The Red Zeppelin

by Jack Treby

  Captain Albrecht did not rise to the bait. He stood immobile as Lindt was escorted past him and out into the passageway.

  I was still standing close to the captain. ‘If he is behind all this,’ I whispered, ‘a locked door won’t keep him in his cabin.’

  ‘I will have a man posted in the corridor. All night if necessary.’

  ‘What about Mr Kaufmann?’ I eyed the tubby German, who had resumed his seat at the far end of the dining hall. He was frowning heavily, staring at the case full of money, which another steward was locking up and preparing to remove.

  ‘You think he may be involved?’

  ‘I don’t know. But Lindt never went to England. He must have had an accomplice. And Kaufmann was on that flight.’

  ‘We will keep an eye on him,’ the captain agreed. ‘But I do not think it is necessary to confine him to his cabin at this time.’

  ‘No. He seems harmless enough.’ I had the feeling Lindt had only been incarcerated to shut the damn fellow up. And if we locked Kaufmann up as well we would probably have to do the same with Mrs Koenig. I didn’t fancy being the one to make that suggestion.

  ‘Herr Kapitän?’ An officer had approached us from behind. I recognised the fellow vaguely. It was the telegraph operator. He spoke to the captain and handed across a slip of paper.

  ‘Danke, Herr Schäuble.’ The captain quickly scanned the note. ‘A communication from your Special Branch,’ he said, looking up.

  I smiled in surprise. ‘Lord, that was quick. I thought they might have all gone home for the night.’

  ‘Apparently not, Mr Bland.’ There would always be someone on hand to deal with emergencies. The news of Jacob Finch’s demise must have sent alarm bells ringing across London. ‘They confirm your identity and ask that I afford you every assistance.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness.’

  Albrecht turned back to the telegraph operator and exchanged a few words in German. Then he addressed the passengers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Damen und Herren, it has been a distressing evening. However, I urge you all to remain calm. Stewards will be on duty all night to ensure your safety. There is food available for those who have not yet had the opportunity to dine. However, once you have eaten, I would urge everyone to retire to their cabins. For the rest of the evening and until these matters are sorted out, I must ask that you do not leave the deck. If you require any assistance, as always, the stewards will be on hand to help you.’

  ‘No chance of a quick cigarette before bedtime?’ I enquired, half-heartedly. I was out of Piccadillys now but Max kept a stock of German tobacco behind the bar.

  ‘I am afraid that will not be possible. B Deck is now off limits, for the security of the passengers. The smoking room will be closed until morning.’

  That was fair enough, I supposed.

  ‘Now if you will all excuse me, I have some urgent telegrams to send. And of course the small matter of running a ship.’ The last comment was made with a wry smile. I rather admired the way Albrecht had managed to keep his cool, in very trying circumstances. He nodded his head and went off. I hadn’t had a chance to ask him about Captain Rüdiger. It could wait until tomorrow.

  Young Heinrich stood watch in the doorway after the rest of the crew had departed. The passengers remained seated and for a moment there was silence.

  Frederick Gray was sitting at the near side table, with Sir George and Adelina Koenig. ‘What an awful day,’ he sighed, in that irritating nasal voice of his. ‘Poor Mr Finch.’

  ‘Someone had it in for him, that’s for sure,’ Thomas McGilton agreed, from the centre table.

  Mrs Koenig muttered something to herself in incomprehensible German and leapt to her feet.

  ‘He’s just doing his job, my dear,’ Sir George assured her. Mrs Koenig shot the explorer a look of pure venom and then clomped angrily towards the door. Heinrich had to jump to get out of the way. Sir George chuckled to himself. ‘What a woman!’

  Miss Tanner was sitting at the middle table, with her fiancé and Miss Hurst. She pushed back her chair. ‘I suppose we ought to sort out our sleeping accommodation,’ she said, rising up and addressing the other woman. Miss Hurst shuddered but inclined her head. The stewards would be on hand to assist them but it would still take some time to arrange. I pitied the poor blighter who had to gather up their night attire. Finch’s body would still be lying on the carpet in the far cabin.

  Thomas McGilton was just finishing off a ham roll. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute,’ he called, as the two girls made their way past Heinrich and out into the corridor.

