“After you.” Lehmann follows Max from the officers’ mess.
Once in the corridor the captain takes off without an explanation, and Max has to increase his pace to match Lehmann’s long stride.
“May I ask what this is about?”
“You’ll see.”
They go straight down the keel corridor, through the passenger quarters, and into the short hallway that houses the domestic crew: cooks, stewards, cabin boy, and bartender. Lehmann stops at the last door on the left and Max pulls back in alarm. Emilie’s cabin. Lehmann doesn’t knock but rather pulls a key ring from his pocket, unlocks the door, and steps in without announcement or invitation.
“I don’t think—”
“I assure you that Fr?ulein Imhof is not here.”
“Still—”
“I am the captain of this ship. This is an official matter. And I need your assistance. Must I ask you again?”
Lehmann is an observer on this flight, so whatever is happening now should be Commander Pruss’s responsibility, but Max does not point this out. He swallows hard instead. “No.”
“Then by all means, come in.”
Emilie has left the room tidy. All of her clothing hangs in the small closet, and only a few personal items are visible. Her toothbrush. A damp washcloth left over the sink edge to dry. A pair of shoes—one of them tipped onto its side—beneath the bed. A comb. Three bobby pins. The room smells of her perfume.
Lehmann closes the door behind them and holds his hands behind his back in an official military gesture. He watches Max but says nothing for a moment.
“What are we doing here?”
“I thought you might like to tell me that.”
No. No. No. It takes him a moment to realize that he is shaking his head. Max has to force his body to slow and then stop the movement. “I must confess to a certain amount of confusion,” he says.
It’s a lie, of course. He knows perfectly well what is happening. Wilhelm told him this afternoon. And to his great shame he wasn’t able to warn Emilie in time. Max certainly didn’t plan on being a witness to the fallout. And he didn’t think it would happen today.
Lehmann sighs. It’s an abrupt, disappointed sound. As though he expected better of Max. He looks at the ceiling for a moment, appealing to a higher power for help. But his gaze, when he finally levels it on Max, is cold and shrewd and unforgiving. “I would like you to tell me where you found Fr?ulein Imhof’s papers last night.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes you do. And I realize that you are rather fond of the girl. But lying is not advisable in this situation.”
The door vibrates with a quiet knock. “Bitte treten Sie ein!” Lehmann says without looking away from Max.
Wilhelm Balla enters the room looking abashed. He closes the door behind him.
Lehmann waves off the accusation that is building at the base of Max’s throat. “Don’t worry. Your friend didn’t tell me. And I’ve no interest in listening to him explain to you who he did tell. Or how that knowledge came to me. What I care about at this particular moment is that the two of you knew before I did. There were three links in the chain before it reached me, and I find that…disturbing. One of my crew plans to violate her contract and I am the last to know? Do you know what that makes me, Herren? A fool. And I’m sure you can guess how much I like being made to look a fool.”
Balla has not looked at Max once since he set foot in Emilie’s cabin. His gaze shifts between his feet, the doorknob, the cleft in Captain Lehmann’s chin, and the wall behind Max’s shoulder. He does not speak during this monologue or comment when it’s over.
“I asked Herr Balla to join us as a simple means of coercion. Unfair, perhaps. But likely quite effective. I will call him to speak as witness if I find you to be uncooperative, but I’m hoping that will not be necessary. So”—Captain Lehmann smiles, but there’s no friendliness in the expression—“I will repeat my earlier question. Would you please show me where you found the documents indicating that Fr?ulein Imhof plans to leave?”
“Immigrate.” The word comes out as a croak. “She intends to immigrate, Captain.”
“I see you have discussed this to some degree with her. But she has either misled you as to the legality of her actions or she is ignorant of them—which I highly doubt. She is many things, but ignorant is not one of them. We would not have commissioned her service had that been the case. She is not immigrating. She is leaving.”
Max doesn’t care about the semantics. Immigrating. Leaving. They both mean the same damn thing. Emilie is leaving him. There’s no need to force Lehmann to ask his question a third time, or to involve Balla any further—he will deal with the steward later. So Max takes a single step across the narrow cabin and opens the closet door. “Here,” he says, pointing to the pile of neatly folded underclothes at the bottom of the closet. “I found the papers here.”