by Jack Treby
The boat was rocking violently as we moved towards him. Adelina Koenig was disentangling herself from her own life vest. Before any of us had any idea what she was doing, the German woman had thrown her jacket to one side and dived head first into the sea.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Good god,’ I exclaimed, as Mrs Koenig churned across the water towards the stricken crewman. The woman moved with a grace I would not have credited. She seemed as at home in the water as she was in the air. In less than a minute, she had reached the blindly thrashing crewman and grabbed him from behind, sliding her arms underneath his armpits and – making sure to keep his head above the water – dragging him back towards the boat.
The men at the oars were too astonished at the sight even to stop paddling. Sir George Westlake and Thomas McGilton reached over the edge of the dinghy and manhandled the crewman on board. There was blood smeared on the side of his face but the fellow was at least conscious. We laid him out in the centre of the dinghy and Lucy Tanner bent over to examine him.
‘He seems to be all right,’ she observed, crouching down as the crewman blinked the water from his eyes. He had a bit of a squint, I noticed, and a badly shaven chin.
‘He is a fool,’ Karl Lindt declared. ‘He should have secured himself properly.’
The boat rocked again as McGilton and Sir George hefted Adelina Koenig awkwardly back into the dinghy. Her hair was slicked back against her scalp, her dress indecently wet, but her eyes were flashing with excitement.
‘That was a very brave thing to do,’ McGilton said.
‘It was first class, my dear!’ Sir George agreed, enthusiastically. ‘You’ve put the rest of us to shame.’
Mrs Koenig waved a hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing. Ludwig. How is he?’
‘He looks just fine,’ Miss Tanner reassured her, looking up. ‘Ludwig?’
‘Ja,’ the German woman admitted. ‘He is mein Neffe. My nephew.’ She sat herself on the edge of the boat and gazed down at the crewman with what I can only describe as a look of motherly contempt. ‘Dummkopf!’ she muttered, as much to herself as to the man in question.
‘It was extraordinary,’ I told Maurice, some time later. ‘She just dived straight in there, without compunction.’
‘She has a taste for excitement, Monsieur,’ the valet agreed, pulling the bandages tight around my chest.
‘I’ll say.’ I had my arms up in the air. Maurice had been winding the fresh bandage in place and now he secured the back of it with a safety pin. The lock on the door had been fixed and I’d had no choice but to disrobe. My clothes were soaked through. I had got absolutely drenched helping young Ludwig back on board the Richthofen.
We had had a devil of a job manoeuvring the fellow off that dinghy. The gap-toothed man had kept the boat steady at the bottom of the stairs but it was McGilton and I who had lifted the fellow up between us. Sir George stood below, in the centre of the dinghy, ready to help out if either of us should slip. The boggle eyed crewman was still somewhat dazed, so I kept my arm firmly around his waist. A couple of stewards were waiting at the top of the steps and I was grateful to pass the semi-conscious lump into their rough hands. The group exchanged good natured jibes in quiet German as they carried the man off to his quarters. A couple of others remained behind to help us off with our life jackets.
Adelina Koenig clomped up the stairs behind us, gripping the hand rail tightly. She was followed by Lucy Tanner. The Irishman stepped forward to help his fiancée into the safety of the lower corridor.
‘Gosh, I’m wet through,’ she lamented, looking down at her damp rayon dress, ‘and I didn’t even go in the water.’ She shuffled along the corridor so one of the crewmen could retract the steps and secure them properly behind us.
Mrs Koenig’s frock was also clinging to her in a rather unseemly fashion – she was quite a well-endowed woman – but one of the stewards found a towel to wrap around her top half. ‘Danke,’ she said.
I scarcely knew what to make of her extraordinary rescue mission. If Walter Kendall had doubted her navigational expertise, he could not have doubted her pluck. Her nephew might well have survived in any case – it would only have taken a minute longer for us to arrive with the dinghy – but those few seconds might equally have made all the difference. Mrs Koenig was a woman, clearly, who was not afraid to put her life on the line for those that she loved. Even Karl Lindt was expressing his admiration, in strident German, though he was lucky to get a word in between the jolly acclamations of Sir George Westlake.