  I moved across to Sir George’s table and grabbed a chicken sandwich. Mr Gray gazed up at me, his eyes wide in wonder. ‘So you’re a policeman too,’ he said.

  ‘Well, after a fashion.’

  Sir George laughed. ‘I had you down as a gentleman of leisure.’

  ‘I try to be. But life keeps getting in the way.’ I took a quick bite of the sandwich.

  ‘Do you think Herr Lindt was responsible for Mr Finch’s death?’ the GPO man asked.

  ‘I really don’t know.’ I was not comfortable being regarded as the voice of authority on the matter, and I was acutely aware that Josef Kaufmann was sitting at the far table, well within earshot. ‘He’s an odious fellow, but that doesn’t make him a murderer.’

  ‘Probably a thief, though,’ McGilton declared, coming across to mop up the last of the sandwiches. ‘The captain said Mr Finch was investigating some kind of theft.’ He grabbed a sad-looking specimen and took a quick mouthful. ‘What was it? Anything valuable?’

  I shifted awkwardly from one leg to the other. ‘You could say that. Some...documents of a confidential nature.’

  Sir George’s ears pricked up. ‘Sounds intriguing, old boy!’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t go into details. It’s all a bit complicated.’

  He smiled. ‘Don’t tell me, national security.’

  ‘But you believe Herr Lindt is involved?’ Mr Gray asked again.

  ‘It’s possible,’ I conceded. ‘But if he is behind all this, he must have had help. We’ll know the truth tomorrow, anyway. Or the day after, at the latest. Whoever the murderer was, they had an accomplice back in Blighty. A baggage handler called Mick Durrant. The police picked him up this afternoon in Holyhead. He’ll confirm if Mr Lindt is the guilty party. And if he is then we can have a nice police car waiting to greet him in New Jersey.’

  McGilton wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow.’

  ‘There’s going to be an awful lot of publicity about all this,’ Mr Gray reflected. ‘I wonder if they’ll want to interview us all.’

  ‘Lord, I hope not.’ I had wanted to slip away quietly at the end of the trip.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry, old boy,’ said Sir George, sympathetically. ‘They’ll be too busy castigating Herr Lindt to pay you any attention.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘And we’ll have a good few stories to dine out on at the end of it all!’

  ‘It will certainly add a bit of spice to your lecture tour, Sir George,’ Mr Gray simpered. The man really was a crawler.

  ‘It’s Captain Albrecht I feel sorry for,’ McGilton said. ‘He’s going to get a lot of flack over this and it’s hardly his fault. He’s done his best to look after us all.’

  ‘It won’t just be him,’ I thought. ‘After this, everyone’s going to think twice about airship travel. The R101 was bad enough. This may well kill off the industry all together.’

  ‘You could be right,’ the Irishman agreed, sadly. ‘No one’s going to want to book a ticket if they think they’re going to be murdered in their beds.’

  Sir George was a little more optimistic. ‘You never know, a bit of notoriety might do them the power of good.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said. It would certainly be a mistake to underestimate the ghoulishness of the American public.

  ‘Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “Red Zeppelin”,’ th
e explorer chuckled.

  ‘People certainly won’t be associating it with the reds any more,’ McGilton agreed.

  ‘No.’ I looked down at the blood on my chest. ‘Well, not communists, anyway. I don’t suppose any of you has a spare shirt I might borrow?’

  ‘You don’t have another?’ Mr Gray sounded surprised.

  ‘Yes, but it’s still damp from the dinghy.’

  ‘You got soaked as well, did you?’ Sir George chuckled. ‘Best part of the day, that was. Seeing Adelina churning to the rescue of that crewman. Worth the price of the ticket alone.’ He smiled and pushed back his chair. ‘Anyone fancy a game of cards?’

  The games room on the far side of the airship was shaded in semi-darkness. The stewards had cleared up the remnants of supper from the dining hall and most of the guests had retired to bed. Mrs Koenig had been spitting venom out in the corridors, furious about Mr Lindt’s incarceration. But the rest of the ship was gradually settling down for the night. Thomas McGilton had helped his fiancée and Miss Hurst to move into their new cabin on the port side and had then joined the rest of us at the card table.

