Tegan had never known it so dark. It was like being at the bottom of a coal
mine. Opening or closing her eyes made no difference. There was not a hint
of light from outside -- no moon, no stars, and no other lights of any kind.
She put her hand out and touched the window, just to make sure it was still
there. They must be a great distance from any habitation, or perhaps in a
tunnel. She found herself wishing for light, any light.

"Has anyone got a light?" Rose's voice asked. She sounded scared half to
death.

"I've got matches," Liz said. "Somewhere in my bag-- blast!"

"What?"

"I picked up the wrong end. Everything's fallen out. See if you can find
them."

The next few minutes were full of confused scufflings. Tegan ducked down
under the table, picking up various objects and handing them up to anyone
who would take them. Her hand closed around someone's leg.

"Steady on, whoever that is," Liz's voice said drily.

"Sorry." Tegan picked up a leather pouch that smelt of tobacco and handed
it up. "No sign of those matches-- ow!"

"Ow!" Rose echoed. They must have collided head-on. "Sorry, my fault."

She could be heard backing away. Tegan swept a hand over the carpet,
trying to locate the missing matchbox, and only succeeded in hitting some
rigid, immobile part of the carriage, perhaps a leg of the table, or of
someone's chair.

As suddenly as they'd gone off, the lights snapped on, revealing a scene of
chaos: Rose on hands and knees in the aisle, reaching for a tube of lipstick
that had rolled away; Sara standing beside the seat opposite, with one hand
on the luggage rack to steady herself; Liz sorting through the heap of
recovered items; and Tegan's expensively-shod foot protruding from under the
table. As the latter scrambled back into her seat, she opened her mouth to
express the hope that she hadn't laddered her tights, but never got around
to saying anything.

A scream rang through the carriage. Sara's head snapped up; Rose jumped to
her feet. Tegan was quick to join them. A little further down the aisle, a
man, dressed in a dinner jacket, was lying on his face, the hilt of a dagger
protruding from his back. The four other members of his party were on their
feet, staring in horror at the scene.

"Don't touch anything!" Sara dashed down the aisle, at the same moment that
a uniformed steward entered the carriage heading the other way. She briefly
glanced over her shoulder. "Liz, didn't you say you were a doctor?"

"I did." Liz hurried up. A cursory check was all that she needed to do.
"He's dead."

One of the other party, a tall, spare man with a moustache and thinning
blond hair, coughed. "Then the police had better be called."

"How?" the middle-aged woman beside him asked. "We're on a train! They
don't have a telephone."

"Someone could pull the communication cord," Liz suggested.

The man shook his head. "Then we'd stop in the middle of nowhere. The
murderer might make a break for it. Best if we wait until we get to London.
There'll be police there to sort things out."

"Murderer? Police?" The woman sounded plaintive. "Charles, what are you
talking about?"

"Must face facts, Biddy. Dick's lying there with a dagger in his back.
That isn't an accident." He turned to the steward. "Better not to move the
body. Can you move us?"

"Of course, sir." The steward gestured past where, by now, Sara, Liz, Tegan
and Rose were all standing in the aisle. "The first-class compartments are
located at the rear of the carriage. If you will proceed in that direction,
I can lock this saloon and make sure nothing is disturbed."

"Good thinking, that chap. Come along, Biddy, Maria, Tom."

One by one, the four diners edged past the body, and past the four women
in the aisle.

The steward approached the other four. "Ladies, if you wouldn't mind..."

"Just a minute," Liz said. "I'd like to examine the deceased in more
detail, if you can wait a moment."

She produced a pair of surgical gloves from her handbag, pulled them on,
and knelt down by the corpse.

"Rather you than me," Tegan said, averting her gaze from the sight. Blood
was starting to trickle out from under the body, staining the expensive,
patterned carpet.

"Yeah." Rose sat down, looking distinctly pale under her makeup. "Does
anyone mind if I take a breath of... oh, no."

"What?"

"I'm gonna throw up."

"On your feet, soldier!" Sara shouted at her.

Rose jumped to attention, or an approximation thereof, and only then seemed
to realise what had happened.

"That's more like it," Sara said more softly. "Now, straighten up, heels
together, toes apart. Do you still feel sick?"

Rose swallowed.

"No," she said. "I think I'm over it now. But I could still do with some
fresh air."

"Come along, then. This way." And with that, she led Rose away from the
body, in the direction the other diners had taken.

Tegan and Liz exchanged glances.

"That was... different," Tegan said.

"Tough love." Liz smiled faintly. "I wonder if she was ever a drill
instructor? We'll have to ask her some time. Just don't expect me to do the
same if you feel woozy."

"Nonsense. Australians don't have finer feelings, do we?"

"You could have fooled me. Well, I think we're about done here... Hello,
what's that?" She pointed. "Look. There, under that seat."

"What is it, a scabbard?"

"Well, a sheath, anyway. For the dagger. I suppose the murderer must have
dropped it."

"I suppose he couldn't have kept it with him. First thing the police'll do
is make us turn out our pockets."

"Yes." Liz closed her eyes. "Can you remember whose seat it was?"

"The woman in brown, I think. The one called Biddy."

"Anyway, that's it for now." Liz rose to her feet and pulled off her
gloves. "Nothing abstruse about it. Death would have been instantaneous."

"Then let's get out of here."

They let the steward usher them out of the saloon.



Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

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