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Sir Reginald Blount, first secretary to Lord Eldridge, did much more than ghost write his lordship’s speeches for the House of Lords. He spent a lot of time riding trains powered by steam locomotives throughout the Continent troubleshooting and taking care of security matters for Queen Victoria and the British Empire. Few knew him personally because he liked to remain in the shadows. He often travelled incognito while on a mission, and he was a master of languages and disguise. Just now he was disguised as a subcontinent Indian from Gujarat serving as a courier for the Viceroy and making his way with mounds of luggage from Belgrade to Paris by first class passage. At every stop, it seemed, he stepped off the train to take the air, and he talked with passersby in all stations of life about the local news or the storm clouds gathering to plunge Europe into another war, this time in Crimea. As he watched, so he was watched constantly in the timeless game of espionage.
Sir Reginald’s intelligence sources were numerous, and they came from all layers of society. Although the Lord Privy Council’s staff provided raw intelligence to the Crown in daily briefings, actionable intelligence remained the provenance of those who could execute actions necessary for the welfare of the state, from propaganda to assassination. So in what appeared to be casual, chance exchanges, Sir Reginald issued coded orders for assassinations, made payoffs, provided advice, planted propaganda that could be used in newspapers, dictated telegrams to be wired to Lord Eldridge, and received reports about very specific matters he had asked to be investigated.
In a light drizzle with low fog and rising steam from the locomotive on the railway platform in Belgrade, for example, The Sahib, as he styled himself for this trip, discovered that riding somewhere on his train to Paris would be Pierre la Venable, one of the premier marksmen in Europe, known to be a highly paid assassin specializing exclusively in heads of state. By Sir Reginald’s reckoning, Venable had killed three kings during the previous six months and was now enroute, doubtless, to kill a fourth king—or perhaps a queen. Because of the possible threat to Queen Victoria herself, The Sahib wanted to know details, and he announced a hundred-guinea reward for definitive information about Venable’s next target. Meanwhile he decided to make a direct approach on the man in his cabin or in the dining car and, if possible, to stop him lest he shoot his queen or some key ally of the Crown.
After the train pulled out of Belgrade, The Sahib went to the dining car, but since Venable was not present there, he decided to sit, wait, smoke, perhaps have a coffee, and read the papers. He had just sat down and lighted his pipe when a beautiful lady asked whether she might join him. He was about to refuse on the grounds of his wanting privacy, but she handed him a folded note that read, “I know his target.” The Sahib immediately rose, bowed and gestured for the lady to be seated. He then snapped his fingers and ordered coffee for the lady and a warm-up for himself. “So, Lady, what brings you to my table?” She lowered her head and looked at him steadily with her brilliant blue eyes and asked, “One hundred guineas?”
The two talked animatedly about European politics for almost forty minutes, and the train was about to pull into a way station when the lady rose, took out her purse and dropped her fan so it fell under the table. When The Sahib reached down to fetch the fan, the lady said she really must be going and she would meet him here for dinner to retrieve her fan. Then she vanished down the corridor leaving her fan behind. The Sahib left the dining car to stroll on the platform wielding an umbrella while new passengers boarded and a few others detrained. A distracted young man bumped in to him with a thousand pardons and a crumpled note to The Sahib’s coat pocket. As the young man made his way back through the crowd, he stumbled and fell face-down on the platform. Sir Reginald saw that a small dart protruded from the man’s neck. The police moved in at once to attend to the corpse. Stepping back onto the train, careful to avoid making himself a target, Sir Reginald read the young man’s note: “The woman is an assassin. You are her target.” The rain was falling faster now, and the train was getting a wash down while the police lifted the corpse and took it inside the station house while a sea of umbrellas sheltered a hundred passengers waiting to board the next train, which had queued up behind Sir Reginald’s.
Sir Reginald went to his compartment to re-read the note the unfortunate young man had thrust into his pocket. He smoothed the paper, took out a match and slowly waved the flame back and forth under the paper. Gradually another message appeared on the paper: “Belgian King. Bring reward to dinner.” Sir Reginald burned the paper, making sure the ashes were stirred, and went back to the dining car to play solitaire. There he saw Pierre le Venable playing gin rummy with the lady, who affected not to know The Sahib when he bid them both Good Day. The Sahib sat at a table with a vantage on his prey, and he lighted his pipe, ordered a pot of hot tea and began to lay out his cards.
