The Transatlantic Conspiracy by G. D. Falksen

Author:G. D. Falksen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YA Mystery Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2016-04-13T18:58:29+00:00

Chapter Ten

After that, everything became a blur.

A porter arrived, summoned by Alix’s cry. The poor man retched from the sight and staggered back into the corridor. His scream of horror brought more men, of whom enough managed to keep their heads to usher Rosalind and Alix out of the room.

And then, quite suddenly it seemed, Rosalind was sitting on a sofa in one of the blue-and-gold parlors, comforting Alix.

The girl was sobbing into her shoulder. By God, Rosalind wanted to cry as well. But she found that she could not. She found herself unable to do anything but sit perfectly still, staring straight ahead while she stroked Alix’s hair and murmured, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay . . .”

She didn’t even know what she was saying. All she could see were Cecily’s dead eyes, staring at nothing, in a pool of blood . . .

The door opened.

Three men in suits entered the room and slammed the door behind them. Two took up position on either side of the exit, while the third—a middle-aged man with graying hair and a sour expression—removed his hat and approached. Rosalind recognized him instantly as the grim-faced Inspector Bauer who had disrupted dinner the previous evening. He’d looked furious then, and he looked furious now.

“What is going on?” Rosalind demanded, starting to rise.

“Sit!” Bauer snapped.

Rosalind was tempted to stand on principle, but she doubted that it would do much good. Obeying, she replied, “What do you want?”

“I am Inspector Bauer of the Hamburg Police,” he answered, adjusting his tie.

“I know who you are,” Rosalind said, and she repeated her question more firmly: “What do you want?”

“I am responsible for security on the train,” Bauer told her. “And I have some questions to put to the both of you.”

“Is this about Cecily’s death?” Rosalind asked.

“I will ask the questions!” Bauer barked.

Rosalind tensed, torn between outrage and grief. How dare he speak to her like that! Her friend was dead. Beside her, Alix cringed, and Rosalind wrapped her arms around the girl to comfort her.

“Now then,” Bauer said, “the two of you found the bodies?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Rosalind replied. She tried to keep a civil tone, though all she wanted was to shout back at him, to demand to know how he could have let such a thing happen. But she held her tongue.

“And you are . . . ?” Bauer asked.

“Rosalind Wallace.”

If Bauer recognized her name, he did not show it.

“Alix von Hessen,” Alix said softly.

“I did not hear you,” Bauer growled, as if he assumed Alix’s meekness was born of truculence rather than of shock and sorrow.

“Alix von Hessen!” Alix shrieked, burying her face in Rosalind’s shoulder.

Bauer drew back. He muttered something under his breath. “You are related to the Grand Duke of Hesse?”

“My cousin,” Alix murmured.

“I see,” Bauer said quietly. He looked down at the floor, and then back up. “Perhaps you would care to retire to your compartment while I interview this young woman. There is no need for—”

“ ‘This young woman’?” Alix snapped, suddenly sitting up and squaring her shoulders.

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