The Red Zeppelin (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 2)

by Jack Treby

  Kendall nodded. ‘In my experience, it’s never a good idea to play for money on social occasions. It spoils your enjoyment of the evening.’

  ‘What rot! The money is half the fun.’ I had just lost twenty-five dollars – about five pounds in real money – but it had been worth it to see the look on Lindt’s face. ‘Do you fancy a night cap, Mr Kendall? I have a bottle of whisky in my cabin.’ I managed to make the invitation sound casual, as if it had just occurred to me.

  The American masked his surprise well. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Bland.’

  ‘Not at all! Always pays to be hospitable. Morris!’ I had ordered my valet to linger in the lounge area. ‘Fetch the whisky will you, and a couple of glasses?’

  Maurice closed the book he was reading, removed his glasses and rose to his feet. ‘Yes, Monsieur.’

  Kendall frowned slightly at our exchange.

  ‘You’ve met my valet, Morris?’

  ‘Yes, I was speaking to him over dinner. He is a very well educated man.’

  I blinked. ‘Is he?’ It was the first I had heard of it.

  ‘Indeed. Self-educated, like myself.’ There was an implied criticism there but I let it go. ‘Perhaps we should move to the reading room?’ the American suggested. Sir George’s booming laugh was still a little too close for comfort. It sounded like the game was going to continue, with the four remaining passengers.

  I followed Walter Kendall into the far saloon.

  ‘So what brought you to Europe?’ I enquired amiably, as we settled ourselves down. I was itching to find out anything I could about him but I didn’t want to push my luck. There was no point putting the fellow on his guard. ‘Business or pleasure?’

  ‘A little of both,’ the American replied, removing his glasses and wiping them meticulously with the handkerchief in his jacket pocket. ‘I wanted to see how Europe was coping with the economic downturn. I proposed a series of articles to my editor in New York and he was happy to fund the enterprise.’

  I did not believe that for a minute. ‘And how is Europe coping?’

  ‘On the whole, better than the United States. Germany is the exception, of course. They are having it very badly just now. And the war reparations demanded by the allies have created a lot of ill feeling. France is still in the doldrums, of course. I was in Paris last week. England is better placed than most to cope, but they are not through the worst of it yet, I fear.’

  ‘Budget cuts all over,’ I agreed.

  ‘And of course the discontent in Spain we have seen for ourselves. It was economics that brought down the dictatorship. Industrial strife and unemployment. Those are the principal factors which led to these elections.’ The American was in his element, lecturing me on political affairs, and given that I had invited him here, I had no choice but to let him burble on; at least until Maurice arrived with the whisky.

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t hang around in Spain to cover the results of the elections.’

  ‘I was sorely tempted,’ Kendall admitted, replacing his glasses. ‘I was in Madrid on Wednesday. The strength of feeling in the streets was remarkable. But I was convinced the monarchists would win and, as my editor wanted me back in New York, I booked my passage on the Richthofen. By the time I had realised my mistake, it was too late for me to change my plans.’

  That tied in with what Lazenby had told me. ‘So it’s a happy accident you’re on board with us?’

  ‘Indeed,’ Kendall agreed. ‘Though I confess I did have a certain curiosity to see an airship from the inside.’ I tried hard to mask my scepticism. The Richthofen was a convenient choice, not the fulfilment of a dream. Kendall had needed to get out of the country as quickly as possible, after he had acquired those photographs from Gerhard Schulz. ‘The Germans are very proud of their innovation,’ he added, ‘and rightly so, in my opinion.’

  ‘Yes, I had a good look round the place this afternoon. It was a bit overwhelming.’

  Kendall showed polite concern as he folded his handkerchief and returned it to his breast pocket. ‘You’re feeling better now?’

  ‘Much, yes. Miss Tanner was right. It didn’t take me long to find my feet.’ I left it a moment before following up the reference to the Englishwoman. ‘Have you known her long?’

  ‘Miss Tanner?’ His eyes flickered for a moment, though whether in irritation or surprise I could not be certain.