Venable and the lady were laughing as they played. When either said, “Gin!” they carefully examined the last played cards to be sure the other had not cheated. When a sandwich arrived for Venable, he greedily devoured half of it. He then collapsed in his chair, slumped over the table and fell sideways onto the floor. The lady coolly rose, checked Venable’s pulse, announced that her companion had died and asked a steward for assistance. The Conductor was summonsed at once, and he ordered two stewards to carry Venable’s body to his compartment and lay it on his bed. He apologized to The Sahib and the lady beforehand for any inconvenience, but the authorities would want them to write and sign depositions about what they had witnessed about Mr. Venable’s demise.
So The Sahib and the lady, who was addressed by the Conductor as Countess Rossingold, were given parchment, pens with bibs and ink, and they deposed and signed their depositions right in the dining car. When The Sahib suggested that they partake of a drink of gin and tonic, the Countess nodded, and the two were once again seated across the table from each other in the car. “So with one unfortunate yet timely death, so much is resolved,” she said.
“Yes.” The Sahib replied, “And now we have no need of a reward.”
“Quite to the contrary, Sahib, for the decedent was not commissioned to kill the King of Belgium.”
Sir Reginald was now fully alert, and when the Countess suggested that they withdraw to her compartment to talk further, he eagerly agreed to join her—after the next way station stop. At the next station, again under an umbrella in the drenching rain, Sir Reginald exchanged messages with three “chance” contacts. He gave one the message, “Venable, assassin, presumed dead.” He received a cryptic message from a young lady, “At your service, sir, until the next station!” He also received a telegram from Lord Eldridge, “PROCEED LONDON SOONEST STOP VREG ILL STOP.” In the Balkans intrigue was mounting, but at home in England flu was ravaging both the city and the countryside—and now the Crown.
As the train pulled out of the station, the young woman who had passed the note to The Sahib was the last to board. She made her way directly to the dining car, sat at an empty table, drew out her own deck of cards, dealt a hand of solitaire and waited primly for Sir Reginald as she played. The Countess appeared and sat right across from the young woman and asked her to switch her game to gin rummy, which the young woman was glad to do. They were playing an animated game when The Sahib entered the dining car. Neither woman paid him the least attention, so he sat at a table where he could see what the women were doing. The Conductor entered the car and, going straight to the Countess, bowed and told her that she should follow him to Mr. Venable’s compartment where the police had questions for her. The Countess rose immediately and followed him down the corridor. The young woman made up the deck of cards and dealt another hand of solitaire. The Sahib rose, said something about going to his compartment, and left the dining car. A few minutes later, the young woman made up her deck, put it in her purse, rose and followed The Sahib.
The Countess found no policeman but Venable in his compartment, very much alive and now dressed like a policeman. He told the Countess that Sir Reginald had sent a telegram about his death, so he would execute his plan as planned. Meanwhile in his compartment Sir Reginald learned from the young woman that Venable was not to be the assassin—a woman was, but the King of Norway was her target, not the King of Belgium. Sir Reginald was somewhat confused until the young woman told him that the assassination would be in London during a state visit. She said that the assassin would reach London at about the same time as he would but that everything was already set up for the kill. A giant machine was involved, but she did not know the nature of it. Sir Reginald thanked her for the intelligence, and he asked her to return to the dining car and play solitaire until her scheduled detraining at the next stop.
The deluge continued, and the platform was full of umbrellas at the next stop. The Sahib sat in the dining car observing from his window the young woman in the company of a policeman detraining and the two making their way through the crowd. The Countess joined The Sahib at his table, and he ordered gin and tonics for both of them. The Countess said that she would still like to meet The Sahib for dinner even if the reward was no longer in question, and The Sahib said he would be delighted. He would bring her fan, which was now safe in his compartment.
Back in his compartment, Sir Reginald found the young woman who had detrained at the last station, now dressed as a maid servant. She told Sir Reginald that she had detrained but had gotten aboard the train again when she realized that the policeman who escorted her off the train was none other than Venable the assassin. Venable had disappeared somewhere in the station and might have boarded the train again, but she could not be certain. Sir Reginald then escorted the young woman, whose name, she said, was Clara Bloomfield, to the door of the Countess’s compartment, introduced the two ladies and left them so that he could walk through the entire train to find Venable or to verify his absence.