‘Never seen anything like it,’ the explorer confessed, from the far end of the corridor. ‘What a woman!’
Mrs Koenig headed upstairs to change her clothes, while the dinghy was brought back on board ship via the second gangway. I doubted the German woman’s wardrobe was as extensive as that of Miss Tanner, but she probably had more to change into than I did.
Maurice had laid out a fresh shirt on top of the bed, which he helped me into. I only had the two shirts with me but somehow my valet had managed to get the other one laundered in between times. ‘Are you going to be able to dry it before tomorrow?’ I asked him, eyeing the discarded garment, which was sopping wet.
‘I think so, Monsieur. But it will take a few hours.’ He was more interested now in the details of the rescue. He had not been at the window when Mrs Koenig had dived into the sea. ‘And you say it was her nephew who fell?’
I nodded. ‘Apparently so. I’ve seen him before somewhere, in the bowels of the ship. Young fellow. Jack of all trades. He’s been with the Zeppelin company for a couple of years, so people are saying.’ Young Ludwig had been the subject of much gossip on the way back up to the passenger cabins.
Maurice had finished buttoning my shirt. He turned to the closet and pulled out a neck tie, which was dangling from the same hanger as my jacket. I had at least had the foresight not to wear that outside; otherwise I would have been forced to spend the rest of the voyage in my dinner jacket. ‘A curious coincidence, in light of Monsieur Finch’s hypothesis,’ the valet suggested, looping the tie around my neck and fastening it with expert hands.
‘I’ll say.’ Mrs Koenig travelling on an airship her nephew was employed on. More fuel to add to Jacob Finch’s suspicions. ‘I could do with a bath,’ I muttered, gazing across at myself in the mirror. Despite Maurice’s careful ministrations, I was still looking somewhat dishevelled; and I had missed my usual Monday night scrub. There was a shower on the Richthofen but I didn’t hold with such things and by all accounts it was a piddling affair. Give me a good metal tub any day. Besides, I could hardly walk around the passenger decks in a towel. I had done my best to clean myself up, however, using the cabin’s wash basin. ‘And, of course,’ I said, remembering the final indignity, ‘as soon as I got back on board, dripping wet, with my shirt clinging to my chest, who is the first person I bump into?’
Maurice could guess that easily enough. ‘Mademoiselle Hurst?’
‘Bang on the nose. You should have seen her expression, when she looked at me. Those bandages were visible, clear as day, through my shirt. Dripping wet. If this carries on, she’s going to cotton on to the truth. She’s bound to.’
‘I would not worry about it, Monsieur,’ he said, helping me into my light grey waistcoat. ‘I am sure her thoughts are elsewhere at the moment.’
‘Oh, the late Mr Schulz, you mean? Yes, I suppose so.’
My stomach lurched abruptly as a ragged cheer sounded from the crew decks.
‘Good lord,’ I said, ‘it looks like we’re on the move again.’
Maurice turned back to the closet and whipped out a large paper bag, but I waved it away. There were no windows in the cabin and, after the terrors of the storm, a gentle ascent into the heavens was not going to get my stomach excited.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Mr Bland?’ It was one of the stewards. ‘The passengers are assembling in the lounge, if you would care to join us?’
Maurice helped me i
nto my jacket and then nodded.
‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Captain Albrecht confirmed the good news in person. The Richthofen was under way once more, with no harm done. Albrecht had a more relaxed manner with the passengers than his first officer. Even after all the troubles of the day, he greeted the assembled guests with an easy smile. ‘Thanks to the hard work of the crew, we are now continuing our voyage. We have received the latest weather report and are told to expect fair skies from now until we reach our destination. However, as a precaution, we will be travelling at a lower altitude for the remainder of the journey and at a maximum speed of eighty kilometres per hour.’
‘So we will be arriving late!’ Karl Lindt concluded, barely masking his irritation. He was sitting on a metal chair, staring up at the captain.
Thomas McGilton was standing to his left. He had changed out of his wet clothes and looked in better shape than I did. But then, he was some years younger than me. ‘Better late than dead,’ he commented dryly.
