The doorway was in front of me. We were nearly there. Feeling desperately daring, I gripped this casebook between my teeth and pitched forward once again, the thick pile of the carpet rubbing against my hands and knees.
With the Countess stalking ahead, mercifully not looking down, we went out into the corridor. I rolled and almost bumped into Hetty, who was leaning against the wall. Daisy got to her feet, and then, from halfway down the corridor, there was a shout.
‘HAZEL WONG! WHAT are you doing crawling about on the floor like a worm?’
I was on my feet so quickly that it made me dizzy. Ahead of me, I noticed, the Countess had hunched back over her cane, the very image of a helpless old lady.
My father was striding towards me, a most unimpressed expression on his face.
‘I was . . .’ I said. ‘We were . . . playing a game.’
‘Hazel! You are not six years old any longer! Really, this is all deeply . . . unladylike!’
‘Terribly sorry, Mr Wong!’ said Daisy cheerfully. ‘Hazel and I were pretending to be Melusine, you see, and she hasn’t any legs.’
‘In front of these people?’ asked my father, gesturing at the Countess and Alexander, who had stopped and turned to look at us.
I wanted to curl up in a ball and hide. It was dreadfully embarrassing.
‘Children will be children,’ said the Countess. ‘I never seem to know what my grandson is getting up to these days. Pretending to be a detective – hah!’
My father shot me a very suspicious look. I shook my head desperately.
‘You, girl!’ said the Countess suddenly, glaring at Daisy. ‘You’re Lord Hastings’s child, aren’t you?’
Daisy’s chin went up. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she said.
‘Terrible trouble, that,’ said the Countess. ‘You know, I often think that it’s important for dreadful things to happen to you. It makes you more of a person. But it’s important to stand up to them – not wriggle about on the floor in distress. Remember that.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Daisy – and I heard in her voice that she really meant it.
Then the Countess turned and disappeared into her compartment.
5
My father was most confused. He was desperate to accuse us of breaking the rules he had laid down – but apart from some very unmannerly wriggling on the carpet, he could not see exactly what we had done wrong.
‘It really is strange of you, Hazel,’ he told me. ‘Why can’t you be a leader? You ought to be showing Miss Wells how to behave. Now, I want the two of you to come and sit quietly in Maxwell’s compartment until lunch and do a crossword puzzle – use your brains properly.’
‘Yes, Father,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, Father.’
‘That’s my good girl,’ said my father, and patted me on the head as if I were still a shrimp.
So back we went to Maxwell’s compartment – I was thoroughly sick of it by now – and I put this casebook back on my lap and scribbled away in it. We had narrowed the suspects down to four – Il Mysterioso, Mr Strange, Sarah and the Countess.
I reflected, not for the first time, how very unusual my life was. We were on the Orient Express, discussing spies and murder and theft – and it was not our imagination, but hard, cold facts. I had seen the body, and I had read the letter proving that Mrs Vitellius really was on the trail of a dangerous spy. But there is truth, and then there is what is believable, and I knew that we could not stop until we had every link in the chain ready to wrap around our murderer and our spy (or both, if Il Mysterioso were guilty).
But what if the murderer realized that we suspected them? This had been worrying me. If they came after us, we should have nowhere to hide. Our only disguise was who we were – which also meant that we could not announce our suspicions until we were absolutely sure. It was true that we were both detectives and schoolgirls – but it was not likely. And unless we could narrow our four suspects down further, we would never be believed.
I wrote in my casebook:
Daisy, looking indignant, replied immediately:
Daisy had cleverly – although rather creepily – used a Ouija board during our first murder investigation, and it had been extremely effective.
Daisy huffed.
‘Daisy? Hazel?’ said my father from next door. ‘How are you, girls?’
‘Very well, Mr Wong!’ Daisy called back, winking at me. ‘We’ve just solved a rather important clue. Ten down: innocence. The puzzle is beginning to fall into place.’
