Chapter 8 - The Second Equation
By one-thirty in the morning, the heavy steam locomotive was hurtling through the dark, rain-swept valley of Mons, less than an hour away from Brussels. Monsieur Grimaldi had been moved back to his berth in Compartment 7, wrapped in thick blankets, his breathing returning to a steady, deep rhythm as the effects of the chloroform slowly faded under Doctor Moreau’s medical supervision.
Gaston sat slumped in the conductor’s station at the front of Car 7, handcuffed securely to the heavy iron leg of the built-in desk, his head bowed in silent defeat. The reinforced steel briefcase sat on the table between Julien and Doctor Moreau.
"An open-and-shut case of industrial espionage or high-stakes robbery," Doctor Moreau said, looking at the briefcase with a look of quiet admiration. "Your deduction regarding the footprints and the filed door latch was masterful, Inspector. The rail network is safe once more."
Julien sat back in his wooden chair, his fingers idly spinning his silver pocket watch on the desk. Tick-tick-tick. The mechanical sound was sharp against the low hum of the tracks. His grey eyes remained fixed on the steel briefcase, then shifted slowly to the face of Doctor Moreau.
"Thank you, Doctor," Julien said softly. "But in the world of mathematics and criminal science, an equation must balance perfectly on both sides. And currently, we have an extra variable that makes no sense."
Moreau blinked, his expression perfectly composed. "Oh? And what variable is that?"
"Gaston is a skilled mechanic, yes," Julien said, his voice dropping into a dangerously quiet register. "He knew how to manipulate the steam valves, and he knew how to file the door latch. But Gaston boarded this train as a stowaway in the cargo hold. He had no access to the passenger manifest. How did a boy hidden in Baggage Car 8 know exactly which compartment Monsieur Grimaldi occupied? How did he know that Grimaldi was carrying a fortune in that briefcase tonight?"
The small station room went entirely silent, save for the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass.
"Perhaps he watched him board at Paris?" Moreau suggested, his voice smooth and untroubled.
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"Grimaldi boarded with a heavy overcoat, his briefcase hidden completely beneath his arm," Julien countered. "No, Doctor. Gaston didn't choose Compartment 7 by chance. He was working with a partner. A partner who occupied a first-class ticket in this very car. A partner who could watch the conductor’s movements from the inside and give the signal when the corridor was clear."
Julien stood up, his hand resting on the handle of his revolver. "A partner who, perhaps, had an excellent, professional knowledge of how to use highly concentrated chloroform without leaving a trace."