  I was surprised I had agreed to join the party; but after the horrors of the last few hours a few hands of cards would prove a welcome distraction. It may sound callous but sometimes a bit of enforced normality can do a lot of good, calming everybody’s nerves in the aftermath of such dreadful events.

  ‘Frau Koenig quietened down a bit when she realised the two women were going to be sleeping next door to her,’ McGilton told us.

  ‘A bit of female solidarity.’ Sir George nodded cheerfully. ‘That’s the spirit!’ He had grabbed a bottle of wine from the dining room before the stewards had managed to tidy it away. He poured out a large glass for himself and a smaller one for Frederick Gray. ‘Just pennies tonight, I think,’ he suggested, shuffling the pack with an expert hand.

  ‘Quite right,’ Mr Gray fawned. ‘We wouldn’t want to be disrespectful.’

  Sir George handed the pack to the Irishman to deal and raised his glass. ‘To Mr Finch and Mr Kendall,’ he declared.

  ‘And Mr Schulz,’ I added, draining the dregs of a whisky and soda I had brought with me from the other side of the ship.

  ‘Mr Schulz,’ the others agreed.

  McGilton dealt out the cards and we all threw in a ha’penny to start with. We were using English currency this time, rather than American. ‘What did you use when you played with Mr Schulz?’ I asked, out of curiosity. ‘Was it dollars?’

  Frederick Gray nodded. ‘I think we did, yes.’

  ‘He was a rather good player,’ Sir George recalled. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Oh, no particular reason. It’s just...the man had a quantity of dollars with him when he arrived in Seville. He was one of Mr Finch’s early suspects. But if he won it from the games table...?’

  McGilton understood what I was getting at. ‘You mean, from Herr Lindt?’

  ‘Yes, that would all add up. If Mr Lindt dipped into that briefcase of his. I did think for a while that Mr Schulz had been murdered. But it looks like it was suicide after all.’ The balance of his mind had certainly been disturbed.

  We played out the hand in virtual silence. Without the lure of financial gain, the atmosphere was lacklustre, but Mr Gray was right, it would have been disrespectful to gamble more. And my wallet probably needed a break in any case.

  After half an hour, McGilton rose to his feet and decided to call it a night.

  ‘Time for beddy-byes,’ Sir George agreed, pushing back his chair.

  The GPO man had a sudden thought. ‘I’ll dig out that shirt for you, Mr Bland.’

  ‘That would be very kind,’ I said, rising up from the table.

  The four of us moved out of the games room onto the promenade. Sir George stretched his arms above his head. He was quite a tall man with an impressively muscular bearing. The simpering Mr Gray barely reached up to his shoulder. ‘I could really do with a night cap. Help me nod off. Shame the bar’s off limits.’ We moved across to the lounge.

  ‘I’ve got some whisky left, if you fancy it,’ I said, pulling back the door to the main landing. Maurice had retrieved my bottle from Miss Hurst and returned it to the cabin.

  A steward was standing watch in the corridor, just to the right of Karl Lindt’s cabin. He stepped aside to allow us through the door.

  ‘Capital idea!’ Sir George declared, following me through into the passageway. ‘Will you join us, McGilton?’

  ‘No, I don’t, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, of course, tee-total. Well, good night then, old boy.’

  The Irishman made his farewells and slipped quietly into his berth, trying not to disturb the Spanish fellow he shared with.

  I nipped into my own cabin, which was the next one along, and grabbed the whisky. There was no sign of Maurice. He had completed his move into the far cabin and had already retired for the night.

  Sir George and Frederick Gray were out of sight when I emerged. They were chatting quietly half way along the connecting corridor. Mr Gray’s cabin was on the port side. He had already collected the spare shirt and he handed it over to me now. It was a cheaply made affair, very much off-the-peg and perhaps a trifle small, but it would probably do the job come morning.

  ‘Well, I shall bid you both good night,’ Mr Gray said. He was grinning at us rather enthusiastically. That one glass of wine had gone straight to his head.

  ‘We can’t tempt you to a nightcap?’ I asked.

  Gray swayed unsteadily. ‘I think I may have had too much already.’

