Another Important Passenger on the Orient Express

The year is 1933. Angelique Collins in a desperate attempt to save Barnabas Collins from his entrapment beyond time and space has invoked the mysterious Orb of Solace. A magical artifact that allows one to travel back in time to a particular moment of their heart’s desire. For Angelique, this moment is upon the Orient Express in 1933 – where she seeks yet another artifact which she believes will allow her to open the rift separating Barnabas from the current time line. But as she will soon discover there are others seeking the same object of her desire.

There was a loud altercation.

Two baggage handlers were in the midst of a contentious philosophical discussion as to fate of the moronic in a chaotic world, as each now stood accused by the other of being a member of the said intellectual class under analysis. There was a dramatic show of manly hubris; a hat being tossed; and much gesticulating with hands. Some gestures were not completely civil. A broad shoulder uniformed official stepped up to wave at the two antagonists and order them to move the discussion to some place more amicable for boisterous dissertations. Thus the heavy wooden baggage wagons rumbled their steel wheels along the uneven cement of the platform, while the dustup continued, and their sarcastic bickering made its way, incessantly, along the length of the sleek train. The two men side by side, seemingly unrelenting in either’s position as they made their way toward the baggage car at the end of the train even while the Paris Orient Express continued to board its passengers.

Angelique Collins sips from her glass of champagne and continues to watch from the vantage point of her seat. With seeming idle curiosity she observed those exiting the station to move quickly across the freezing platform and onto the train, her eye inspecting each new arrival, as if she were expecting someone. Tony only a few moments before had placed his glass down and with a smile excused himself. She was well aware that there was something, which had attracted his inquisitive eye about the gentleman in Compartment 6 – the one he had seen entering just as they were exiting their compartment – that made him uneasy; and so, she knew he was off to “do a bit of detecting.” Something he was rather good at – she had to admit.

And so, as she sat watching, sipping the lovely champagne, she continued her speculation as to which one of these new arrivals, hurrying to board, or perhaps, already on the train, was also seeking the same obscure object of her desire. She well knew that the Pearl arrived on this day, on this train – but from that point in its history there was absolutely no other reference about it. It was as if it had been taken and hidden away – or it had been somehow been destroyed? And if it were destroyed – how? How was that possible? Who among them had the power to do such a thing – this was after all, very ancient and very dark magic, indeed. Or, alien technology, as she now knew.

The Duc des Essientes? He had sat quietly by himself drinking a whiskey and rye, before suddenly arising from his seat, dropping a few folded notes on the table, and exited the salon car – as if he had spotted someone arriving. Now, there was certainly an adapt practitioner of the dark arts – but, she wonder, just how versed was he in the very ancient of magics – in the esoteric alchemy of the Old Ones?

Now beyond the salon car, long one of the narrow passageways of a first-class coach, an American (far too easily identified by his dress and assured manner of walking, as if everyone was obligated to stand clear to allow him to pass) flagrantly violating the terms of agreement of his ticket as he made his way along the narrow confines of the passageway with his much too large canine, “Come along, Cerberus.” He commanded the mastiff.

Just outside his window and slightly behind him, on the platform, standing where she had for some time now, moving about in a tight and confined area near her valises, in order to keep warm, Armelle Ménard, who appears well past irritated, pulls her stole about her in the chill wind. She has selected this spot for her vigil as it is well away from the other passengers and affords her an unobstructed view of the road leading up to the station. It is unmistakably obvious that she is waiting for someone, and they are late—very late.

The American and his dog are suddenly accosted in the narrow passage of the coach by one of the brown uniformed Wagon Lit Conductors, who with a serious wave of his hand advances upon them to informs the gentleman that his un chien is not allowed – that it will have to make its way back into the area reserved for freight and excess baggage.

“Excess package,” The American repeats rather loudly.

