he could sell it and gain enough to skip the country once he got safely to Vancouver.'
They opened their mouths.
'I don't know that it actually makes sense,' Zak said eventually.
'Never mind, I don't suppose they'll notice.'
'You cynical son-of-a…'
'I don't see why not,' Donna said. 'And I can have a nice weepy scene with Pierre.'
'Why?' Zak said.
'I like doing them.'
They all fell about, and in a while walked through dramatic revelations (received by Zak from Outside Sources) of Raoul's marriage to Angelica five years earlier, which neither had acknowledged at Toronto station because, Raoul said unconvincingly, they were both shocked to find the other there, as he wanted to meld with Donna as she with Steve.
They all went away presently to get into their character clothes, and from Zak, very much later, I heard that the whole thing, played at the tops of their voices, had been a galvanic riot. He came to my door with a bottle in each hand, Scotch for him, red wine for me, and sank exhaustedly into an armchair with an air of having nobly borne the weight of the world on his shoulders and bravely survived.
'Did you have any dinner?' he said, yawning. 'Didn't see you.'
'I had some sent up.'
He looked at the television programme with which I'd passed the time.
'Rotten reception in these mountains,' he said. 'Look at that idiot.' He stared at the screen. 'Couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.'
We drank companionably and I asked if the party were all generally happy without Daffodil Quentin.
'The dear in the Mont Blanc curls?' he said. 'Oh, sure. They were all in a great mood. That man who used to be with her all the time was dripping charm all over Bambi Lorrimore and that nutter of a son of hers didn't open his mouth once. Those Australians are still in the clouds…'
He described the reactions of some of the others to the evening's scene and then said he would rely on me for another scintillating bit of scrambled plot for the next night. Not to mention, he added, a denouement and finale for the night after, our last on the train. The mystery had to be solved then before a Gala Dinner of epic proportions comprising five courses produced by Angus by sleight of hand.
'But I only said it all off the top of my head,' I said.
'The top of your head will do us all fine.' He yawned. 'Tell you the truth, we need a fresh mind.'
'Well… all right '
'So how much do I pay you?'
I was surprised. 'I don't want money.'
'Don't be silly.'
'Um,' I said. 'I do earn more than Tommy.'
He looked at me over his whisky glass. 'You don't really surprise me.'
'So thanks a lot,' I said, meaning it, 'but no thanks.'
He nodded and left it: the offer honourably made, realistically declined. Anything he would have paid me would have come directly out of his own pocket: impossible to accept.
'Oh!' he said, clearly hit by a shaft of memory, 'Nell asked me to give you this.' He dug into a pocket and produced a sealed envelope which he handed over. It said 'Nell Richmond' on the outside, and 'Photographs, do not bend.'
'Thanks,' I said, relieved. 'I was beginning to think it hadn't got here.'
I opened the envelope and found three identical prints inside, but no letter. The pictures were clear, sharp and in black and white owing to the fast high-definition film I habitually used in the binoculars-camera. The subject, taken from above, was looking upwards and to one side to a point somewhere below the lens, so that one couldn't see his eyes clearly; but the sharply jutting cheekbones, the narrow nose, the deep eye sockets, the angled jaw- bone and the hairline retreating from the temples, all were identifiable at a glance. I handed one of the prints to Zak, and he looked at it curiously.
'Who is it?' he said.
That's the point. Who is he? Have you seen him on the train?'
He looked again at the picture which showed, below the head, the shoulders and neck, with the sheepskin collar of the padded jacket over a sweater of some sort and a checked shirt unbuttoned at the top.
'A tough-looking man,' Zak said. 'Is he a militant union agitator?'
I was startled. 'Why do you say that?'
'Don't know. He has the look. All intensity and aggression. That's what I'd cast him as.'
'And is that how you'd also act a union agitator?'
'Sure.' He grinned. 'If he was described in the script as a trouble maker.' He shook his head. 'I haven't seen him on the train or anywhere else that I know of. Is he one of the racegoers, then?’
'I don't know for sure, but he was at Thunder Bay station and also at Winnipeg races.'
'The sleeping-car attendants will know.'
I nodded. 'I'll ask them.'
'What do you want him for?'
'Making trouble.'
He handed back the photograph with a smile. 'Type cast,' he said, nodding.
He ambled off to bed, and early the next morning I telephoned Mrs Baudelaire who sounded as if she rose with the lark.
I asked her to tell Bill the photos had arrived safely.
'Oh, good,' she said blithely. 'Did you get my message with the numbers?'
'Yes, I did, thank you very much.'
Val called with them from London, sounding very pleased. He said he wasn't having so much success with whatever it was that Sheridan Lorrimore did at Cambridge. No one's talking. He thinks the gag is cash for the new library being built at Sheridan's old college. How immoral can academics get? And Bill said to tell you that they went round to the Winnipeg barns with that photo, but no one knew who the man was, except that he did go there asking for Lenny Higgs. Bill says they will ask all the Ontario racing people they can reach and maybe print it in the racing papers coast to coast.'
'Great.'
'Bill wants to know what name you're using on the train.'
I hesitated, which she picked up at once with audible hurt. 'Don't you trust us?'
'Of course I do. But I don't trust everyone in the train.'
'Oh, I see.'
'You were right to send the message to Nell.'
'Good, then.'
'Are you well?' I asked.
The line said, 'Have a nice day, young man,' and went dead.
I listened to her silence with regret. I should have known better. I did know better, but it seemed discourteous never to ask.
With her much in mind I dressed for outdoors, hopped down the fire stairs and found an inconspicuous way out so as not to come face to face with any passengers who were
A large ultra-modern bus with tinted windows rolled in and stationed itself obligingly so that I could see who walked from the hotel to board it, and very soon after, when the driver had been into the hotel to report his arrival, Nell appeared in a warm jacket, trousers and boots and shepherded her flock with smiles into its depths. Most of the passengers were going sightseeing, it seemed, but not all.
