsieur Cath…oh, okay.” Parthenope skipped it and knocked on the door to the second compartment. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Burdett et Mademoiselle Burdett-Coutts. Peut-on entrer à l’intérieur?”
The door swung open to reveal a broad-shouldered, slightly slouching man sporting a casual buff waistcoat and breeches. Giving the both of them a solicitous glance, he nodded his head. “Please come in, Madame Verney, Monsieur Alphand.”
Surprised, she asked, “Monsieur knows our names?”
“I make it a priority to know my fellow voyagers on board the same journey as I am,” he explained eloquently.
Parthenope humphed before saying, “I suppose we’ll start interviewing you first.” She briefly went through the same list of questions that she had asked the Andrenyis earlier to establish Burdett’s alibi.
“Monsieur Burdett, if I may venture to inquire,” Alphand chimed in after she had concluded her interrogation. “I was wondering why your name sounded so familiar, are you perhaps that politician who was recently released from the gaol?”
The gentleman gave him a humble nod. “Indeed, that is me.”
“I read about your manifesto in Le National—le roi règne mais ne gouverne pas,” he remarked. “Your commitment to radical reform is truly admirable, I must say.”
Burdett paused, then smiled and shook his head. “I only wish to see this empire prosper and progress into a new era, Monsieur, nothing extraordinary.” With that enigmatic comment, he turned to gesture at a girl sitting on the stool by the window. “This is my daughter, Angela. Madame and Monsieur, I implore you to be gentle with your questioning. She doesn’t speak the Empire’s language too well.”
“You need not worry about that, Monsieur Burdett.” Parthenope gave Angela a pleasant smile. “Boa noite, Senhorita Burdett-Coutts. Como vai?”
The girl raised her head to look at them, the gas lamp illuminating the worry on her delicate features. She lowered her gaze and tugged at the sleeve of her white book-muslin dress. "A senhora está aqui para perguntar sobre a morte dela?”
“Você disse que a conheceu hoje. Você pode me dizer mais sobre isso?”
“Ela me disse que ia mourir esta noite.”
Parthenope started. “Pardon?”
“What are you two talking about? Can you please explain?” Alphand whispered, knitting his eyebrows.
She motioned for him to wait and turned to Angela. “O que você quer dizer?”
Angela shook her head vehemently as she gripped the hem of her dress. “Eu a vi, a senhora morta,” she said, meeting her eyes. “Ela estava no vestíbulo procurando por algo.”
“Qual vestíbulo?”
She hesitated and pointed in the direction where they had come from. “O segundo vestíbulo.”
Parthenope frowned, narrowing her eyes. “Monsieur Alphand, come with me.”
“W-wait, Madame Verney? Slow down, please!” Alphand hastily followed her out of the compartment into the vestibule they had passed by earlier. “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden?”
She ignored him as she began searching the narrow vestibule, scrutinising the wood-panelled walls, the carpeted floor and curved ceiling. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be found, except for a large handwheel mounted on the centre of the right wall with a brass sign:
WARNING - DO NOT OPERATE HANDBRAKE WHEN TRAIN IS IN MOTION.
“Monsieur Alphand,” she muttered. “Does this wheel strike you as odd?”
“You mean the handbrake? What could possibly be wrong with it?”
“Just come here and take a look.”
Giving her a puzzled stare, Alphand approached the wheel and began examining it. “Looks normal to me, Madame Verney.” He glanced up at the sign and abruptly paused. “Huh, that is strange.”
“Do not operate the handbrake when the train is in motion,” Parthenope read aloud. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a brake?”
“You could be right,” he muttered and scratched his chin. “But that doesn’t mean—hey, w-what are you doing?!”
“Quit shouting and help me out, will you?” she rejoined, putting all her weight on the wheel. “Angela said that she saw the woman loitering in this vestibule before she died. This might have something to do with her!”
Alphand hesitated for a moment before joining her, adding his weight on the heavy steel wheel. It took them a few tries to finally move the wheel an inch—and without warning, the wheel began spinning at a rapid speed on its own.
Both of them frantically let go and backed away from the wildly spinning wheel. With a metallic grating noise, the wheel slowly came to a stop. A hidden door popped open like a safe, revealing an opening in the wall.
“What in the Lord’s name…?” Alphand gawked at the opening, no bigger than the wheel that opened it itself. “H-h-how?”
Parthenope gingerly reached into the opening and felt around. As her fingers groped near the back edge she felt something smooth and rounded.
“Look, Monsieur Alphand,” she murmured, pulling the object free. “This is the clue our fake Nightingale has left us.”
“M-Madame Verney, could this possibly be…” He stared wide-eyed at the delicate, gleaming shoe she had drawn forth. “…a glass slipper?”
