Chapter 4 - The Mechanical Illusion
Julien stood up, replacing the iron plate and tightening the screws with his knife. His mind was racing, fitting the puzzle pieces into a framework of scientific criminality. In 1937, the British rail network had suffered a string of daring thefts executed by a former railway engineer named Arthur Pendleton. Pendleton discovered that by utilizing the high-pressure steam lines that ran directly from the locomotive under the floors of the passenger cars to provide heat, one could create a localized diversion or even manipulate the mechanical weight-distribution levers of the train's suspension to force the conductor away from his post.
"Roger!" Julien called out, stepping back into the corridor.
The old conductor hurried down the hall, his lantern swinging wildly. "Yes, Monsieur Inspector?"
"When you went to the galley to boil the water for Monsieur Grimaldi," Julien asked, his voice sharp as a scalpel, "did you notice anything unusual about the steam heater in the galley?"
Roger’s eyes went wide. "Why... yes, sir! How did you know? The valve on the main radiator began to hiss violently, releasing a huge cloud of hot steam. It scared me half to death. I spent three of my four minutes adjusting the pressure relief lever before I could even pour the water."
"A manufactured diversion," Julien declared, a cold smile appearing on his face. "The killer knew the layout of the L'Étoile du Nord perfectly. They intentionally over-pressurized the auxiliary steam line from their own compartment to force you out of this corridor, ensuring they had an absolute window of operational freedom."
"But Inspector," Doctor Moreau interrupted, his tone analytical. "Even if the conductor was distracted, we are still left with the primary impossibility. Where is the body of Grimaldi? If he did not go through the floor, and he did not go past Roger into the dining car, he must be inside one of these walls."
Julien did not answer immediately. He walked to the very end of the corridor, stopping in front of the locked iron fire door that connected to Car 8, the baggage car. He leaned his forehead against the small glass pane, peering into the dark, unlit space beyond. Car 8 was filled with massive wooden crates, passenger trunks, and mail bags. It was a cold, windowless vault.
"Roger, you stated earlier that this door was locked from the inside of our car, correct?" Julien asked without turning around.
"Yes, sir. I checked it myself when we departed Paris. The manual bolt was thrown."
Julien reached out, his long fingers wrapping around the heavy iron locking lever. He gave it a gentle push.
The bolt slid back with a smooth, silent click. It wasn't locked at all.
"The bolt was engaged visually, Roger," Julien said, turning back to face the conductor and the doctor. "But the keeper—the metal sleeve into which the bolt slides—has been carefully filed down. From a distance, it looked locked. But a simple, firm push from the other side would allow anyone in the baggage car to bypass it effortlessly."
Julien drew his service revolver from his trench coat, the cold steel reflecting the dim amber light of the hall.
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"The mystery is no longer a locked room," Julien said quietly, his gray eyes locked onto the dark glass of the baggage door. "The killer didn't make Grimaldi vanish into thin air. They merely moved him into the next compartment of the box. Doctor, follow me. Roger, stay by the alarm lever."
Julien pushed the heavy iron door open, stepping into the dark, freezing shadows of the baggage car as the train screamed through the midnight rain.