6
Lunch was a very subdued affair. Mrs Vitellius picked at her food, Madame Melinda wrung her hands and glared at Mr Daunt, who sat hunched over his plate, his eyes bloodshot, and Mr Strange scribbled on another bit of paper, glancing guiltily about the room. Il Mysterioso was not even trying to eat. He had pushed his pork loin away from him, as though it offended him, and was glaring at it. I felt my father’s eyes on Daisy and me at every moment – and it did not help that Daisy was seething at the fact that the interviews were over and we had not even been questioned.
‘Dr Sandwich has dreadfully poor judgement,’ she whispered as she took a bite of pork. I quite agreed; I felt indignant as well. Although my father and Maxwell had been questioned about what they had seen and heard at dinner the previous day, Dr Sandwich had not spoken to me or Daisy. He did not know what he was doing, and I had no faith that he would be able to solve such a complicated murder. I had found out from Hetty that he had not spoken to the servants either, which was very short-sighted of him. Daisy and I knew from the mystery at Fallingford that servants often observe more than anybody else.
Of course, Hetty didn’t know anything about the murder – she had been with us in the dining car – but Sarah was different. I saw that Hetty was speaking to her, but Sarah was ignoring her and watching Mr Daunt. She was not looking at him in the same hateful way I had seen earlier, either – was this important?
Just then, Daisy went quite still. I looked at her questioningly, and she mouthed, ‘Listen!’
And as soon as I listened, I understood. There were noises coming from the corridor – muffled thumps and bangs; doors opening and closing. Every time I think I have learned to notice everything, Daisy reminds me that, compared to her, I am really quite blinkered. Of course, the attendants were searching our rooms while we were having lunch. But what would they find?
The thumpings grew louder, and now some of the other passengers heard them as well.
‘Excuse me!’ said the Countess, sitting up in alarm. ‘Excuse me! What is that noise?’
One of the waiters, seeing her unhappy face, slipped out, and came back with Jocelyn. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘If I may have your attention for a moment . . . There is no cause for alarm, but I must inform you that we are currently searching your compartments.’
The Countess gasped. She stood up, leaning heavily on her cane. ‘How DARE you?’ she cried. ‘Don’t you know who I am? Why, if we were in Russia, I should have you whipped!’
‘We are conducting a murder investigation, my lady,’ said Jocelyn apologetically. ‘If you remember, I asked you not to lock your doors today – this is why.’
‘This,’ said Madame Melinda loudly, puffing herself out until she seemed to fill the room with indignation and black taffeta, ‘is a breach of privacy. It is quite ridiculous.’
‘Are you trying to interfere with the investigation into my wife’s murder?’ bellowed Mr Daunt, glaring at her. His stained napkin from lunch was balled up in his fist, and he looked as if he wanted to crush Madame Melinda in exactly the same way.
Mr Strange was white-faced and the Countess was trembling, but neither of them looked as terrified as Il Mysterioso. He was shaking all over – and when I turned towards the doorway, I saw what had upset him. Dr Sandwich had appeared, and in his hands was the magic box I had discovered that morning.
‘Aha!’ he cried. ‘Observe – a clue!’
> 7
I could tell at once that, as far as Il Mysterioso was concerned, nothing worse could have happened.
‘That is a magical prop,’ he said shakily, his Italian accent stronger than ever. ‘That is from my private collection – private, I tell you – as a magician, I must be allowed certain secrets.’
‘Quiet, sir,’ snapped Dr Sandwich. ‘Sit down at this chair and open it at once, or I shall arrest you for murder.’
‘He can’t do that!’ hissed Daisy in my ear. ‘Who does he think he is?’
Il Mysterioso began to sit – and then he bucked upright and made a dive for the door. Jocelyn sprang across to stop him, and two waiters pinned him firmly against the wall, making the cutlery rattle.
‘Sit down,’ said Dr Sandwich, clearly enjoying the drama terribly, ‘and open this box.’
‘You’ll have to smash it first,’ said Il Mysterioso.
There was a clicking noise and he flung his arms upwards; when he swept his cloak back, we all saw that he had attached his wrists to the metal luggage rack above the tables with two heavy silver chains. It was a most excellent magic trick – I couldn’t help gasping.
The Countess clapped her little gloved hands together, and for a moment she stood up straight, her cane forgotten. Madame Melinda made a noise rather like a snort, and Mr Daunt growled.
