The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,22

Captain Pruss to take the chair at the desk, which Pruss did. “Beautiful beeches and firs all around us… Now, what has you concerned, Leslie?”

Lehmann remained standing, a quiet assertion of his authority.

Charteris asked, “May I assume Captain Pruss is aware of Eric Knoecher’s true background?”

Pruss glanced sharply at Lehmann, who nodded, saying, “You may speak freely.”

Charteris told the two poker-faced captains of Knoecher’s overnight absence in their cabin, and ran through his reasoning as to the unlikelihood of the “importer” having spent the night with one of the airship’s two unattached ladies.

“Of course, if Mr. Knoecher likes boys, rather than girls,” Charteris said, “that might require a new line of thought.”

“Impossible,” Lehmann said.

“Ah,” Charteris said. “I forgot: there are no homosexuals in Germany. It’s against the law.”

Pruss said, “What are you suggesting, Mr. Charteris?”

“I don’t think I’ve suggested anything just yet, gentlemen. But before I do, is there something pertaining to Mr. Knoecher of which I’m unaware? Do you know of his presence elsewhere on the ship, perhaps in the crew’s quarters, or in another passenger cabin, or even in sick bay?”

The two captains exchanged a solemn glance, and both shook their heads.

Lehmann said, “Where do you think he is, Mr. Charteris?”

“Not on this ship—not anymore.”

Lehmann’s eyes widened and Pruss’s narrowed.

Charteris reached in his sport-jacket pocket and displayed the fragment of silk, holding it between thumb and middle finger like a little bell to be rung. “I found this caught in a window jamb on the starboard promenade.”

Lehmann took the silken tidbit, examined it briefly, passed it on to Pruss, who did the same. Then the two captains looked to Charteris with a shared unspoken question.

“It’s the tip of Mr. Knoecher’s tie,” the author said.

“Are you certain?” Lehmann asked.

“Certain enough. I don’t remember anyone else wearing an orange silk necktie yesterday. It’s not exactly the rage, is it?”

“It does appear to be the tip of a tie,” Pruss said quietly.

“You can keep that,” Charteris said. “I don’t really have any use for an inch of neckwear.”

Lehmann said, “Are you suggesting he jumped?”

“Hell, no! That manipulative, arrogant son of a bitch was anything but despondent. I do think someone may have done the world the favor of pushing him out a window.”

“Good God,” Pruss said, whitening. He dropped the fragment of necktie onto Lehmann’s desk, as if the fabric had turned suddenly hot.

Lehmann didn’t whiten: it was more a greening.

“It’s possible he was killed on board, then disposed of,” Charteris continued cheerily, as if describing the plot of a Noël Coward play, “but my money would be on a scuffle that got out of hand. In the middle of the night, in the early morning hours, those observation promenades are no doubt deserted.”

“That’s true,” Lehmann admitted.

“No witnesses, no problem. A quick shove, and slam shut the window—muffling any scream, but unfortunately catching the tip of the tie… The drop itself would’ve killed him, don’t you think? If not, he’d have certainly drowned in the Channel, or maybe frozen to death. I say, are there sharks in those waters?”

“You don’t seem terribly upset at the prospect of Eric Knoecher’s murder,” Lehmann said dryly.

“I believe Western civilization will survive the loss—though the sharks are probably in for some nasty indigestion. Still, I felt a responsibility to let you know. Besides which, however deserving a victim Knoecher may have been, this does mean we have a murderer aboard.”

Lehmann leaned against the bulkhead; he appeared woozy, a rare occurrence on a ship famed for not causing seasickness.

“And having a killer among us certainly could make for a less relaxing trip than advertised,” Charteris added.

“We don’t know that Mr. Knoecher has been murdered,” Lehmann said, rather numbly.

Pruss swallowed, nodded. “He may well still be on this ship.”

Charteris shrugged. “He might. So I would suggest your first course of action is a search.”

Lehmann sighed heavily, then straightened; his expression was businesslike but not unfriendly. “We will do just that. Mr. Charteris… Leslie… we… I… would ask a favor.”

“Certainly, Ernst.”

“I ask it as a friend… but also, as director of the Reederei, I can offer you free passage, every year hence, a lifetime ‘pass,’ so to speak… if you will cooperate.”

“Cooperate how?”

“Keep this to yourself. Share this information with no other passenger—until we indicate otherwise.”

Charteris smiled half a smile. “All right. I can understand that you don’t want to alarm your passengers.”

“Yes.”

“And I understand how damaging this could be to the reputation of the Zeppelin Company… not to mention how embarrassing to Nazi Germany.”

Lehmann said nothing; he