The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,62

serve tea, and reassure other passengers.

But Hilda still seemed distressed. He patted her hand. “What’s wrong, dear? Are you so anxious to leave my side?”

“I should have wired my sister about the delay. I waited too long.”

“And I, as well,” Leonhard said. “I’m sure my brothers were standing in that crowd at Lakehurst.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Charteris said, then turning to Hilda, added, “Which reminds me—do you have a number where I can reach you in Trenton?”

“Why don’t you call me where I’m staying,” she said, “at the Sterling? I don’t know the phone number, but it is a well-known hotel.”

“All right. Let me give you my number in Florida.”

Leonhard loaned Charteris a fountain pen and the author jotted down his number on a napkin and gave it to Hilda. Then, in the time-honored tradition of travelers at the end of their journey, he traded similar information with the Adelts, who would still be in New York on business when Charteris returned to talk to publishers, everybody passing around scribbled-on napkins like business cards.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Leonhard said, half a wry smile tugging his face. “You know what today is, don’t you?”

Charteris sipped his tea. “No, what?”

Hilda said, “Ascension Day.”

“Is it forty days after Easter already?” Charteris toasted with his teacup. “Ah, yes, another holy day of obligation. Well, we’ve ascended, all right.”

“Are you Catholic too, Leslie?” Gertrude asked.

“Nominally. This is the day we celebrate Jesus telling the disciples to get off their duffs and spread the Good News.”

Hilda blinked twice and smiled at him.

“I’m impressed,” Leonhard said.

“Well, don’t be,” Charteris said, buttering a biscuit. “You see, my brother is a priest. Which, considering the sort of life I lead, would seem to indicate some incredible form of family compensation.”

That amused everyone, but soon Hilda was frowning again, drumming her fingers.

“It’ll be fine, dear,” Charteris told her. “We’ve swung northward again. Look—they’re preparing the table for the customs and immigration men.”

Which Kubis and another steward were in the process of doing, where the promenade emptied into the stairway.

“Have you noticed that sad colonel anywhere?” Gertrude asked them.

“Erdmann?” Charteris said, innocently, “No.”

“It’s funny he’s nowhere to be seen.” The pretty blonde shook her head, her cap of curls shimmering, her big blue eyes wide with thought. “You’d think he’d be sitting here, waiting to be first off the ship.”

“Why do you say that, darling?” her husband asked.

“Well, when we… ascended, to use the word of the day, he seemed so reluctant to be leaving. Remember him sitting just over there, so melancholy? And his wife coming aboard to embrace him so warmly? You’d think they were never going to see each other again.”

Before long the stewards were passing among them again, with sandwiches of cold cuts and cheeses piled on their silver trays. Carafes of Liebfrauenmilch were distributed, as well.

A muffled sound—a steam whistle—caused everyone to turn and look.

Leonhard Adelt said, “We will be landing soon—that was the call for the ship’s crew to landing stations.”

Hilda sighed and smiled, relief dancing in her dark blue eyes.

Charteris touched a napkin to his lips. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“What is it, Leslie?” Hilda asked, reaching out for him, fingertips brushing his hand.

“Little boys’ room. I’ll be back before too long. They won’t let any of us off without going through customs.”

He went up to Kubis, who was supervising the other stewards in their sandwich-serving. “Can you get away for just a few moments?”

“Well, sir, I…”

“Can’t I wring one last imposition out of those marks I bequeathed you?”

Kubis smiled a little. “Certainly, sir. Anything for the man who wrote Saint in New York.”

“Take me to Colonel Erdmann’s quarters.”

Now the steward frowned; he had been made aware of Erdmann’s house arrest of Spehl. “But, sir…”

“No questions, Heinrich. This is an imposition, remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

As he followed Kubis out of the lounge and along the starboard promenade, the slanting rain-flecked windows—cool air rushing in—revealed an early twilight had settled in, though as overcast as it now was, the difference between day and dusk was minimal. They’d be over Lakehurst again, shortly—he wondered if they would land or swing around for another sightseeing jaunt.

As Kubis began down the stairs, Charteris—somewhat surprised by the chief steward’s route—asked, “Does Colonel Erdmann have one of the new rooms down on B deck?”

“Yes—they’re larger, you know. With windows.”

Though the bulk of the Hindenburg’s cabins were on A deck, where Charteris had been, a handful had been added to B deck since the ship’s successful first season, to increase passenger space. These cabins were