Faro remembered that King Leopold was another of that great sprawling royal family of Europe, all of them related, near and distant, to Her Majesty Queen Victoria.
'Monsieur Nagelmachers told me all about trains, and he gave me a tiny model which I always carry with me. I'll show it to you sometime.'
Faro looked across at Anton listening expressionless to this conversation with nothing to contribute. And he guessed that George's not-so-privileged companion probably had less happy experiences of travel, similar to his own.
As for Dieter, he was positively animated. With an air of excitement he leaned forward, stared fascinated at George, then at Faro and back again, a smile twisting his thin lips.
Returning to their compartments, those passengers who were journeying across Europe with hopes of enjoyable continental scenery were in for a disappointment. The weather had deteriorated since they left Paris. Rain streamed steadily down the windows, obliterating a landscape which, from very brief glimpses, Faro found flat and disappointing, used as he was to the more romantic undulating hills of Scotland. Vast tracts of land dotted with sentinel lines of poplar trees and rows of dry-looking sticks planted with mathematical precision stretched mile after dreary mile, sticks that in the proper season would blossom into vineyards, their harvest served as wines famous across Europe in every high-class hotel.
Finding it difficult to concentrate on the problems of Edwin Drood, Faro turned his attention to his fellow passengers.
Dieter leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, apparently sleeping, since he had brought nothing, not even a newspaper, with which to while away the hours. Occasionally his eyes flickered open, he yawned and went into the corridor to smoke one of his strong-smelling cigars.
After an altercation when Anton was accused of cheating and George seized the playing cards and set them aside, the two boys sulkily resumed reading the books they had brought with them. Faro was pleased to see that although Anton was reading in German, George had a copy of ‘Treasure Island’ by Robert Louis Stevenson.
George sometimes glanced across at him, frowning. There was a word in dialect he wasn't sure about. When Faro explained, George asked, 'Do you know Mr Stevenson?'
Faro shook his head. 'No. But my stepson was at the University in Edinburgh when he was studying law.'
'He lives in Edinburgh?'
'Not any longer. His health is very poor and he plans to live on an island in the South Seas.'
George smiled. 'Will it be as nice as Orkney, do you think?'
Faro laughed. 'I'm sure it will be much warmer.'
Anton, once again not included in the conversation, suddenly put his own book aside with an irritable gesture and, picking up the pack of cards, began to shuffle them.
‘Another game?' he demanded in German.
'Very well, if you promise not to cheat this time,' was what Faro understood as the gist of George's reply. 'Will you play with us, Mr Faro?'
'No, thank you. I'll continue with my book.'
But faced with a true life mystery, his efforts to solve Mr Dickens' fictional one had evaporated. What had happened to Helga? His thoughts kept returning to her. And because his life's work was a search for clues in apparently unconnected events, he took out paper and pencil and wrote down:
Attempt on the life of Amelie. Possible connection with:
The fatal accident at Glenatholl of George's bodyguard Tomas.
George's kidnapping and rescue.
Anton's attack and escape on the ferry. (Note: A big strong man was described on both occasions. At Glenatholl, indications were that he had a companion. A smaller man or a woman?)
Helga's disappearance. Where did she fit into this curious pattern of events? And, more important, why had she been brought along in the first place other than as a gesture of kindness? Was there a more sinister reason? Had she been disposed of permanently?'
He was too preoccupied to realise that Dieter had also found a vital clue to the secret of Faro's identity. It had taken Helga with her woman's intuition to hint what was now strikingly obvious and Dieter toyed happily with thoughts of President Gustav's reward for this particular piece of information.
Chapter 14
Faro's thought pattern was destroyed by the entrance of a waiter announcing luncheon in the restaurant car. The perfect antidote to possible boredom, though passengers had breakfasted only two hours earlier. Obviously this constant serving of meals to while away the hours was one of the spectacular luxuries of the Orient Express, a boost to flagging spirits, regardless of the weather beyond the windows.
The two boys cheered. They were always hungry and had to be restrained from yet another headlong dash down the train.
At last they were seated and an imposing menu set before them, calculated to tempt even the most jaded appetite: ‘foie gras’ served with Vienna rolls, smoked salmon, ‘steak tortellina’ and an extravagant range of vegetables.
Faro looked anxiously at George and Anton since this was somewhat different from the homely fare even important visitors at Glenatholl encountered. He was pleased to see that the two boys tucked in heartily, undeterred by such a sophisticated meal, and how their eyes brightened at the sight of a rich chocolate ‘Sacher Torte’ served with thick cream.
The waiter was not at all put out when Faro looked askance at their demands for second helpings. He smiled and said, in very good English, 'It is a pleasure. So many of the young ones travelling with their parents refuse the fare we have on offer and make a great fuss at every meal. Nothing ever pleases them,' he concluded with a weary sigh.
'When do we arrive in Strasbourg?' Faro asked.
'In one
