I found Mr. Stanton in the Dining Car. He was sitting on a stool, talking in a low voice with the cook. Two empty martini glasses sat in front of him on the counter; a single string of smoke snaked its way to the tiled ceiling from the cigar propped between his fingers.

 

Spotting me from the corner of his eye, cufflinks shimmering in the white light, he swiveled on his stool to greet me.

 

“Ah, Detective, what a supreme pleasure. Come, sit.”

 

I took the stool next to him. The cook collected Stanton’s martini glasses before making his exit.

 

Watching him leave, I said, “Thank you. I won’t waste any time, Mr. Stanton. I have a few questions for you.”

 

“Fire away, Detective.” His black mustache twitched above a thin smile that never quite reached his eyes.

 

“Well, where were you when the shots were fired?”

 

He shuffled in his chair, casually adjusting the collar of his smoking jacket.

 

“In my room with Mrs. Stanton,” he said.

 

“Were you sleeping?”

 

“No. We had both been up and around our room. Neither of us were in the head space to sleep.”

 

“Oh, and why was that, if you don’t mind me asking?”

 

“Um, well… Maybe it’s best characterized as a small marital dispute, Detective. We weren’t exactly seeing eye to eye; let’s put it that way.”

 

“Ah, and what does that mean? Can you give me any more details, Mr. Stanton?”

 

“I’d rather not air my dirty laundry to just anyone. Suffice it to say that I was eager to drop the matter, but Mrs. Stanton insisted we talk tonight.”

 

“That’s the best you can do?”

 

“I’m afraid so. And, while we’re asking questions, just where were you, Detective?”

 

“Well, I was sound asleep in my room. The shots gave me quite a startle. But, let’s return back to you, Mr. Stanton. Can you tell me exactly what you did after hearing the shots?”

 

“Mrs. Stanton begged me to stay with her, but I did what I must do as the owner of this train, Detective: I took charge of the situation!”

 

Smoke rose from his mouth as he shouted the words and ground his cigar into a nearby ash tray. My eyes watered from the acrid smell as he continued.

 

“First, I went to the Staff Car. There, finding Thomas, I gave him strict instructions to have the train stopped with all haste. Then, like you and Mr. Pearson, I followed the sound.”

 

“You must have run to have arrived so quickly. Despite fetching Thomas in the Staff Car first, you beat Charles and I to the Dining Car window.”

 

“Look at me, Detective. I’m a man of integrity and agility.” 

 

He leapt from his stool, a smile again spreading across his face, as he stretched his arms to expose a tall, lanky frame.

 

“Well, I won’t disagree, Mr. Stanton. What was your relationship with Emilia? Did you know her well?”

 

Standing over me, playing with the rings on his fingers, he said, “She was an acquaintance, of course. Our expedition has given us all plenty of opportunity to get to know each other. 

 

He paused before adding, “We sometimes spent evenings together. And before you ask, Detective, it was purely platonic. She was interested in the artifacts we were cataloguing, and I allowed her a closer look at times.”

 

I made no comment. 

 

 “Well…will there be anything else, Detective?”

 

“Yes, just one more question: would you mind giving me the keys to your room.”

 

“Detective…surely, that is not necessary. I have nothing to hide, of course, but I am a man that values his privacy. This is such an unexpected imposition from someone as seemingly polite as yourself.”

 

The smile left his face as I rose from my stool.

 

“I must insist, Mr. Stanton. The rooms are already under my authority..”

 

“Detective…”

 

“Save yourself the trouble. Help me find the killer that remains free aboard your train.”

 

“I…”

 

“Give me your keys, Robert.”

 

His keen, brown eyes narrowed, and we exchanged a tense gaze before he sighed and said, “I don’t have them.”

 

“What?”

 

“I don’t have them, Detective. I swear.”

 

His joking tone had gone–the smile as well.

 

“Well, would you consent to a search of your person?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Shocked, I searched the pockets of his smoking jacket and trousers and performed a quick patdown. The man had nothing on his person other than a matchbook and a golden pocketwatch.

 

“Well, the keys certainly aren’t here.” I said, handing him back his items.

 

“Why do you need them anyways, Detective? The doors to rooms are unlocked.”

“And what room is yours, Mr. Stanton?”

 

“Room 5.” he said with a glare.

 

“Thank you. Don’t go missing, please. I may need you further.”

 

As I turned to walk away, his shout collided directly with my ear, “Gregory!!” he said, waving his hand at the Dining Car entrance.

 

The cook was behind the counter and mixing a drink before I even had time to blink. 

 

“Cheers, Mr. Stanton.”

 

I left him to his drink.