‘Jocelyn,’ said Dr Sandwich, pursing his lips, ‘fetch some bolt cutters immediately.’
My father got to his feet, looking very neat and ordered. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but I believe I can be of assistance.’
‘You?’ said Mr Daunt. ‘What are you going to do, Fu Manchu – magic it open?’
I flinched, and my cheeks burned with horror, but my father has had years more than I have to learn calm. I told myself that it did not matter if most people in the West could not see him properly. He was still kinder, and cleverer, than all the other grown-up passengers on this Orient Express put together. But all the same, I wished that I were not the only one who knew it.
‘Alas, I have no more magical powers than anyone in this carriage,’ my father said politely – which was a very neat hidden dig at Il Mysterioso and Madame Melinda. My father has no time for mystery and magic. Everything must be logical and measurable. I am very glad he never knew about our second-form Spiritualist Society. ‘However, I do know the trick of these boxes. They are all built along the same lines, you see. If I may . . .?’
After a pause Dr Sandwich grudgingly motioned him towards the box. ‘But no funny business, do you hear me?’
‘None,’ said my father, and only I (and perhaps Daisy) detected an edge to his voice. He sat down at the table across from Il Mysterioso, his square, sensible hands in full view, and began to run them across the box’s surface, tracing its leaves and flowers and half-hidden birds. Even faster than I had, he made it click and spring open, and the papers spilled across the table-top.
Geburtstag, I read once again. Katholisch. What did it mean?
My father quickly shuffled through them, his eyes taking everything in. Would he be able to explain the mystery?
‘These appear to be birth certificates,’ he said mildly, looking up at Il Mysterioso. ‘How did they come to be in your possession?’
‘Excuse me, I am in charge of this investigation, and I shall be asking the questions,’ said Dr Sandwich, nose bulging with excitement. ‘You! How did these birth certificates get into this box?’
‘I put them there, naturally,’ said Il Mysterioso, and despite his fear I could hear a sudden hint of mocking laughter in his voice.
‘But why? What is all this? Explain yourself at once.’
‘They are my family’s birth certificates,’ said Il Mysterioso. ‘As a good Catholic, I naturally have many family members.’
‘Good Catholic!’ cried the Countess dismissively. ‘Nonsense. You’re a Jew!’
Dr Sandwich sat up in great excitement. ‘Jewish?’ he cried. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I am!’ said the Countess firmly. ‘I suspected as much, but I saw the truth at lunch today. He didn’t touch his pork.’
‘Hah!’ said Dr Sandwich, his eyes lighting up. He turned to Il Mysterioso. ‘And I’ll be bound these are forged documents that you are smuggling across Europe. Mrs Daunt discovered your game, didn’t she? She was going to alert the authorities, and so you had to kill her to keep your secret!’
‘Jews can’t be trusted,’ the Countess announced. ‘They make their sausages from children. It happened in Russia all the time.’
‘Grandmother!’ cried Alexander, embarrassed. ‘You can’t say things like that. It isn’t true.’
‘I have never murdered anyone!’ said Il Mysterioso. ‘Those papers have nothing to do with the murder. Last night I left the dining car to work on a new piece of magic. When I work, I am lost to the world – that is why I did not hear the scream at once.’
‘Unlikely,’ said Dr Sandwich. ‘And what magic trick do you claim to have been working on?’
‘A . . . a locked-room escape,’ said Il Mysterioso.
‘Hah! Mrs Daunt’s doors were both locked, as you well know. I have been wondering how the murderer managed it – but a trained magician would have no trouble at all. You went into her room, you cut her throat and you ran out again, locking the door behind you with some cunning trick. I would have asked these attendants to put you in handcuffs, but you have saved me the trouble. All that remains is to discover where you have hidden Mrs Daunt’s necklace, and the mystery will be solved. Ladies, gentlemen, you have nothing to fear. We have found Mrs Daunt’s murderer, and this investigation is over!’
8
‘Excuse me . . .’ One of the other attendants was standing in the doorway, a worried expression on his face. ‘Sir, excuse me.’
