The Red Zeppelin (Hilary Manningham-Butler Book 2)

by Jack Treby

  ‘And? Get to the point, Morris.’

  The valet switched on the light. The cabin was identical to my own except that there were no clothes hanging in the closet. Maurice had not had time to move in as yet. All I could see of any note was a small metal tin on the desk at the far end of the room. ‘The cabin was empty except for this one small object,’ Maurice said, moving forward, ‘which the steward found in a drawer at the bottom of the closet.’ He picked up the tin and handed it across to me. It was circular with a solid screw top lid. A brightly coloured label on the front of it had a single word written in elaborate German script: “Rattengift”.

  I frowned. ‘Something to do with rats?’

  Maurice nodded gravely. ‘It is rat poison,’ he said. There was a small skull and crossbones printed underneath.

  ‘Good lord.’ I revolved the tin in my hand. ‘Do they have rats on the Richthofen?’

  ‘No, Monsieur.’ The valet seemed very sure of that. He must have asked the steward.

  I unscrewed the metal lid and examined the contents. My eyes boggled. The powder inside was white and crystalline. It was not unlike... ‘Morris, this looks just like the sleeping draught.’

  ‘Yes, Monsieur.’

  He stood next to me and together we stared down at the powder. All kinds of mad ideas were sparking in my mind. ‘You don’t think...?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, Monsieur.’ Had this rat poison somehow been introduced into our glass bottle?

  ‘But what...I mean, how did it get on board?’ Who would bring a tin of rat poison onto an airship?

  ‘I do not know, Monsieur. But, according to the steward, this was the cabin that belonged to Gerhard Schulz.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Rain was battering hard against the slanted windows of the Richthofen. The storm was getting closer and visibility had been reduced to virtually nothing. The lightning could be seen only as a sudden illumination of the clouds. A heavy flash was followed twelve seconds later by the diabolical rumble of thunder. I was at the edge of one of the windows on the starboard side, holding on to a support strut for dear life. It was not a dignified position, but the whole ship was being buffeted by the wind. The engine cars were struggling to maintain an even course. In ordinary circumstances, I would have had no fear of a heavy storm like this; but to be inside a balloon with that much electricity crackling around was a distressing proposition.

  Most of the passengers were gathered along the length of the starboard promenade, gazing out at the maelstrom on the other side of the glass with varying degrees of awe and apprehension.

  ‘I thought we were meant to be going around it,’ I muttered anxiously.

  ‘I’m sure the captain’s doing his best,’ Thomas McGilton replied, his voice a soothing Irish lilt. ‘It’s difficult to know exactly where the outer edges are going to be. If the storm’s directly ahead of us he only has so much room to manoeuvre.’

  ‘You’re being terribly brave!’ Miss Tanner observed, placing a hand on my shoulder to reassure me. ‘I do admire your spirit, coming out here to look.’

  It had not been a matter of choice. I had emerged from the empty starboard cabin a few minutes earlier, my thoughts full of murder and dark deeds. The discovery of the rat poison had shocked me far more than the presence on board of an officer from Scotland Yard. Any chance I might have had to reflect upon its significance had been dashed, however, by the sight of Miss Tanner striding determinedly out of the passenger lounge ahead of me, intent on summoning her American friend from his cabin, in order that he might enjoy the full glory of the storm. Luckily, I had managed to intercept her before she got anywhere near the port side and had convinced her to leave Walter Kendall be, on the unarguable grounds that a man with a hangover shouldn’t be walking around on a ship that was rolling every which way beneath our feet. The unfortunate upshot of this intervention was that I had been forced to accompany Miss Tanner back to the promenade, to take the American’s place at the window.

  My stomach was protesting violently with every shudder of the ship. I was kneeling on a padded chair, my arms around the support strut between two large sets of glass. I was surprised so many of the other passengers were gathered here. Why anyone would want to stand and stare at such appalling weather, I had no idea. But I supposed, if we were all going to die, we might as well look fate directly in the face.