  ‘I...gathered you’d met before.’ Kendall was looking wary, but it was a valid question and I was curious to know the truth. Miss Tanner had chosen to sit next to him at supper, well away from her fiancé. And I hadn’t forgotten bumping into the girl halfway up the Torre del Oro at the same time that Gerhard Schulz had been wandering about.

  ‘We have...corresponded,’ Kendall admitted reluctantly. ‘She has an interest in newspaper journalism and has sought my advice. I understand she is hoping to pursue a career as a news journalist.’ That was what McGilton had told me too. The American was being very careful with his words.

  ‘But you didn’t know she would be on this flight?’

  ‘No. It was a complete coincidence, albeit a happy one.’

  Maurice arrived with the whisky and the glasses, saving Kendall from any further embarrassment. ‘You took your time,’ I muttered to the valet.

  ‘I am sorry, Monsieur.’

  He opened the bottle and set the glasses down on the table. I watched him closely as he poured out the two measures. He did it well, keeping the glasses away from us so that Kendall could not see the powder already present in the bottom of one of the tumblers. We had practised the procedure in the cabin to make sure that the draught dissolved properly in whisky. It had been a terrible waste of a fine spirit, but it was as well to be sure. As it turned out, the powder just needed a bit of a stir. Maurice masked the process with his body as he mixed the glass, then turned back to us and handed the tumbler to Mr Kendall.

  ‘It’ll have to be just the one,’ the man said. ‘I want to get a bit of writing done before I retire.’

  ‘The life of a journalist is never finished, eh?’ I said, taking the second glass. I hoped to goodness Maurice hadn’t got the tumblers mixed up. It would be just like him. I couldn’t afford to get myself knocked out; not when I’d lost almost five pounds to put myself in this masterful position. I wondered briefly if I would be able to claim the money back on expenses. ‘Well, bottoms up!’ I said, raising my glass to the American.

  We clinked the tumblers together.

  Kendall took a slow sip of the doped concoction. If he tasted anything untoward in the mix, he was too polite to mention it. ‘A very fine malt,’ he declared, smacking his lips together gently.

  Maurice folded up my trousers and hung them on the hanger. Even in the confines of the cabin he had found space to properly hang and store my clothes, the few of them that I had managed to bring with me. He was an efficient fellow when it came to that sort of thing. My shoes had been left outside the door, to be taken care of by the steward and, in a spirit of generosity, I had allowed the valet to place his own shoes outside as well. I was feeling particularly well disposed towards him this evening. He had done a good job with that sleeping draught.

  He took my shirt now, helping me off with it and folding it neatly, before tucking it away in the closet.

  I stared across at the mirror above the wash basin. I was looking rather haggard. There were a couple of errant hairs growing on my upper lip – the shaving mug wasn’t entirely for show – and there were wrinkles forming around my eyes. I squinted at them in the artificial light. My eyesight was not what it was, especially during the night. A sign of age, I supposed. My cheeks were a little ruddier than they had been in the past and I suspected my waistline was a little wider than it had been the year before. Too much Yorkshire pudding and not enough exercise. But I had a few years left in me yet, I thought. At least my hair hadn’t started going grey.

  I gave out a weary sigh. I ought to go through the motions of going to bed, I supposed. It would be
a couple of hours yet before I could creep out and attend to Walter Kendall. The American had been getting a little drowsy as we left the reading room, but he had toddled off to his cabin without too much trouble.

  The ship was now filled with the sounds of people settling down for the night, above the omnipresent hum of the engines. I wondered briefly if the men in the engine cars had to stay out all night. It must be freezing out there. There was probably some sort of rota. Once everyone was asleep and the passenger decks were quiet, I would creep out and attend to the business at hand. It was not a prospect I relished, but it was as well to get it over with. I had been right to abandon the poker game.

  ‘Do you wish me to remove your bandages, Monsieur?’ Maurice asked, looking down at my heavily swathed torso.