The Sahib went from car to car, first going forward to the steam locomotive and finding no sign of his prey, and then retracing his steps through the forward compartments and continuing without success through the dining car and the rear carriages to the last car, whose impressive black doorway was locked. The Sahib shook his head and went looking for the Conductor to gain access to the last car. The Conductor agreed to allow him access to the black car, but he asked him to wait for a few minutes since on the curving track ahead the train would experience switch-backs so the rear car could be seen from the dining car forward through the windows. The two women had decided to play gin rummy again in the dining car, and that is where The Sahib saw them as the train entered its sequence of switch backs. When the black car at the tail of the train became visible, The Sahib could not believe his eyes, and he yelled, “Get down!” but it was too late. A hole showed in the dining car window, and Ms. Bloomfield’s head exploded from the impact of a lead projectile. The Whitworth rifle that fired the shot from the black car was pulled back through the window there, and the window was secured. The Conductor and stewards hurried to take Ms. Bloomfield’s body to the Countess’s compartment as she had directed, and then they cleaned the dining car of her blood and brains as best they could.
At the next stop, the police entered the train to take Ms. Bloomfield’s lifeless body away. The Conductor took the police back to the last car and opened the door to find it empty except for a marvelous mechanical contraption that included a Whitworth sniper rifle, mechanically welded to a lever arm that raised as the window automatically fell and finally pointed out the window where the rifle could be fired remotely. The mechanical process could then be reversed until the rifle had been retracted to its original position, and the window had closed.
“Ingenious,” the Conductor remarked.
“Diabolical,” The Sahib answered.
At the next way station, the storm clouds had begun to break up, and Sir Reginald had to make his contacts rapidly though he expected a delay since the Conductor was busy decoupling the black car with its contraption from the train. Sir Reginald sent a telegram to Lord Eldridge, “PROCEEDING LONDON STOP NORWAY TARGET BY MACHINE STOP RECMD CHANGE VENUES TIMES FOR VISIT STOP CLARA DOWN.” A disheveled young man jostled The Sahib, and he felt the man’s hand in his pocket, but it was only a pickpocket who retrieved nothing except Sir Reginald’s firm grip and a sudden snap when Sir Reginald broke his wrist. A young woman slipped The Sahib a note, “I am at your service until the next way station.” The Sahib boarded his train again and went to the dining car where the new young woman sat playing solitaire while she waited for him. He motioned for her to follow him to his compartment, and when they arrived there, he told her that her predecessor had been shot dead by a machine. He further warned her that her life was in danger. He said she should accept any offer of companionship from a woman identifying herself as a countess and find out anything she could about the Countess’s intentions. She said her name was Abigail Mather.
When the train passed into Germany, the clouds had turned from ominous black to fluffy white, and the afternoon sunshine bathed the green land in an emerald glow. The Sahib sat in the dining car watching the Countess and Abigail play gin rummy. Abigail was winning consistently, and the Countess was not amused. A steward approached their table offering Champagne in an ice bucket, and the Countess asked him to open the bottle. As the steward raised the bottle with his left hand, his right hand reached under a towel that hung on a rack at the side of the trolley on which the bucket sat. Quick as an adder, Abigail struck, plunging her stiletto up to its hilt in the steward’s abdomen, and then stirring it back and forth. The steward fell backwards, but Abigail grasped the bottle from his hand and as the steward and his pistol hit the floor, she raised the bottle with one hand and twisted off its cork with the other neatly with a pop. She let the bubbly run out of the bottle onto the dead body of the steward and, without missing a beat, poured two glasses for the Countess and herself. Then she sat in her seat to toast the Countess’s good fortune while other stewards raced to remove the body of their fallen comrade. The Sahib raised his pipe in tribute to Abigail’s finesse, but she did not regard the salute. She was intent on her hand and the game she was in.
The Conductor appeared, red with embarrassment, to collect another round of depositions from the Countess and Abigail. He mentioned the police and the necessity of an investigation, but The Sahib took him aside and suggested that everything could be arranged privately. For twenty guineas the Conductor thought that The Sahib must be right. For another five guineas, the Conductor thought that depositions would not be necessary since the steward was known to have had chest pains anyway and might have had a stroke. So the body was removed, the floor was cleaned and the gin rummy game continued to Abigail’s inevitable, “Gin!” The Countess had had entirely too much of defeat, so she withdrew to her compartment until dinner time, but she asked Abigail to accompany her with a look only women of a certain sort make. The Sahib sat smoking his pipe like the Sphinx with the sunlight fading at its back.