  Sir George Westlake was not among the crowd and neither was Adelina Koenig. I had a sneaking suspicion the mad pair had taken up an open invitation to view the storm from the control car. Good luck to them, I thought. I would not have survived the journey along the central walkway, let alone climbing down that narrow metal ladder into the gondola.

  Another flash of lightning was followed by the inevitable boom. Ten seconds this time. ‘It’s getting closer.’ I could not keep the anxiety from my voice. ‘What happens if the lightning hits us?’ We weren’t even allowed to light a cigarette on board, except in a pressurised saloon. What would a lightning bolt do to us?

  ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ McGilton assured me, dismissing the several million cubic feet of hydrogen hanging above us with the wave of his hand. ‘The surface of the ship is designed to defuse electrical currents. The storm can’t hurt us.’ Another gust of wind had the man rocking momentarily to maintain his balance.

  ‘I bow to your expertise,’ I mumbled, without conviction. The Irishman seemed to know what he was talking about, but I would have preferred to hear it from the captain. Albrecht had been happy enough to stroll around the passenger decks during take-off, but he wasn’t confident enough to go walkabouts during this, I noticed.

  Lucy Tanner had let go of my shoulder and was gazing out of the window in a state of rapture. ‘It’s so exciting,’ she gushed. ‘I’ll have so much to write about when I reach New York. Mr Kendall really should come out and see this.’

  McGilton shook his head. ‘Best to leave him be. You heard what Mr Bland said. He’s in no fit state this morning.’

  Karl Lindt had his feet firmly wedged against the base of the outer wall a few feet further along the observation deck. ‘It is a magnificent spectacle,’ he declared. The German had been staring ramrod-like out of the viewing panel for some minutes without saying a word. I was not sure if he was stiff with fear or simply lost in thought. ‘The full force of nature in action laid out before us. The sound, the light and colour, elemental and fierce. And here we stand, in the centre of it, unafraid, holding our heads high, like the ancient gods on Mount Olympus, defiant of the very elements themselves.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Miss Tanner exclaimed. ‘How poetic! I didn’t realise you had a romantic streak, Herr Lindt.’ She was being surprisingly civil to the man, all things considered, though I noticed she maintained a respectable distance from him, which she never did with me.

  ‘Would you like me to put a bit of Wagner on the gramophone for you?’ McGilton enquired dryly.

  The German drew his gaze from the window for a brief moment, his eyes blazing. ‘Your attempts at humour are not appreciated, Mr McGilton.’

  The Irishman grinned sourly. ‘Just trying to be helpful.’

  ‘Now, now, boys, please don’t spoil the moment,’ Miss Tanner said. ‘We can all enjoy the storm without rancour. It’s too thrilling to do anything else.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not right, Walter staying locked up in bed and missing all this. Sore head or no sore head, he simply has to see it. He’ll be so upset when he realises he’s missed it all.’

  ‘If he’d wanted to come out, darling, he’d have come out already,’ McGilton suggested. ‘Better to leave him be.’

  Miss Tanner shook her head. ‘Nonsense. It’s almost eleven o’clock. He shouldn’t be in bed at this hour. I shall go and wake him.’ Before I could move to intercede, she had stepped across the promenade towards the lounge.

  McGilton shrugged. He shot me a comradely look, his when-she-gets-an-idea-into-her-head-what-can-you-do look. Unfortunately, I was not in a position to treat the m
atter so lightly.

  ‘I really wouldn’t disturb him just now,’ I called after her, my voice loud and firm above the hiss of the storm.

  Miss Tanner glanced back. ‘He’ll thank me in the long run.’

  ‘No. Miss Tanner, you really ought to leave him alone.’ I stepped away from the window and staggered as the floor shifted suddenly beneath me. I put out a hand to steady myself on the reading room door.

  ‘But surely...’

  ‘You must leave him in his cabin,’ I insisted, speaking more stridently than I had intended. The other passengers turned away from the windows and stared at me in surprise.

  Miss Tanner had stopped in her tracks, her brow furrowed. ‘Nothing’s wrong, is there?’ Her eyes were illuminated by the lightning and I could see the concern there. I hesitated, not knowing how to reply. ‘He’s not ill, is he?’ she asked, her voice suddenly uncertain. ‘I mean, seriously ill?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head sadly, as the thunder roared. ‘He’s not ill.’ But I had come too far now to withhold the truth. Everyone on the promenade was staring at me. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Miss Tanner. Ladies, Gentlemen. Mr Kendall died in his sleep last night.’