  I shook my head. I have never been particularly well endowed but I liked to spend a few hours free of restrictions whenever it was safe to do so. ‘Not tonight, Morris,’ I replied. I didn’t trust the lock on our cabin door. It didn’t seem to click properly, like the others. I would have to have a word with Heinrich about that. ‘Don’t want to frighten the horses when I’m out and about.’ I hated sleeping with the bandages in place – it made for a very uncomfortable night – but it was always a wise precaution when I was away from home.

  ‘Very good, Monsieur.’ He lifted my night shirt and I bobbed down as he pulled the cotton garment over the top of me. I wriggled my arms into the sleeves and allowed the shirt to drop down to my ankles. Maurice buttoned up the neck with his usual efficiency.

  I moved closer to the mirror and grabbed hold of my toothbrush. Away from home. The realisation was just beginning to set in: I didn’t really have a home any more. I wouldn’t be returning to Gibraltar and I couldn’t return to England. Nobody back there even knew I was alive, apart from the Colonel. As far as the world was concerned, Sir Hilary Manningham-Butler was dead and buried. And now I was heading for a new life in a new country; a country I had never even heard of, in a region bedevilled by earthquakes. Lazenby had got me in such a lather about Kendall and the Austrian fellow that I hadn’t had proper time to consider the job I had been offered at the other end. What would happen when we got to New York? What would the people at the British Legation be like, when I finally arrived? What would I do if they were a bunch of idiots and I hated every single one of them?

  ‘Is everything all right. Monsieur?’ Maurice had looked up and seen me staring quietly at myself in the mirror. He was starting to undress, now that he had taken care of me. It was not a pretty sight. His craggy face was the only presentable part of him.

  I waved a hand dismissively. ‘Oh, fine. I was just thinking about home. Gibraltar. England. I wonder if I’ll ever see it again.’

  ‘Probably not, Monsieur,’ he answered, with unnecessary candour.

  I glared at him angrily, my gratitude to the man evaporating in an instant. ‘Fat lot of good you are, Morris.’ I stabbed some toothpaste onto my brush and set to work on my teeth.

  It is not easy sitting up in bed for two and a half hours in the dark with nothing to occupy yourself. I had thought it better to leave the bedroom light off, so as not to draw attention, but now I felt my head beginning to droop. I had set an alarm clock, buried deep beneath my pillow, just to be on the safe side. If I should nod off, I would at least feel the vibration. I had set the clock for three am but my intention was to creep out of the cabin at half past two.

  I jerked myself awake and pulled myself off the bed. Maurice was lying on his back on the upper bunk. I could just about make him out from the residual light creeping under the cabin door. The corridor lights were dimmed during the night, to save on power, but they were not switched off completely. The valet was breathing quietly though I could not tell if he was asleep. It had to be half past two by now, I thought.

  I moved across to the light switch but banged my knee on my suitcase as I stepped forward. I cursed silently but then found the switch and flicked it on. Maurice blinked on the top bed and stared across at me. I put a finger to my lips and grabbed my fob watch. It was five minutes to two. To hell with it, I thought, that’s close enough.

  I moved back over to my bed and switched off the alarm. Then I returned to the cabin door. I glanced back at Maurice. He had closed his eyes once again. His nerves were better than mine. But then, he wasn’t about to break into another man’s bedroom. I checked my breast pocket, to make sure I still had the improvised lever and pick, then switched out the light and slid open the bedroom door.

  The starboard corridor was gloomy and quiet. I could hear the sounds of gentle snoring from the cabin next door. That would be Mr McGilton or perhaps his Spanish room mate, who had retired early. I glanced down at the carpet outside. My shoes had been removed by the steward along with Maurice’s and all the others along the corridor. At least there was nothing here for me to trip over. I slid the door closed behind me and tip-toed bare foot along the passageway towards the central aisle.

  Walter Kendall’s cabin was on the far side of the passenger deck, opposite the water closets. I moved cautiously along the connecting corridor towards the port side. At the far end, I peered right, towards the stewards’ cabin at the front of the passageway. A light was visible beneath the door. Someone would be on duty all night – I wondered if it was Heinrich – but, whoever it was, they would not pay any attention to a few shuffling footsteps. It was hardly unusual for a guest to pay a visit to the bathroom during the small hours.

