No one rose but they all nodded to Charteris.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Charteris,” Lehmann said, in English, forcing a smile out of the melancholy mask that had once seemed so genial. He was tamping tobacco into a meerschaum pipe-Charteris knew the Reederei director was an inveterate pipe smoker, to the point of holding its unlighted bowl in his palm, and clasping its cold stem in his teeth.
But Erdmann, apparently not realizing the pipe was a sort of prop to the captain, said, “Is it safe to smoke in here?”
“Oh yes, yes, certainly.” Lehmann dug into his pocket and tossed a book of Frankfurter Hof matches onto the table. “Go ahead, gentlemen-I think we could all use a smoke about now, and the smoking room would not provide the privacy we need.”
Charteris-his suspicions now confirmed that the officers on an airship were held to less stringent precautions than its passengers-withdrew his silver cigarette case from his sport-jacket pocket and offered a Gauloise to Captain Pruss, who waved it off, and to Erdmann, who accepted. Lehmann was lighting his pipe, getting it going on a single match; Erdmann fired up the French cigarette and shared a match with Charteris. The sweet fragrance of the pipe smoke mingled with the harsher blend of the cigarette’s, forming another gray cloud, like those outside the slanting windows.
A steward poured coffee for all of them and disappeared.
“I’m going to make a wild guess,” Charteris said, “and say Eric Knoecher hasn’t turned up.”
Erdmann twitched a weary smile, and Lehmann said, “The entire ship has been searched-every cabin inspected. There is no sign of him.”
“I assume you’ve questioned the stewards who might have been on duty, in the wee morning hours.”
Lehmann nodded. “No one was seen on either promenade deck after around three-thirty A.M. The few hearty souls still up, at that hour, had helped close down the smoking room, and stumbled out to the lounge to finish their last drink. Then off to bed.”
Erdmann’s gaze was unblinking as he said, “I understand, Mr. Charteris, that you agreed to tell anyone who asked that your cabin mate has a cold, and has confined himself to the cabin.”
“Yes. And a few people have asked about him, and I’ve passed that tale along. No one’s questioned its veracity. No one much misses Mr. Knoecher, it would seem.”
“That surprises me,” Erdmann said. “He had a certain charm.”
“A cultivated charm that he used to obtain information from his victims. From your use of the past tense, Colonel, I assume you agree with me that Mr. Knoecher has become a victim himself.”
“A murder victim,” Erdmann said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils, dragon fashion, “yes. And this presents certain… difficulties.”
“Such as the S.D. not being keen on having their agents bumped off.”
Captain Pruss frowned. “‘Bumped off’?”
Charteris grinned. “Sorry, Captain… that’s the Americans’ rather colorful vernacular for homicide.”
Lehmann, pipe in hand, leaned forward, saying, “All politics aside, the Zeppelin Company isn’t keen on having murders committed aboard our ships, either.”
“Admirable policy.”
Lehmann’s expression seemed somewhat exasperated. “Mr. Charteris… Leslie… you know that public relations are a major concern of ours. We are with this flight inaugurating our second season of round-trip travel to the United States. The damage this incident could do to the future of zeppelin travel is… well, it’s distressing even to contemplate.”
Charteris shrugged, saying, “You’re always going to have difficulties, Ernst, convincing Americans that you’re a friendly, cuddly bunch under that goose-stepping regime.”
“Be that as it may,” Lehmann said, “there remains the possibility that the… disappearance of Eric Knoecher will not be made public.”
“Because if it does, zep travel gets a black eye.” Charteris cast a glance at the Luftwaffe colonel. “And so does your government, if it becomes public knowledge that special police are traveling your ships as undercover spies.”
Erdmann said nothing, but Lehmann said, “That’s a rather harsh assessment, Leslie.”
“But an accurate one, Ernst. So what do the boys back home have to say? What’s the good word from Marshal Goering? Am I being enlisted to help cover up?”
Erdmann flicked ash onto the saucer where his coffee cup rested. “Neither Captain Lehmann nor myself will make the decision as to whether or not this apparent murder is revealed to the world at large.”
“Hasn’t someone back at Nazi Central made that decision already?”
Captain Pruss shifted in his seat, gesturing toward the grayness out the windows. “Mr. Charteris, we are currently in an electromagnetic storm. These conditions have created a complete radio blackout.”
“How long will that last?”
“As long as the storm. Possibly many hours.”
“Until we have a decision,” Erdmann said, “until we have our orders, from the Air Ministry, we would… appreciate your help.”
“In keeping Eric Knoecher alive and well and sick with a cold in my cabin, you mean?”
“Yes.” The Luftwaffe colonel glanced at Lehmann; there was something pained about it. “That, and something more.”
“What, gentlemen?”
Lehmann sighed pipe smoke. “I have discussed your offer with Captain Pruss and Colonel Erdmann.”
“What offer, Ernst?”
“To help in our… investigation.”
“Isn’t that Colonel Erdmann’s job?”
Erdmann said, “I understand you worked as a police constable.”
“Yes-briefly. Didn’t handle any murder cases, to speak of.”
“And that you studied criminology at school. And obviously, as a writer of mystery novels-”
Charteris interrupted with a laugh. “It might be dangerous assuming Zane Grey can punch cattle, my friends, or H. G. Wells pilot a spaceship. But if there is some manner in which I can help-certainly I’m at your service.”
Lehmann nodded, smiling a little. “Thank you, Leslie.”
“But I don’t offer this to help the brownshirt boys. I feel it’s obviously an unsettling thing that we may have a murderer among us-however aptly chosen his victim may have been. Still, this seems more appropriate for the colonel, here-”
“The colonel,” Lehmann said, with a wag of the head toward Erdmann, “cannot risk exposing the true nature of his presence here-which is to say, security.”
“We’re back to the bomb threat, again.”
Lehmann nodded gravely. “Yes. Furthermore, if the colonel actively investigates, the disappearance of Knoecher will become known. What we need, from you, Leslie, is something more along the lines of a… sub-rosa investigation.”
“A sort of discreet poking around, you mean.”
“Precisely. Asking ‘innocent’ questions, assessing reactions, without letting anyone know about Mr. Knoecher’s apparent dire fate.”
“Understood.”
“For example, Leslie, this morning, when you mentioned Knoecher’s cold, and confinement, to your cabin-did anyone react to this in any way that might be considered suspicious?”
“No. And I have to admit, I had that thought in mind. After all, the murderer would know I’m lying.”
“What I would suggest,” Erdmann said, shifting in his seat, “is striking up friendships with the handful of passengers we consider our most likely suspects.”
Charteris frowned. “You have thirty-some passengers, and at least as many crew members, plus stewards and officers… how can you narrow that group to a handful?”
Erdmann swallowed, his glum expression taking on a glazed cast. Finally he said, “I believe the names are all you need. How we arrived at them are irrelevant.”
“No.”
Erdmann looked up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”