An eyebrow raised not only in a pique but in curiosity, Mademoiselle Amelia Talfryn Caldwell casts yet another furtive glance down the length of the black train to watch the young woman now approaching the steps, leading up to the First-Class Calais-Stamboul coach, who, of all things, happens to be wearing the same dress as she. The dress alone had not been what captured her eye, but that the very pretty mademoiselle seems to be carrying only a small overnight case – Amelia, inside the station had watched her arrive, hurriedly exiting a taxi, tossing notes to the driver without so much as counting them, as she hurried into the station, and so Amelia knows there is no other baggage. And oddly, the young woman is not at all along in that regard as there seems to be far too many passengers traveling much too light – but the mademoiselle, wearing the dress that Amelia had “saved up for weeks too buy,” is by far one of the lightest. Next to that strange, eccentric Belgian gentleman with the mustache . . . of course . . .

“What do you mean dogs are not allowed?” Dr. Armitage scowls, his cheeks gone crimson, “This is an outrage! An outrage I say!”

“Pardon, Monsieur – but, this is the Orient Express. Un chiens are not allow to roam about freely and to merde où ils seront.” The baggage car it has the kennels.”

“Kennels!” The doctor is almost speechless . . . .

Angelique’s mouth curls into a smile as she watches the tall, impeccably dressed gentleman entering the salon car with a stiff little pipe clenched between his teeth. He steps up and politely asks the Maître’D for a table. The Maître’D nods, takes a few steps and motions with his hand to one of the salon car tables vacant at the front of the car. One that happens to be directly opposite from Angelique.

The American sighs wearily, “Very well. Very . . . well . . . what will it take for you to not notice the dog?”

The Wagon Lit conductor looks at the doctor with a dramatic air of annoyance, before he glances back over his shoulder, and then turns to the American with a sly smile.

Dr. Armitage takes out his wallet and cutting an irritated look at the brown uniformed conductor pays the man 100 francs.

Leopold Peeters stops at the end of the passage and turns for a moment to watch with amusement as the American, the one making all the fuss of course about his silly dog, resorts of course to bribery.

Americans!

Dr. Armitage takes a small piece of paper the conductor furtively hands him and continues on his way to the salon car, where, upon opening the connecting door, he sees the Maître’D, turning with a look of disdain as he looks down at the dog. Dr. Armitage steps up and lets him review the piece of paper he had just purchased from the conductor – getting a severe look from the Maître’D. The doctor passes over yet another French note, which the Maître’D palms rather deftly. With a slight shake of the head, the Maître’D snaps his fingers for an attendant, “Oui, Mettez-le dans un endroit éloigné.” He tells the attendant.

Angelique turns to look at the gentleman preparing to take the seat across from her, “Oh, excuse me. But, aren’t you Doctor Lambshead? Dr. Thackery T. Lambshead?”

Dr. Lambshead, removes the pipe from between his teeth and with a warm smile looks at the beautiful blonde, captured immediately by those captivating green eyes, the demure smile, the brilliant white teeth, “Yes, Madam, I am. But I must say, you do seem to have the advantage on me, as you know whom I am, but alas, I do not think I have had the pleasure.”

Dr. Armitage, holding tight to the leash of his mastiff, who seems invigorated by the array of new odors, and pulls him along, spots an open table near the gentleman and the lovely blonde and so sits down to the attendants chagrin. He looks back at the Maître’D, who casts a disapproving look – but another couple has stepped up to take his attention away.

“Cerberus, sit!”

Evangeline Jones steps up into the rear platform of the her coach and bends to adjust the heel of her shoe before renewing her tight grip upon the slightly worn handle of her tiny suitcase. She frowns, having taken note of the woman wearing the same dress as she, and shivers from the cold wind entering into the train via the open door.

“Mrs. Collins, Mrs. Angelique Collins,” She tells Dr. Lambshead and offers her hand. The doctor looks at it for a moment, as if trying to decide whether he should lightly kiss it or shake. He settles for decidedly British shake.