  The room I wanted was in the opposite direction, one of the three cabins set out along the rear section. I had no idea who was berthed in the room on the corner, but the German woman, Mrs Koenig, was in the middle. Hopefully, she would be fast asleep by now. I moved furtively along the corridor but, as I shuffled past her room, I heard a muffled groan coming from inside the cabin. More than one in fact. I stopped in my tracks.

  Please tell me she isn’t awake, I thought.

  I leaned in as close as I dared, trying not to let my shadow fall across the base of the door. No, I had not imagined it. There were whispered voices coming from inside – two people, not one – and the distinctive sound of bed sheets ruffling. Good God, I thought, Mrs Koenig has a man in her cabin. It had to be a man, I reasoned. There were only three women on board ship, apart from myself, and Miss Hurst and Miss Tanner shared a cabin on the starboard side. It took an effort of will to stop myself from laughing. It did not take a scholar to work out what was happening in that room. I was not the only one creeping about after dark, doing things that they oughtn’t to be doing.

  I strained to hear more. The voices were speaking softly, in German, and both of them sounded rather excited. But try as I might I couldn’t identify the second voice. It certainly wasn’t Mister Koenig, anyway. He was not on board, so far as I was aware. I wondered for an instant if it might be Sir George Westlake. He had made no bones about his admiration for Adelina Koenig and he spoke a little German too. The mental image of him and her together tickled me for a moment and it was all I could do not to laugh out loud. But the German woman had also been rather friendly towards that first officer on the control deck. What was his name? Rüdiger. Perhaps he was Mrs Koenig’s night time companion. Whoever it was, though, I had to admire her nerve. The shameless hussy. It was clear the two of them were not playing chess.

  The unexpected distraction had soothed my nerves momentarily, but I forced myself to return to the task at hand. It would have been better for me if Mrs Koenig had been fast asleep, but it need not interfere with my plans. She and her companion would not be paying attention to anything but each other just now.

  I shuffled along the corridor to the far door and stopped outside Walter Kendall’s cabin. I reached into my breast pocket to retrieve the hair pin I had brought with me. This was the trickiest part of the operation. The last time I had tried to pick a lock, in Gibraltar, the pin had snapped off in my hand. But the principal was simple enough.

  I grasped the handle of the door and pulled it gently, to make su
re the cabin was actually locked; then I slid the lever into position and applied the necessary pressure. That done, I inserted the pick into the lock and felt for the first of the pins holding the barrel in place. It put up no resistance – the pin moved up and down freely – so I moved on to the next one. It wasn’t until I hit the third pin that I felt any downward pressure. I manoeuvred this one gently upwards and heard a satisfying click. The last two pins proved a little more tricky but, after a bit of fiddling, I managed to get both of them out of the way and, to my astonishment, felt the small barrel rotate under the pressure of the lever. I closed my eyes and let out the breath I had been holding. For all my bravado with Maurice, I hadn’t been entirely sure I would be able to do it. Quickly, I retrieved the hair pins from the lock.

  So far, so good. And not a sound to disturb anybody.

  My luck could not last, however. At that moment, I heard a cabin door slide open on the opposite side of the deck, the starboard side. I tensed at the sound of footsteps, which began moving briskly along the central corridor, in my direction. I had no time to ponder my options. I slid open the door to Kendall’s cabin and dashed inside, closing it quietly behind me.

  I listened for a moment, my eyes acclimatising to the darkness, and heard someone step into one of the water closets on the opposite side. It was a man – I heard the tell tale tinkling sound in the lavatory bowl – and after a quick flush he made his way out and away. He had spent perhaps thirty seconds in there. And then, save for the quiet groans in the adjacent cabin, all was as it should be.

  I breathed out and turned my attention to the inside of the room. I didn’t dare risk turning on the light – that might wake Kendall, even with the sleeping draught in his system – so I would have to fumble around in the dark. If I had known I would be doing this when I had left Gibraltar I would have brought a torch with me. As it was, I would have to rely on touch and the vague outlines visible from the dim light coming under the door.