Inspector Steiner was standing there, the attendant peering anxiously over his shoulder. “Herr Chavasse?” Steiner said politely. “I regret to trouble you, but the attendant reports hearing a shot from this compartment. Have you any explanation?”

At the same moment, he saw the Mauser lying on the floor and picked it up. The attendant gasped in horror and Steiner pushed Chavasse back into the compartment and followed him in.

Chavasse sat on the edge of the bunk and Steiner examined the body quickly. After a moment, he called the attendant in. “What is your name?” he said.

“Schmidt, Herr Steiner,” the attendant said. “Otto Schmidt.” His face had turned a sickly yellow color.

“Pull yourself together,” Steiner snapped. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

Schmidt nodded. “He boarded the train at Osnabruck, Herr Steiner.”

“And then?” Steiner asked.

Schmidt glanced furtively at Chavasse. “I saw him enter this compartment.”

Steiner nodded. “I see. Ask Dr. Kruger to step in here.”

Schmidt went out into the corridor, and Steiner turned and held out his hand. Chavasse realized that he was still holding the things he had taken from Muller’s pocket, and handed them over. Steiner examined the letters quickly and grunted. “This man, Hans Muller, who was he? Why did you kill him?”

Chavasse shrugged. “You tell me.”

Steiner bent down and picked up the wad of banknotes from beneath the washbasin. He held them up in one hand. “I don’t think we have to look very far, my friend, unless you are going to try to tell me this money is yours?”

Chavasse shook his head. “No, it isn’t mine.”

Steiner nodded in satisfaction. “Good, then we are getting somewhere. There was a quarrel, perhaps over this money. He struck you. There is the mark of the blow on your cheek and a cut caused by the rather ornate ring worn on the middle finger of his right hand.”