  ‘Half a glass,’ Sir George declared, good naturedly, as the GPO man disappeared. ‘Absolutely pitiful.’

  I tossed the shirt through the door onto my bed and followed the other man back into the games room, where we quickly poured out the whisky. The steward remained out in the corridor, keeping careful watch on Mr Lindt’s cabin.

  ‘It’s been a hell of a day,’ I said, downing the whisky in one quick gulp. I resumed my seat at the main table and closed my eyes for a moment. ‘I have to confess, I’ll be glad when this is all over.’

  Sir George nodded sympathetically. ‘Getting a bit too much for you?’

  I placed my glass back down on the table. ‘I was meant to be pursuing a thief. Nobody was meant to get killed.’

  ‘It’s been a difficult couple of days,’ he conceded, knocking back his own glass in one fluid movement. He smacked his lips together contentedly. ‘Nice drop of whisky that. But don’t fret, old boy. We’re through the worst of it now. You’ve caught your man, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ I looked down again at the empty tumbler. ‘But it all seems too easy somehow.’

  Sir George chuckled. ‘Never does to overcomplicate things. All that cash hidden in his briefcase. Lindt was clearly up to no good.’

  ‘Yes, it does look like it. But I won’t sleep easily until my feet are back on terra firma. I never wanted to go up in an airship in the first place.’

  ‘No spirit of adventure, that’s your trouble,’ Sir George chided me. ‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!’

  I sat back in my chair and gazed at him across the table. He was an amiable fellow, I thought. It was nice to have a bit of civilized company at the end of such a horrible day.

  We chatted for some minutes about the events of the last few hours and the likely repercussions we would face upon our arrival in America.

  ‘You said you had a new job there, didn’t you?’ he asked, stepping over to the side table to refill the glasses. ‘Or was that all part of your cover story?’

  ‘No, it’s true. I’m joining the diplomatic corps, if you can believe it. Some tinpot republic down south.’

  ‘By Jove! Rather you than me, old boy. I couldn’t bear to be stuck behind a desk.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re an adventurer. I’m just looking for a quiet life. I’ve had enough excitement already to last me a lifetime.’ I coughed quietly. ‘What about you? Are you looking
forward to your lecture tour?’

  His face fell momentarily. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Always good fun. People never seem to tire of the stories. But I’m not much of a one for reflection.’ He returned to the table and handed me my glass.

  ‘Bit of a come down, after all your expeditions.’

  ‘Yes, a little. But needs must, old boy. And it’s good money. They even paid for my flight on the Richthofen.’

  ‘Will you have enough to finance another expedition?’

  Sir George shook his head. ‘Nowhere near enough, sadly. But I’ll find the cash, one way or another.’ He raised his glass. ‘Well, bottom’s up!’

  ‘Here’s mud in your eye,’ I agreed. I raised the tumbler to my lips and knocked back the whisky in one quick mouthful. It hit the back of my throat and all at once I started to choke. ‘Good God!’ I exclaimed, almost dropping the glass. ‘That tastes absolutely vile!’

  ‘Yes, it would,’ Sir George agreed, with a casual smile. ‘That would be the rat poison.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  I clutched my throat in horror. I could taste the vile liquid burning at the sides of my mouth. My eyes were virtually popping out of their sockets. ‘You devil!’ I exclaimed, my breath a hoarse whisper. My arms were shaking and I was starting to feel dizzy. The glass fell from my hand and I grasped the sides of my chair, trying to focus on Sir George. He was smiling at me, content to watch my death throws without making any attempt to flee the scene of the crime.

  ‘The poison is entering your gut now,’ he told me, his voice calm and low. ‘That was a much stronger dose than you gave Walter Kendall.’ A small glass bottle, I observed abstractly, was resting next to the whisky on the side table. It had not been there a moment ago. Inside was the familiar crystalline powder. ‘If I’ve judged it right, old boy, you have perhaps ten to fifteen minutes before it really starts to hit you. You’ll feel it in the stomach first. Cramps. Nausea. Double vision. If you’re lucky, after a few minutes of agony, you may pass out. Or not. Either way, you’ll be dead in twenty minutes. Half an hour at the outside. It won’t be at all pleasant, I’m afraid.’