“Cernerus!” Dr. Armitage turns to look down at his dog, and so misses the introduction.

“And your husband?”

“Alas, he is not with me on this trip.”

“You travel alone?”

She sips her champagne, “I am traveling with a companion, Tony. Tony Peterson.”

Dr. Lambshead gives her a look as if he understands and begins to pat a hand at his pocket as if looking for something. A box of matches. “Tony? I say, this Anthony will not be annoyed that his Cleopatra is being entertained by another?”

“Oh, of course not,” She laughs, ‘Tony is more like my chaperon – he travels to assure I stay out of trouble.”

He raises an eyebrow, and stops patting his pockets, “Trouble, ah, and pray, what kind of trouble might you be so inclined—if I may be so bold?”

“Oh, well you should ask my husband – he could fill volumes.” She smiles knowingly.

Evangeline Jones smiles at the conductor, flashing her ticket before him, and slides by deftly looking at the queue of passengers before her, all shuffling along the narrow passageway – their small overnight cases bumping into one another.

“Pardon me, sir, but I could not help but overhear that you are a fellow doctor.” Dr. Armitage says turning in his chair to look over at Dr. Lambshead, “I am Dr. Armitage,” and he smiles at the pretty lady Lambshead is conversing with – and bows his head slightly to her. He’s not certain whom he should be suspicious of – yet – and so, as usual he is suspicious of everyone.

Angelique returns the nod – the accent is from Massachusetts, not Boston, no – Salem, or very near – mostly likely Arkham, she thinks. This Armitage . . . no doubt some meddlesome trouble.

But Armitage’s attention is pleasantly diverted as he notices the entrance of another tall blonde in a purple gown.

On the platform, Armelle Ménard sighs heavily and walks over to a porter, “Monsieur, j’attends un de mes amis. A quelle heure part le train partir?”

“Good day to you, my dear.” Dr. Armitage slightly rising from his seat, a wide smile expressing his admiration of her figure, says to the lovely lady in purple about to pass his table, whom the Matrie’D escorts between the narrow aisle.

Lambshead turns and smiles at the lady also, and to the doctor he nods, “Yes, I am a physician—just back from India, rather.”

The porter replies in a distracted voice, to Armelle, “En trente minutes, donner ou prendre.”

“Merci.”

And she strolls languidly over and sits down on a bench—waiting.

Evangeline Jones, noting the older man’s attention, suddenly stops and slides in to the plush chair across from him and carefully places her overnight bag against the train’s wall to keep it out of sight. She smiles brightly at the man and his dog, which lifts his head from his paws to look at her. “Well hello there sir, mind if I join you,” her accent was soft, rich and filled with deep traces of America’s southland.

The Matrie’D nods to the lady and returns to his post.

Dr. Armitage smiles in a grandfatherly manner, “I would be honored, my dear.”

“Doctor Lambshead, is it true what I hear concerning you” Angelique says,

Still seeking a box of matches, Lambshead looks at her distractedly, “And what may that be?”

“I hear you have one of the most unique and fascinating Cabinets of Curiosities in all of England – if not the world.”
Through the jostle and shoving of the Second-Class passengers – the scent of hair tonic and the sweat of their exertion, which fills the narrow passageway of the coach – Amelia Caldwell finds the number of her compartment, opens the glass paneled door, and takes a seat near the window. She exhales a long and weary sigh – she could have gotten on at Calais rather than Paris and so she would not have had all of this hustle and bustle – but, it of course was not in her plan to do so. Besides, she had taken note of several passengers now of interest whom she would have perhaps have missed otherwise and so she settles into the “coach” seats; and sits discreetly counting her money and planning her evening meal. She looks up to take note of a young, blonde American woman who in passing along the passageway, glances in the window to take notice of her counting out her money.

Amelia smiles.

The woman smiles back.