  Lucy Tanner let out a gasp and her hand went to her mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry to break it like this. The captain wanted to wait until after the storm before making the announcement.’

  ‘And he’s really dead?’ Miss Tanner whispered. ‘Dear Walter?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  McGilton rushed across and placed a supportive arm around his fiancée.

  Mr Lindt was staring at me angrily. ‘And why did the captain tell you this and not the rest of us?’

  ‘I...noticed he was missing at breakfast.’ Better to stick to the well-worn account, I thought, quickly trotting out the details of my conversation with the first officer. ‘He asked me to keep quiet for a couple of hours. He didn’t want to alarm anyone with all this going on.’ I gestured vaguely towards the windows.

  Miss Tanner was shaking now. She was having some difficulty keeping her hands under control. ‘How did he die?’ she asked softly.

  ‘I don’t know. In his sleep, I think. The first officer said something about a sleeping draught.’ Perhaps it wasn’t wise to mention the poison just yet. Better to talk to Finch about that first. ‘He may have misjudged the dose.’

  The Englishwoman shook her head. ‘Walter simply wouldn’t...he didn’t...’

  ‘Let’s get you back to your cabin,’ McGilton suggested. He tightened his grip around her waist.

  ‘No. No, I want to watch the storm,’ she muttered vaguely.

  ‘I don’t think...’

  ‘I want to watch the storm,’ the woman repeated, with greater conviction.

  McGilton just nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come and sit over here.’ He manoeuvred her gently across to the sofa at the far end of the promenade. I watched her sit and gaze numbly out of the windows. Her fiancé settled next to her, his hands holding hers gently on top of her lap, his eyes not moving from her face.

  Max the barman had remained at his post, his big nose and walrus-like moustache the most reassuring sight I had seen since I had woken that morning. A cigarette and a drink were the only things that could calm my nerves. Josef Kaufmann, the tubby German, had arrived at the bar ahead of me. I had been unavoidably diverted on my way down, though I doubt many people had been aware of my unfortunate repeat performance in the little girls’ room. It was the stairs afterwards that had proved my Achilles heel, however. A brief lull in the turbulence had convinced me to risk the descent – the prospect of a Piccadilly and a glass of Scotch were more than enough encouragement – but a sudden gust had sent the Richthofen reeling sideways and I had lost my footing. It was only the handrail that had saved me from flying head first down to B Deck. My legs had swung through the air but I had grabbed on to the rail with both arms and had managed to recover my footing. Now, more than ever, I needed a drink. How long was this damned storm going to last?

  Kaufmann had already ordered his drink and the barman was looking at me expectantly. ‘Whisky,’ I said, reaching inside my jacket pocket for my cigarette case. ‘No soda.’

  Max seemed completely unconcerned by the buffeting of the ship as he prepared the drinks. The bottles behind him were rattling on their shelves, but they were all well restrained, protected from the effects of gravity by the wire stretched out in front of them. ‘I will bring the drinks through to you,’ he said, with an easy smile.

  Kaufmann lowered himself from the stool and made for the intersecting door. ‘You are looking very pale,’ he observed, with concern, as I lurched after him. I careered right, before I had the opportunity to reply, and grabbed the near edge of the padded sofa. I shuffled along the wall as best I could until I reached one of the tables and was able to wedge myself in. The German had remained on his feet all the while and, to my consternation, proved able to navigate the length of the room. He lit a cigarette from the lighter on the far wall and returned to the table, only a little unsteadily. He offered me the end of his cigarette and I used it to light my own.

  I took a long, slow drag. ‘Thank you. That was very thoughtful, Mr Kaufmann.’

  The tubby German sat himself down opposite me. He was a funny looking fellow, I thought, older then Mr Lindt, with a chubby, reddish face. ‘It has been a difficult morning,’ he observed, with typical understatement. ‘I can scarcely believe Mr Kendall is dead.’ There weren’t many things that would take people’s minds off a storm like this, but the American’s death had proved to be one of them.

