Murder on the Orion Express

A Brief Respite

Beckett turned the page on his small book, and allowed himself a brief laugh. Regaining his composure with a cough, he returned himself completely to the novel before him. The Constellation Observatory, where he sat, was the jewel of the Orion Express. It was fabricated entirely from a transparent material allowing for a 360 degree panoramic view of space and everything in it. There was nothing else like it anywhere. Although some people found the proximity to the nothingness of space a little disconcerting, it repeatedly ranked as the top attraction for people travelling on the Express.

The only other occupants of the Observatory, apart from the attendant, were an elderly lady and her younger female companion. Similar to other parts of the ship, a number of non-electronic activities were available for passengers to enjoy in the Constellation Observatory. The book which Beckett was now enjoying was one, and a type of puzzle, called a jigsaw, was what currently occupied the women.

"I just don't see the point, Aunt Imogen," said the middle-aged women. Philadelphia Sprout was rather ordinary in appearance apart from a shock of red hair which was gathered into a tight knot at the back of her head, and to all appearances was the colour intended by nature. "I mean, it's a picture, and we know what the picture looks like because it's on the box. So what is the point of reassembling the same picture again?"

Imogen Evans lifted up her glasses and peered hard at her niece. "Patience Philadelphia. Patience. It teaches one patience and discipline, two things you are lacking in your life. The point is not to reassemble the image, the point is to devise a method for doing so and to enjoy putting it into practice. Don't you agree, Mr Beckett?" The old woman's voice displayed none of the same virtue of which she had just spoken. Not getting a response, she repeated, in a louder voice, "Don't you agree, Mr Beckett?"

Realising that the woman did not possess the requisite social skills to ascertain that his lack of response was due to not wanting to be disturbed, Beckett carefully closed the book and left it down gently with a sigh. Again he repeated very quietly, "The life of Gabriel Beckett is destined never to be a peaceful one," before rising and approaching the women with a smile. "You are quite right, Madam. Without patience we are no better than animals." He briefly shook hands with the pair noting with interest Miss Sprout reddening somewhat.

"You are the famous Gabriel Beckett," she said haltingly. "It's such an honour to meet you. I'm Philadelphia Sprout and this is my aunt, Imogen Evans."

"Please join us, Mr Beckett, I've been waiting for this opportunity to talk with you. You're a man of the world who has seen and experienced many of its joys and sorrows, I'd wager."

"More of the latter, I fear, Mrs Evans," said Beckett grimly.

"Then, all the better. Tell me, Mr Beckett, what do you know of the spirit world?"

Beckett considered the question. There was no appearance of deceit in the face of Mrs Evans. Miss Sprout seemed overcome with curiosity at the question and stared at Beckett, eagerly awaiting his answer.

"Of the spirit world, I am sure of one thing. It does not exist. I have come across many suggestions of spiritual intervention during my long professional years, and each time it has been debunked and shown to be of mortal origin. Does the answer disappoint you, ladies?"

"On the contrary, it is the answer I would expect from someone in your position. I wonder, however, if that if what you truly feel?"

"Is that a statement or a question, Mrs Evans?"

"It doesn't matter, Mr Beckett. Regardless of your opinion, there is something very important I need to tell you." Mrs Evans gathered herself up and turned towards Beckett conspiratorially. "You see, I have certain skills."

"Certain skills?"

"Yes. I'm very well known in some circles for my abilities. The thing is Mr Beckett, I can talk to the dead."

Miss Sprout interjected. "She runs what are known as séances. I mean, we do. I help my aunt. You'd be surprised what people will pay to reconnect with their dead friends and relatives."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised, Miss Sprout."

Mrs Evans drew herself up. "I am attuned to the spirits but I could not do what I do without Philadelphia's help. We have expenses and Philadelphia attends to the mundane organisational side of things. We are a team. Unlike most of the charlatans out there, we are the real deal, Mr Beckett. I can ensure you there is no trickery involved with what we do. Now, down to the real matter at hand. I knew straight away when we boarded yesterday that there were spirits on board this ship. I can feel them even now, stronger than ever. And the spirits are restless, Mr Beckett. There is someone on board that they are not happy with, there is someone they wish to see dead and they won't rest until he or she is gone."

Beckett was unmoved. "You'll forgive my naivety in the ways of the occult, madam, but as I have stated, in all my years I have yet to see evidence of the existence of spirits."

"Bah, don't believe me then, but mark my words, this journey is cursed and someone will die before we reach our destination. I know and Philadelphia knows."

Miss Sprout looked uncomfortable. "Now, aunt, you can never be certain with these things. You must admit, some of the signs were a little ambiguous."

"Girl! Don't contradict me. The signs were clear. I have never felt anything so strongly in my life. I would bet my professional reputation on it. Someone will die!"

There was something about the certainty in her voice that made Beckett more concerned than he expected. The relaxing ambience of the Constellation Observatory was most certainly broken. Beckett decided quickly that his cabin was likely the only place of refuge on board and excusing himself politely, he returned there forthwith, passing Miss White and Mr Weezle enjoying a friendly luncheon in the drawing room on the way.