A light dusting of snow was beginning to fall as I stepped from the relative warmth of the border post into the bitter cold of the late evening. The newly arrived train hissed and sighed in the puddle of light it had brought with it, too large by far for the small mountain-pass station. I jogged the short distance to where the driver was stepping down onto the platform, waving him back aboard and jumping up after him.

“Detective?”

“Wolf. You are Henrik?” I shook the man’s hand. “They phoned ahead.”

“Yes sir.”

“Very good. I’m going to need you to get us moving again as soon as possible. The longer we sit here the more chance the culprit will have to slip off and disappear into the night.”

“Of course sir,” he turned his attention to the controls and pressed some buttons, stirring the engine back to life, “though I’m not too worried about that.”

“Oh?”

“Well, sir, the only exits from first class are through here past the two of us, through a door on the platform side of the sleeping car which your man in the border post can clearly see, or out the rear of the dining car where a guard has been posted since we left Rome. The five suspects are still in their cabins and have no means of escape.”

“You are an amateur sleuth yourself, I see,” I nodded. Henrik smiled with gratification as he released the brake and the train began to roll out of the station. “Of course, I count at least eight suspects.”

“Eight?”

“I was led to believe an attendant found the body? And naturally there is this guard of yours.”

“Ah, I suppose so. Which makes me…”

“Number eight, yes. Let’s start at the beginning.”