‘The repairs we have made are temporary in nature and it is better to proceed with caution,’ Albrecht said. Perhaps there had been some structural damage, I thought. But I kept the notion to myself.
Adelina Koenig was standing next to the baby piano. She had also changed out of her wet clothes. She had emerged from the reading room a few moments earlier carrying her map of the world, which she had quickly folded up. Now she fired a question at the captain in incomprehensible German. From her gesticulations, I gathered she had noticed some abnormality in our bearing.
The captain replied in English, showing the rest of us the courtesy Mrs Koenig had not. ‘Yes, that is correct. Ladies and gentlemen, Damen und Herren, I am afraid we have been forced to change our course. We are now approximately four and a half thousand kilometres from Rio De Janeiro and a similar distance from New York.’ He glanced down momentarily at the cuffs of his overcoat. ‘In consultation with my fellow officers, I have therefore taken the decision to proceed directly to Lakehurst for repairs.’ A storm of protest erupted from the passengers, but the captain raised a hand. ‘There is no choice in this matter, I am afraid. There are not the facilities in Brazil to effect full repairs of the Richthofen. We will therefore proceed to New York, where we can attend to the matter properly.’
‘I have a ticket to Rio de Janeiro,’ Lindt protested, rising to his feet angrily. ‘You cannot change course! Herr Kaufmann and I have paid to go to Brazil.’
‘And so you will,’ the captain replied firmly. ‘Once we have made our repairs at the facility in Lakehurst, we will proceed to Rio and drop off our three passengers.’ The two Germans and the Spaniard. ‘From there we will make the return journey across the Atlantic. I apologise to you for the inconvenience, but the safety of the ship is paramount.’
‘That is not acceptable!’ Lindt exclaimed. ‘We have a conference to attend in Sao Paulo on Friday afternoon. If I am not there our business will suffer. I will lose thousands of dollars!’ In his frustration, he lapsed into German and his voice rose to a harsh roar. From the reaction of the stewards at the door, I gathered his language was becoming rather colourful. Captain Albrecht replied sternly and Lindt’s voice became even harsher. But the captain maintained his cool and at length it was Lindt who backed down.
Albrecht took a moment to collect himself. ‘If there are no further questions?’ He glanced around the room. A few heads shook. Lindt was seething, but he said nothing more, resuming his seat with ill grace and glaring at Josef Kaufmann, who had not said a word in his support. ‘Good. Then I will leave you to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Once again, I apologise for the inconvenience. There is one piece of good news, however.’ His face expanded into a broad smile. ‘I am told the bar has just reopened.’ The barman, Max, was obviously back on his feet. ‘So, for the rest of the day, if any of you are thirsty, the drinks are on the house.’
Jacob Finch button-holed me before I could join the stampede. The ginger haired policeman had important news and the refreshments would have to wait. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he admitted, on the quiet. ‘This change in course. We didn’t have a choice. I spoke to the captain, as soon as he came back on board, and told him Mr Kendall had been murdered.’ He grimaced, clutching his hands to his head. ‘It’s an absolute nightmare. He knows there will have to be a full investigation when we reach our next port. Captain Albrecht agreed with me that the Americans would be a better bet to handle things than the Brazilians. That’s the real reason we’re heading for New York.’
‘But that means...’ I grimaced at the thought of American policemen. ‘The Yanks will be all over the ship when we arrive at Lakehurst.’
‘I’m afraid so. But there was no other choice. London will clear the way before we arrive. We might even be able to get a warrant for the arrest of Mrs Koenig. See if we can’t get her extradited to the UK.’
My eyes widened. ‘You’re that convinced she’s guilty?’ I was starting to have serious doubts about the German woman’s involvement in this affair. What evidence did we really have against her? ‘Just on the basis of a torn notepad?’
‘There’s more to it than that. I did as you suggested and searched her room.’ He fumbled inside his jacket. ‘And, I hate to say it, but I found what I was looking for.’ He pulled out two rolls of used film. ‘In one of her coat pockets, hanging up in the closet.’ He handed me the small canisters. ‘I believe these are the photos which were taken back at the Yard.’