  I breathed out a lungful of smoke and nodded. ‘Terrible. I was only drinking with him last night.’

  A lightning flash illuminated Max the barman as he came through the door with our drinks. I had forgotten about the underfloor windows on the far side of the saloon. Even here, in the bowels of the ship, I could not escape the untamed fury of the Atlantic. The inevitable roar of thunder followed, barely four seconds later. We could not be far now from the eye of the storm. I stowed my cigarette nervously on the edge of the ashtray and grabbed the glass which Max was preparing to set down. I downed the drink in one.

  ‘Another, sir?’ the barman asked, placing a small glass of sherry in front of his larger countryman. I handed the glass back to him and did my best to smile.

  ‘You read my mind.’

  I retrieved my cigarette and took another drag. I would have to make the most of this. I only had three Piccadillys left and I had a feeling I would be smoking all of them in the next few minutes.

  ‘Do not worry, sir,’ Max reassured me, his small eyes twinkling either side of that enormous hooter. ‘We are perfectly safe. Another half an hour and we will be through the storm.’

  I nodded as agreeably as I could. If anything, the rain sounded heavier now than it had done when I had first sat down.

  Kaufmann puffed at his own cigarette, while the barman retreated to the rattling drinks cabinet in the outer room. Even he was watching his feet, however, as he made his way towards the door, though as a matter of pride he was still balancing his tray with one hand as the lightning flashed again. ‘I could have done with a man like him in Gibraltar,’ I said.

  Kaufmann sipped his sherry as the sound of thunder ricocheted across the saloon. ‘Was Mr Kendall in good spirits when you said good night to him last night?’ he enquired.

  ‘Yes, I believe so. Why do you ask?’

  ‘It seems strange to me. Two passengers dying like this, one after the other. Both of them journalists, both of them showing a marked affection for an English woman.’

  I frowned for a moment. ‘Yes, that is rather odd. Though I think Miss Tanner and Mr Kendall were just good friends. The Austrian was...?’

  ‘He was very fond of Miss Hurst, I believe.’

  ‘Oh yes. I remember someone saying. Do you think that’s why he....?’

  The German took another ship of sherry. ‘It is a possibility. I understand he had been pursuin
g the Fräulein for some time. Unfortunately, his feelings were not reciprocated. She liked him, I think. She enjoyed his company. But she did not wish to take things further.’

  ‘Often the way. Do you think that was why he killed himself?’

  ‘I am convinced of it,’ Kaufmann said. ‘I believe he took his own life, as we have been told. Affairs of the heart, they are very complicated.’ He sighed wistfully and put down his sherry glass. He had no wedding ring, I noticed. Probably a confirmed bachelor. ‘And yet...this second death.’ He picked up his cigarette.

  ‘You think there may be a connection between the two?’ I did my best to sound sceptical.

  ‘It does not seem possible. But, even so, it is strange. Karl had an argument with Gerhard Schulz late on Saturday evening at the poker table. He accused him of cheating. I was involved in the game and I saw no evidence of it. But Karl was convinced.’

  ‘Your friend doesn’t like to lose,’ I said. ‘He’ll blame anyone if he gets a bad hand. I saw that myself last night, when Sir George beat him.’

  ‘Perhaps. But it was an unpleasant scene. And shortly after that, Herr Schulz died. Then, last night, he had another disagreement, this time with Mr Kendall, just before supper.’

  ‘A disagreement?’

  ‘I am not sure what it was about,’ Kaufmann confessed. ‘His behaviour at lunch yesterday, perhaps. In relation to the Fräulein. He is not the most tactful of men.’

  ‘Oh, the Jewish thing, you mean? Yes, that was a bit off.’

  Kaufmann had not been at our table but the whole saloon must have overheard the conversation.

  ‘He also has a tendency to be a little...over familiar with women.’

  I grimaced. ‘Wandering hands, you mean?’ That didn’t surprise me. He had that look about him. Miss Hurst, I noticed, had always kept well clear of the fellow.