Dr. Lambshead takes his pipe from his mouth, “Well, actually it began as a lark, a hobby you see, but, rather . . . my how it has grown. I am having to do a bit of renovation don’t you know at Whimpering-on-the-Brook in order to accommodate it all.”

With a very amiable smile Evangeline looks down at Dr. Armitage’s dog, “Well that’s a handsome fellow you have there, what’s his name?”

“This is Cerberus,” he replies as he pets the dog’s head, “He’s quite the brave fellow, but getting a bit long in the tooth, like me.”

“Oh, really, sir, you don’t see all that long in the tooth to me.”

“Oh, you are too kind.”

Angelique leans forward confidentially, “I have heard doctor that some of your curios are well—shall we say—rumored to be endowed with supernatural qualities.”

“And even so, there is nothing wrong with that, more stories to tell if you ask me.” Evangeline replies and looks out the window at the busy platform, “Makes for the best kind of traveling companions. My, but this is a very fancy train.”

“The fanciest in Europe. The locomotive of kings and movie stars.” Dr. Armitage replies trying converse with her while at the same time trying to overhear the conversation of the lady and gentleman across from him, seeing how he can not help but turn upon hearing the word “supernatural”

“Poopycock, pure poppycock. The supernatural is merely that which science has yet to explain—“ He says and removes his pipe to point it out, should the point have been missed. “Although, I dare say there are quite a few items of mine which, well actually, do need some explanation – but in the end, science will be the answer. I am assured. Remember my dear, as Gothic the novel might be, in the end, there is always a logical, rational explanation.”

“It’s scandals and bounders every time,” Evangeline concurs with Dr. Lambshead.

“Exactly.” He nods and renews his search for a box of matches.

His attention renewed upon the lovely young land from the Deep South, Dr. Armitage nods at her, “Yes – they are.”

Evangeline nods, but her attention now is focused on the British doctor as she begins to tune the elderly doctor and his dog out and begins to slyly tune her metal frequency to that of their neighbors and their conversation—and yet, she never drops her smile nor takes her eyes off the man across from her.

Amelia Caldwell having put her money away leans against the window, wondering how much longer before the train pulls away from the station. As the coach’s passageway faces the station platform, she is left to sit and watch the lightly falling snow drape the already heavy-laden tree limbs.

Evangeline turns now to look about, “So, where does one get a drink on this rolling hotel.”

She smiles at the man standing in the middle of the train car.

He lifts his head and moves toward her.

“But surely Doctor, you must admit, it all seems entirely supernatural when one thinks of The Hand and of course the Castleblackney Key?”

With another glance to the road leading to the station, Armelle sits tapping her foot impatiently.

Also trying to listen in on the conversation Dr. Armitage smiles and looks once more at the young woman across from him and replies, “I am Dr. Henry Armitage, PhD and Doctor of Letters, Miskatonic University—retired.”

Dr. Lambshead sits a moment in silence as he stares at the lovely blonde seated across from him, then speaks around the stem of his pipe, “I say, you are rather well informed my dear – very well informed indeed, one might say, much too well informed. If you are an agent of Dominique Provoyeur, well, you can tell that “woman” the Key it is not for sale.”

Dr. Armitage raises an eyebrow.

Evangeline smiles and delicately reaches her hand across the table, palm down, her long fingers decorated with a shining diamond, “Evangeline Jones, doctor. It is a pleasure. “ She says.

She had thought him older.

As she worked for Times-Picayune, the Greater New Orleans newspaper, she was more than well acquainted with the backgrounds of several passengers of interest boarding the Paris Express – although she had to admit she knew very little about this tall, blonde American woman with Dr. Lambshead. The ring on her finger indicated she was married – but Lambshead? He was a confirmed bachelor – save for the rumor of his possible interest in Helen Aquilus.

So who was this woman’s husband – and where was he?

Dr. Armitage takes Evangeline’s hand, “A pleasure, Miss Jones.”

Amelia Caldwell opens the door to the coach and steps into the narrow passageway, and strides down in hopes of finding one of the brown uniformed conductors.

