Free The Transatlantic Conspiracy by G. D. Falksen

the only thing she could think of to say.
    â€œWhat . . . ?” Erich asked, blinking in surprise. He looked down at her plate and laughed. “Oh, I see. Yes, good, good. I will have the chicken, then.”
    â€œWell . . . I mean . . . ” Rosalind said, stumbling a little. “You don’t need to, I just thought I should recommend it.”
    â€œBut it sounds like a very good recommendation,” Erich said.
    Suddenly the awkward silence returned. What was more, she felt the rest of the eyes at the table focused on her. This time she did not let the silence linger. Instead, she turned to Jacob and said, “Lieutenant Hoffmeyer, you are in the army?”
    â€œYes,” Jacob said proudly. “Artillery.”
    â€œOooh,” Cecily interjected. “That sounds very . . . dangerous?”
    Jacob shrugged. “I do not know about it being dangerous. I . . . have not seen combat yet. Nor, I suppose, do I expect to anytime soon. It has been so long since the last war, thank God.”
    Before he could go on, the door to the dining car flew open. A man burst in, nearly colliding with one of the stewards. He was middle-aged, paunchy, with graying hair that almost matched the color of his drab suit. He stormed the length of the room toward the front of the train, snapping in German for the waitstaff to get out of his way. For a moment, all conversation in the dining car halted. In the silence, another man—younger and fleeter, also dressed in a drab suit—raced after him.
    When both had gone, Rosalind exchanged a puzzled glance with the boys. Jacob leaned in across the table and asked in amazement, “You do know who that was, yes? The fat one?”
    â€œNo,” Rosalind answered. “Who?”
    â€œInspector Bauer,” he said.
    â€œWho?” Erich asked.
    â€œThat’s what I would like to know,” Cecily said. “Imagine! Interrupting our dinner like that.”
    â€œHe’s the man in charge of security on the train,” Jacob explained. “There is a picture of him in the brochure, along with the captain and the head steward.” He quickly patted his uniform. “I cannot remember if I brought my copy with me . . . ”
    Erich laughed, trying to lighten the mood. “Jacob, enough about your blasted brochure! No one else wants to read it.”
    Cecily giggled.
    Jacob’s face fell a little, but Alix smiled brightly and said, “I enjoyed the brochure as well. It is a very good one, I think.”
    â€œIt is a very good brochure,” Jacob agreed, suddenly cheerful again. “So much useful information.”
    Rosalind was only half listening to them. “I do hope that nothing is amiss,” she said quietly. “He seemed very angry about something.”
    That was understating what they’d all just witnessed. Inspector Bauer had seemed positively enraged. Surely that was not a good sign on the first night of their journey, and it only made her feel even more ill at ease.
    â€œI am certain there is no trouble,” Erich offered with a warm smile. “If there were, somebody would tell us.”
    Rosalind doubted that very much. In fact, she suspected that if there was trouble, she would be the last to hear of it, if only to avoid a panic. She was Mister Wallace’s daughter. The crew would protect her from a terrible truth at all costs—unless it came to an emergency evacuation, in which case she’d no doubt be first aboard a submersible. But there was no reason to argue the point. Or to think about such an awful scenario.
    â€œOf course,” she said. “You’re quite right, Herr Steiner.” She ate a little more chicken before saying, “And tell me, are you also a soldier?”
    This time Jacob laughed. “No, no, Erich is in the family business.”
    Erich sighed. “Do not listen to him. He does not know what he is talking about.”
    â€œWhat sort of family