I examined the two rolls. ‘So you think Kendall’s death was connected to the theft of your file?’ The films in my hand had been used but not developed.
‘I’m starting to believe so. A conspiracy.’ He shivered. ‘I’m going to search the other rooms, just to be on the safe side. And then the luggage in the hold. Captain Albrecht’s given me free rein now, thank heavens. But those films and the note pad together. It’s very suggestive.’
I was not so sure. ‘They might just be holiday snaps,’ I suggested. ‘Pictures of Seville from the air.’ I remembered the Richthofen hovering for some time above the cathedral. ‘Does Mrs Koenig have a camera?’
‘There was one in her case.’
‘There you are then.’
Finch shook his head. ‘Look at the edge of the film.’
I examined the rolls in my hand, peering closely at the manufacturer’s label. KG Corfield Ltd. A British company.
‘I don’t think they would sell those in Germany. I can check, of course. But it was a British woman who photographed our file.’
‘Still not conclusive,’ I replied, looking up. There could be half a dozen perfectly valid reasons as to how Mrs Koenig had got hold of British-made film. She had been in England, after all, giving a series of interviews about her recent African adventure. She could have bought the films while she was there. ‘Can we develop the photographs? Have a proper look at them?’
Finch frowned at the suggestion. ‘What, on board ship?’
‘Why not? Knock up a dark room or something?’
The policeman was sceptical. ‘I don’t know anything about photography.’ He shook his head. ‘We’d need developing fluid. Special photographic paper.’
‘I could always ask around. There’s bound to be someone on board who...’
‘No, no, no!’ Finch exclaimed in alarm. ‘That’s out of the question. We can’t involve anyone else in this.’ The man was adamant. ‘If there’s even a chance these are the films we’re looking for, we can’t breathe a word about them to anybody. As it is, we’ll have to destroy them before we reach America.’
I nodded. He was right about that, I supposed. We couldn’t allow the American police to get hold of the photographs. The US was a friendly nation, but it wasn’t that friendly. If these documents were to enter the public domain, even accidentally, the damage would be incalculable. ‘But if we destroy the films, then we won’t have any evidence against Mrs Koenig. All you’ll have is that notebook.’
‘Yes. And the fact that she was
on the Croydon flight.’
‘Her and three others.’ I scratched my head. It was frustrating, not being able to examine the films properly. But Finch was right; better to assume the worst and get shot of the damned things. ‘You really think Mrs Koenig is at the bottom of all this?’
‘Yes, I really do.’ He shivered. ‘A woman like that, a national hero. It doesn’t bear thinking about. But nobody else would have torn those pages out of Mr Kendall’s notebook. And why would anyone keep used film in their jacket pockets? A normal person would put them in their suitcase.’ Finch closed his eyes. ‘She’s guilty. I’m convinced of it.’
‘Will you be able to prove it, though?’
‘Heaven knows. It won’t stand up in a court of law. But there might be some fingerprints in Mr Kendall’s cabin. The Americans will be able to check when we arrive. That might be enough to convict her. That and the notebook. If we keep everyone else out of there.’
‘Possibly,’ I said. ‘But hers are not the only fingerprints in that cabin. I searched the room as well. And the stewards will have been in and out every day. And goodness knows who else.’
‘Didn’t you wear gloves?’ Finch looked at me in astonishment.
‘I’m afraid not. Look, Mr Finch, there’s something I haven’t told you.’
He regarded me with some concern. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
I had discussed the matter with Maurice and he had agreed with me: it was time to make a clean breast of things. The more time I spent with Jacob Finch, the more certain I was that he was acting in good faith. No master criminal could blunder about in the dark as much as he had been doing. And if I was to help him get to the bottom of things, he needed to know all the facts, even if quite a few of them did not reflect well on me. ‘The poison that was used to kill Walter Kendall, I think it was rat poison. There’s a tin of it in Gerhard Schulz’s cabin. Of German manufacture.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I think I know how it got into Walter Kendall’s room. It was nothing to do with Adelina Koenig.’ I gripped my hands together and slowly took the policeman through the story.