No condolences. No indication of belief. Simply a question. A salvo.
The American grins. “The note of surprise in your voice leads me to believe that you do.”
“Yes.” Gertrud looks at Leonhard and they engage in that most mystifying of communications, an entire conversation spoken entirely with body language. A lifted eyebrow. A pursed lip. Unbroken eye contact. A slight nod of the head. There is no way for him to know how they reach the conclusion they do. But after several seconds of intense, silent argument, Gertrud turns to him and says, “The dog tag was issued to a man named Ludwig Knorr.”
“And you know this how?”
A smug grin. “I never reveal a source.”
Her message is clear. She knows who the American is looking for. She can warn him if she likes. And she has spoken about this issue with at least one other person. Clever girl. She’s creating a safety net. But there is little way of knowing whether the name she has given him is accurate. No matter, he will find out soon enough from Captain Lehmann.
Now that the majority of passengers are growing bored, the smoking room begins to fill. Schulze opens the air lock to admit Colonel Erdmann and the American heiress, Margaret Mather. They come immediately to the Adelts’ table.
“I was just telling Fr?ulein Mather,” Erdmann says to Gertrud, “that she would do well to meet you.” He has the wild, desperate look of a man eager to rid himself of chatty female company. “You have so much in common.”
Ovaries at most, the American thinks. And possibly not even that much. Gertrud Adelt may be of the gentler sex, but she has bigger brass balls than most men he knows. He can’t think of two women who have less in common.
Gertrud extends a slender hand in greeting. “Do join us…”
“Margaret.”
“Wonderful to meet you, Margaret. We were just having a fascinating conversation with your countryman here.” Her voice turns to syrup. “He’s quite a passionate man.” A vicious pause. “And single, I might add.”
Leonhard chokes back a laugh. Clears his throat. Takes a hearty sip of his Gewürztraminer, then settles into the banquette to watch his wife at work.
Colonel Erdmann is no fool. He mumbles an apology and makes a hasty retreat from the bar. For her part Margaret Mather turns curious, hungry eyes on the American. He knows better than to underestimate the appetites of a wealthy spinster. For the first time since entering the bar, he finds himself on the defensive. Margaret stands there expectantly, and it occurs to him several seconds too late that he ought to pull out her chair. He rises to his feet and does so reluctantly.
“I had dinner with this gentleman on our first night, but I’m afraid I still don’t know his name.”
“Most people don’t,” Gertrud says. “He’s very secretive about it.”
“I can’t imagine why. A name’s a name, after all.”
This is why he hates women. They’re just too damn coy. Enough of this. “It has been lovely chatting.” He pushes his chair against the table. “And though I wish I could stay I’m afraid that I cannot.”
“Is your gout acting up again?” Gertrud looks at Margaret and adds, “He has terrible gout,” with such convincing concern that he is almost tempted to believe he suffers from the condition.
Margaret Mather looks at him with a combination of pity and disgust, her interest waning immediately. Gout is, apparently, a plebeian affliction for which she has little sympathy.
“Yes.” He clears his throat. “It is, in fact. I think I’ll go lie down for a bit before lunch.”
“Rest up,” Leonhard says. “I’d be most interested in continuing our conversation later.”
Retreat is a painful thing. The American gathers his coat, straightens his tie, and leaves the bar without a backward glance. Gertrud Adelt is no doubt perched at her table with an expression of triumph, but he doesn’t care to give her another small victory by acknowledging it.
The American steps into the corridor. Captain Lehmann is five paces away and barreling toward him like a freight train. He pulls up just in time to avoid a collision.
“Ah,” Lehmann says, “I’ve been looking for you.”
“You have the name?”
The captain looks over his shoulder and then down the corridor. “I do.”
“And?”
“Wouldn’t you rather discuss this over a drink? Or in privacy, if nothing else?”
“No. I would like the thing I came for. And then I would like to retire to my cabin. I’ve had all the company I can tolerate this morning.”
Be blunt, his commanding officer used to tell him; it’s the best way of disarming a threat.
Captain Lehmann looks relieved rather than offended. “Very well, then. The man you’re looking for is Heinrich Kubis, my chief steward. Whatever business you have with him will need to wait until we land. He stays busy and I don’t need him distracted.”