Jocelyn looked up, and then hurried over, and they whispered together, looking oddly similar in their blue jackets, with their hair neatly clipped against their necks.
‘You shall be confined to a compartment of the guards’ van – constantly watched, of course. We don’t want you escaping!’ said Dr Sandwich, chuckling at his own joke. He rubbed his hands together, and I felt ill.
Everything was going wrong. This was not rigorous, it was not fair, and it was not finished. We did not understand what the documents in Il Mysterioso’s magic box meant. They must be evidence of his spying – I looked over at Mrs Vitellius and saw her covertly watching him – but were they evidence of murder as well? We had not proved that Il Mysterioso had been in Mrs Daunt’s compartment at the moment she screamed. And we had not proved that Mrs Daunt had discovered his secret and threatened to expose him. Yes, he could certainly be the murderer, and he could certainly have accomplished the locked-room trick – but we did not know, and that made all my detective senses tingle uncomfortably.
‘Dr Sandwich,’ said Jocelyn. ‘If I might have a moment—’
‘Anything you say to me you can say to the other passengers,’ said Dr Sandwich grandly. ‘We have no secrets any more, after all! The thing is solved!’
‘If I could just—’
‘Spit it out, man!’
Jocelyn frowned. ‘Dr Sandwich,’ he said, ‘Raoul has told me something. He was the attendant who turned down the compartments last night after the . . . incident with Mrs Daunt. Il Mysterioso’s door was locked, and as there was no noise he opened it with his master key, and—’
Il Mysterioso writhed. ‘No!’ he cried. ‘Please!’
‘And inside he found Il Mysterioso. Dr Sandwich, he tells me that the magician was . . . in difficulties.’
‘Please!’ cried Il Mysterioso again. Everyone in the dining car was staring from him to Jocelyn in utter confusion. What was going on?
‘Raoul says that he was lying on the carpet, chained from hand to foot, and attached to the luggage rack. He seemed to be in great pain, and had clearly been struggling to free himself for some considerable time – an hour, at least. He had to ask Raoul to fetch the key, which was stored in
one of the drawers. He told him that he had become entangled while practising his new magic trick.’
‘I deny this utterly!’ cried Il Mysterioso. ‘It is a lie! I was working on my trick – that was why I did not come out when I heard the scream. I was never trapped – I did not—’
‘But, sir,’ said Jocelyn, ‘if this is true, you have an alibi for the time of the crime!’
Was it true? I wondered. Could it be? If Il Mysterioso was a magician, couldn’t he have simply pretended to be stuck, to create a false alibi? But I looked at Il Mysterioso’s face, furious and ashamed, nearly in tears, and somehow I believed it. It was the answer to the question of why he did not come out into the corridor when Mrs Daunt screamed: because he could not. And he could not explain why without ruining his reputation as a magician.
‘Nonsense!’ said Dr Sandwich, but he sounded panicked. ‘The man’s a magician – he must have been pretending—’
‘Sir, I am sure he was not,’ said Raoul, rather shyly. ‘I apologize – I have to speak now, even though the gentleman begged me not to. He told me he would pay me—’
‘Oh God,’ said Il Mysterioso, slumping so that the handcuffs cut into his wrists. It looked dreadfully painful, and I winced. ‘I’m finished. No new trick for years, and now stuck performing a simple stunt like that! I shall be a laughing stock.’
‘So . . . you’ – Dr Sandwich was almost spitting, like a bubbling pot – ‘you didn’t do it?’
‘I told you, I was developing a new trick! It went . . . wrong.’
‘And you would have preferred to be arrested for murder?’ cried Jocelyn. ‘Sir!’
‘I didn’t do it!’ shouted Il Mysterioso. ‘And those papers – they have nothing to do with anything. Why can’t you leave me in peace?’
‘I can’t believe it!’ whispered Daisy. ‘Oh, this is glorious!’
I knew she meant Dr Sandwich’s embarrassment in front of all the passengers. That was quite wonderful – but in ruling out our best suspect, the mystery was wide open once again. Il Mysterioso might still be the spy, but judging from Raoul’s evidence, he could not be the murderer. So who else could it be?