Dinner in the dining car was served in seven courses, and prix fixe made concerns about costs vanish. So The Sahib bowed and presented the Countess with her fan. She curtsied when she accepted her fan and, flush from her recent physical refreshment, insisted that Abigail, who was also flush from refreshment, should join them for the evening’s repast. How could The Sahib say no? The ménage drank their chilled whites and fine reds as cheeses, fillets of sole, lamb chops, potatoes, French green beans, crème, cakes, chocolate, coffee and cigarettes came in order. Conversation revolved around the sights and, particularly, the sounds of Europe, especially Wagnerian opera. Abigail at one point rose and sang an aria. Not to be outdone, the Countess sang an aria. Then the two sang a duet and they fell into each other’s arms. The Countess and Abigail were now a couple, and The Sahib was a mere male companion of the table for the night. At the end of the meal, the Countess took the remaining red wine in its bottle and Abigail by the hand and they proceeded to her compartment. The steward cleared the table where The Sahib sat alone with his pipe contemplating the infinite or whatever Brahmins do after a stomach-bursting meal. A steward came to tell The Sahib that the train would soon be stopping at a way station, and this was good not only because Sir Reginald had work to do there but because he needed to walk off the effects of his feast.
On the platform, which was still wet but drying in the night whose sky was absent of clouds now and full of stars, Sir Reginald received a telegram from Lord Eldridge: “NORWAY VISIT CANCELLED STOP VREG FLU WORSE STOP EXPLAIN MACHINE STOP.” He composed and sent this response: “MACHANICAL RIFLE FIRES 300M RAIL BOXCAR SIZE STOP.” He then saw Abigail stumble from the train and make her way unsteadily across the platform towards the station. He went to her, and in her drunken stupor, she told him, “Countess knows who you are really. Venable also. Machine is in London waiting to kill. Other machines, other places.” Then Abigail foamed at the mouth, turned bluish, collapsed on the platform and died. The Conductor called, “All aboard! Last call!” Sir Reginald straightened the dress on the body of his agent on the platform, closed her eyes with the palm of his hand, and sprinted to catch the train, which had started to move.
Sir Reginald went straight to the compartment of the Countess and knocked hard on her door. Venable answered the knock, hiding naked behind the door. Sir Reginald saw the Countess naked on the pull-down bed beckoning for Venable to return to her. Sir Reginald drew the pistol that he carried in his belt and shot Venable through the heart. Then he pushed his way past Venable’s body and closed the compartment door behind him. He put his pistol to the Countess’s head and asked her about the machines. He said that Abigail had told him everything about them, but he wanted to hear it all again from her.
The Countess frowned, then laughed merrily and seemed to become very sober for a woman who had consumed over two bottles of wine that evening. “So Venable is finally dispatched—and by you, of all people, Sir Reginald. That gains you little. Venable and I are pawns in a much greater game than petty single assassinations. We work for people with real power because they know how machines can rule the world. You recall how earlier today your nice, first female agent took a bullet shot from a machine in her cranium. No human could have made that shot. Now consider how those machines are in place in every European capital, ready to lock on targets and kill them and there is absolutely nothing you or anyone can do about it.”
“Countess, I want you to tell me where every single machine has been situated. If you do that, I will see what I can do to help you.” He waited for her answer, but suddenly they heard an insistent pounding on the compartment door. The Conductor demanded to be admitted. He said he would count to three, and he did so. When he reached three, a giant whirring sound engulfed the compartment. The bed on which the Countess lay retracted with her inside, and it turned into a giant crushing machine that folded on her and crushed the life out of her. Sir Reginald heard her scream and the snapping of her bones. The Conductor was now trying to break down the door, so Sir Reginald shot through the door three times, and all was silent.
When Sir Reginald looked into the aisle, he saw that the Conductor was dead on the ground with a large caliber pistol in his hand. Sir Reginald lifted the heavy corpse into the compartment, stripped it and grouped the naked corpses of Venable and the Conductor as if they were a couple with a suicide pact. He placed their pistols in their hands to make the point. He found and retrieved the master key and his thirty guineas from the Conductor’s clothes. Then he surveyed the scene, and he shrugged when he considered what people might make of the crushed woman in the machine or the bullet holes fired through the door.
Sir Reginald then edged out of the compartment, closed the door and made his way down the aisle to the dining car and then to his own compartment where he removed the disguise of The Sahib and became Sir Reginald again. At the next station through his agents he passed a message for the telegraph to Lord Eldridge: “MACHINES IN ALL EUROPEAN CAPITALS STOP PURSUING SOLUTION STOP.” He realized that his mission was only just beginning and the fate of Europe depended on its success.