The Hindenburg Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,31
glum expression taking on a glazed cast. Finally he said, “I believe the names are all you need. How we arrived at them are irrelevant.”
“No.”
Erdmann looked up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”
“Actually, Fritz, ‘no’ is a word that requires precious little parsing. However, I’ll gladly explain my meaning: I won’t cooperate with you unless you’re forthcoming. And if you refuse to answer the first question I have for you, well, then—I suggest you comb the passenger list for some other former-police-constable-trained-in-criminology-turned-mystery-writer.”
And Charteris gave them a big smile, stubbed out his cigarette on his saucer, and rose.
“Please sit, Leslie,” Lehmann said, motioning with his pipe in hand. “Sit, please!”
“Before I do, let’s hear what the colonel has to say.”
Erdmann sucked on the cigarette, which was presently about an inch and a half long. “First of all, could I beg another cigarette from you, Mr. Charteris?”
“All right.” Still standing, he dug out his silver case and passed it over to Erdmann.
“When I knew we had an S.D. man aboard,” Erdmann said, tamping the tip of the smoke on the case, “I took him aside and made him tell me who his… subjects… were to be.”
Nodding, Charteris sat. Taking back his cigarette case, lighting Erdmann up with a match, and then doing the same for himself with another Gauloise, the author said, “Was Mr. Knoecher… forthcoming?”
“Yes. He didn’t like it, but I was a ranking officer, with a problem rather larger than his.”
“Sabotage.”
“Yes. We’d had a bomb scare.”
“And you wanted to know who your potential bombers were.”
Erdmann nodded, once.
“What are the particulars of this bomb scare, Colonel?”
Erdmann glanced at Lehmann, who said, “Before you stand and threaten to leave again, Leslie, let me answer that…. It is what I consider to be a crank letter from a woman in Milwaukee.”
“Milwaukee!”
“Yes. We know precious little about this woman at present, other than that she is friendly to the German cause—a member of a local Bund group.”
“What did her letter state?”
Lehmann grinned nervously, drew smoke from his pipe, which drifted out of his mouth lazily as he said, “That this airship, on this passage, would be destroyed by a time bomb.”
Charteris frowned, gesturing with the cigarette in hand, making smoke trails. “Could we have a time bomb aboard this ship? I find the prospect very credible, personally, having seen all the possible hiding places on my little tour.”
The Reederei director shook his head. “Thanks to those precautions in Frankfurt that so offended you, Leslie, the presence of a bomb on the Hindenburg is a virtual impossibility. Every lighter, flashbulb, flashlight, every matchbook was confiscated.”
Charteris pointed to Lehmann’s own book of hotel matches in the middle of the table like a tiny centerpiece. “Not every matchbook.”
“Let’s not be absurd. As Colonel Erdmann will attest, the S.D. team that went over this ship did a painstaking, rigorous job of it. The mail and cargo has been examined with special equipment, the passengers’ baggage thoroughly checked, even the crew was subject to stringent searches. No one had the opportunity to smuggle a bomb aboard this ship.”
Charteris turned to Erdmann. “Do you agree, Colonel?”
“I do. There is no bomb aboard the LZ-129. Our security is far too comprehensive.”
“Is it? Let me ask you—on Eric Knoecher’s list of ‘subjects,’ which is now your list of likely murder suspects… was Joseph Spah by any chance included?”
Erdmann shrugged with his eyebrows. “Yes. Spah travels as an American, with a French passport, though he was born a German. As an artist, a performer, he frequently travels throughout Germany, and is known to spend time in the company of antiparty people.”
“People in your anti-Hitler resistance movement.”
“Mr. Charteris…”
“Oh, I forgot. There is no resistance movement in Germany. Please go on, Colonel.”
Erdmann gestured with an open hand. “That’s all the information I have on Mr. Spah, other than I understand he is considered potentially a dangerous spy by the S.D.—and that he has been a troublemaker on this flight.”
Charteris exhaled smoke. “Well, I can add to your information—of course, with your excellent security, on this ship-that-could-not-possibly-have-a-bomb-aboard-it, you probably already know.”
Erdmann blinked. “Know what, Mr. Charteris?”
“That Spah left our tour group—when was this, perhaps half an hour ago? He was allowed by Dr. Ruediger to leave the group, unattended, presumably to visit his dog.”
“Unattended,” Lehmann said, hollowly.
“Quite unattended—unless you consider his dog to have provided adequate supervision. He had plenty of time, alone, Ernst, to plant a bomb somewhere in the folds and flaps of your baby’s tummy.”
“We will have that area searched,” Captain Pruss