“There’s something very wrong,” I said. I had to stall those two killers. “I know,” I said. “They must have
I didn’t believe it though; I walked as slowly as I could. It came to me that Schmidt never had any intention of letting me leave the train alive. Otto’s instructions were to murder me in that train, whether or not we found the envelope.
I thought I heard a door bang. Maybe it was the cleaning crew.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Nothing,” Otto said. “Nothing but your imagination. It seems to have been working overtime. So you did hand that envelope to someone after all?”
There was nothing behind the cushions in the compartment in the first car.
“I’m freezing to death,” Hermann said. “What are we waiting for, Otto?”
“He’s got another minute,” Otto said. It was too dark to see their faces.
“The hell with another minute,” Hermann said. “It’s warm in that coffeehouse and there’s plenty to eat and drink.”
I kept on walking, into the second car and down the corridor, the two Germans’ footsteps echoing mine. By that time we’d run out of matches, but it made no difference. They could pump me full of bullets in that narrow corridor without aiming.
I took as much time as I could to slide back the door in that last compartment. The metal handle was burning cold through my glove. Otto stood just back from the doorway as I went in. The compartment was as black as the inside of your pocket.
I fumbled along one end of the compartment but there was nothing behind the cushions. I thought of attempting to escape out the window, but Otto would hear me. He’d kill me before I could lower the sash.
I turned and leaned over the seats on the other side. Maybe Otto wouldn’t squeeze the trigger until he’d examined the envelope. If I found it.
My mouth was dry, and I was shivering with the cold. I was sure Otto could hear my chattering teeth.
I felt in the corner but there was nothing behind the cushions.
I edged toward the center. There still was only empty space where an envelope wrapped in a newspaper should have been.
I put out my left arm to search the corner. But my hand never reached the corner.
Someone grabbed my wrist. I tried to shout but I had no voice. I crashed to the floor with the explosion.
For a split second I thought it was Otto who had fired. Then Otto’s body pitched through the doorway to land on the floor on top of me. Whoever had seized my wrist out of the dark had fired.
The explosion was deafening. It was a few seconds before I made out a voice saying quietly, “Get on your feet. Get on your feet and open the window. Hurry.” It was a vaguely familiar voice, speaking English.
I started to my feet, and my hand touched Otto’s face. I said, “Be careful. There’s another one out there.” I felt someone brush past me, then a shot crashed down the corridor. I stood stock-still. There was no outcry, there was no answering shot.
I pulled down the window. The wind felt good in my face.
“Get out,” said the voice behind me. “Get out. We haven’t any time.”
I landed in the snow. There was enough light flickering through the falling snow so that I caught the gun that dropped from the window. It was Otto’s Luger.
Sound came on the wind from the station. There were three quick shots, warning shots fired into the air. There were shrill blasts from a whistle.
I turned back to the window to see a body drop out. It landed in the snow alongside me. It was a woman, a six-foot, broad-shouldered woman with bright yellow hair. I helped her to her feet. It was Teensy, the taciturn amazon from the dining car, the wife of Hiram Carr, the American agricultural attache. She wore ski pants and heavy boots and a short jacket with a fur collar. Her head was bare, and the two bright spots of orange rouge were still on her cheeks. There was also a .45 in her hand.
“Get going,” she said. She emphasized her words with a shove. “Crawl under the cars, get to the fence. Above the billboard. Hiram’s there with a car. Get going.”
I ran toward the head of the train through the drifted snow. I ran toward the lighted part of the yards because the billboard was opposite the second car. I had no choice. Men were coming from the opposite direction, from the station. I could see the dancing beams from their flashlights as they ran.
I ran like a frightened rabbit, but Teensy got to the fence ahead of me. She was in the car, holding open the door, when I scaled the fence. I jumped into the moving car.
Teensy sat in the front seat with Hiram who drove. He was dressed like something out of Fenimore Cooper and Sears Roebuck combined, blue overalls tucked into the kind of boots farmers wear in the cattle barn, a navy pea jacket, and a coonskin cap, complete with tail. Teensy lit me a cigarette.
When we’d driven a good mile, Hiram turned his head and said in his high-pitched voice, “Well, well, Mr. Blaine, such a genuine pleasure to see you again. Isn’t that so, Teensy?”
“Cut the comedy,” Teensy said. “If I have to hear any more of your folksy patter I’ll get out and walk.” She turned to me, “Mr. Stodder, Hiram thinks he has to pretend to be a hick just because he’s supposed to be an agricultural attache.” I’ve had to listen to the same lowcomedy act all over Central Europe. ‘Don’t you think they speak English real good, Teensy? Been a practical farmer all my life and my father and grandfather before me.’ He’s never been any closer to a farm than Times Square. His father kept a saloon in Brooklyn. I don’t think he knows who his grandfather was.”
Hiram laughed. “It’s surprising how many people take you for just what you pretend to be.” Then he added mischievously, “Isn’t that so, Teensy?”
“You’re an idiot,” Teensy said but she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
“Look,” I said. “Would you mind letting me out anywhere here? I’ve got to get the girl who was on the train with me.”
“Where did you leave her?” Hiram said.
“In a coffeehouse,” I said. “About two blocks from the station, across from the cemetery. She stayed there with Schmidt while I went into the yards.”
Instead of stopping, Hiram stepped on the accelerator.
“Where are you going?” I said. “It’s in the other direction.” I thought of using the Luger in my pocket.
“Don’t worry,” Hiram said. “We’ll go with you. We won’t leave Mademoiselle Torres. But I’ve got to get rid of this car. We may have been spotted.”
It didn’t seem strange that Carr should have known Maria’s name. Or that Teensy should have addressed me as Stodder. Not after everything else that had happened to me in twenty-four hours.
We drove ten minutes in silence. Then Hiram drove into a gas station, parked the car, and handed the keys to the attendant. We piled into another car which carried diplomatic license plates. Several pairs of skis were strapped to the top.
“We’ve been skiing in the Buda hills,” Hiram said. “Keep your mouth shut if we’re stopped.”
I felt a lot better when I saw Schmidt’s car in front of the coffeehouse. I said I thought Hermann must have joined the doctor and Maria when he left the yards.
“What are we going to do?” I said. “We can’t start a gun battle in there with Schmidt.”
“Never mind about that,” Hiram said. “Schmidt doesn’t want trouble any more than we do.” He stepped out of the car. “You’d better stay out here. It’s close enough to the station so that some of the train crew might be inside. They might recognize you. There might be police.”
Teensy said, “Get behind the wheel and keep the engine running. You’d better be sure that gun is