The salon car attendant, whom Evangeline had gotten the attention of, moments ago now steps up to the table. “So . . . Doctor, how about that drink.” She asked. “A Vodka Martini, please. Very dry.”

The attendant gives her a slight bow and departs.

“They are so polite.” She say with a lilting southern accent.

Amelia Caldwell stops short at the corner of the passage and she nearly walks into a conductor, “Pardon monsieur, but when will the train be departing?”

Demurely, Angelique Collins sits back and takes a puff from her cigarette holder, “Doctor, you can be assured I do not represent anyone from that little circle.”

Evangeline looks up to Armitage, “So, professor would you mind if I smoked?”

“I—“ He hesitates for an instant and sees everyone smoking, “Of course not, my dear.”

“So, you know of her?” Lambshead inquires.

Evangeline removes her shining cigarette case and a long stem holder from her clutch bag. She opens the case removes a cigarette and slips it into the holder and then carefully places it to her lips.

“Dominique Provoyeur? Oh, yes,” She takes a sip of her drink, “Our paths have crossed—on more than one occasion.”

“What brings you Professor from your University – the Miskatonic, I believe?” Evangeline asks and accepts a light from a passing salon car attendant and exhales her cigarette smoke away from Armitage.

Lambshead looks at the stem of his pipe as he contemplates the beautiful blonde seated across from him, her green eyes seemingly innocent, but there is something cruel about her mouth. “Well to be frank, my dear, if a may ask, just how the deuced are you even aware of The Hand?”

“And the Bronze Key,” she adds for him.

“Quite!”

“Oh, I have an keen interest in oddities, artifacts, curios – I may even start an import business for them, you see.”

Hand? Key? Dr. Armitage frowns, he is missing too much of the conversation.

Leopold Peeters suddenly opens the door of second-class coach and then in closing the door, suddenly frowns as he looks at a very bored Englishwoman, “Ah, excuse me Madam. I do believe there has been a mistake of cabins.”

Dr. Lambshead smiles looking at Angelique and then points at her with his pipe, “I must say, Mrs. Collins, you do amazing well. One would think you an American, but, there are—certain—very faint traces—lapses if you will—in your inflection, certain words, you know. If I were to guess, I would—say . . . yes, you are undoubtedly from . . . the French Islands. Martinique I believe.”

“Retired but my work is never done.” Dr. Armitage sighs.

Amelia Caldwell looks up towards the man, “How do you mean, Sir?”

“Still tied to the University you might say. They have me on a book hunting safari.”

Evangeline looks at him with a raised eyebrow, “A book hunt, oh how exciting.”

Collins. Mrs. Collins – the infamous Collins family? Second only to the Snows in Ipswich for notorious notoriety . . . murder and sin – everywhere they go – now this is an interesting turn of events, Evangeline thinks.

“Not many would call it that, I fear. But it’s all the excitement I care for, these days.” Dr. Armitage says, even as he tires to divert his attention to the conversation at the next table. Collins – that would no doubt be the Collins family in Maine. Collinsport. Sister city to Kingsport—

“It must be a very special book.” She asks.

He notices the curious inflection in the lovely Miss Jones’ voice.

“You are very good doctor,” Angelique lifts an eyebrow and gives him a wicked smile, “I had thought I had lost all trace of the islands years ago.”

“A keen ear my dear, a keen ear.” He looks at his pipe, which having long since gone out, and so he renews his search for matches.

“The porters have packed my camel saddle in here instead of the baggage compartment.” Leopold Peeters explains.

Amelia Caldwell in looking around fails not only to see his luggage . . . but a camel saddle?

“So, this book hunt, of yours Dr. Armitage—your Safari. Just what’s this book all about than?” Miss Jones inquires.

“Oh, not any one book Miss Jones I’m just looking for a number of books throughout Europe . . . “ he replies distractedly.

“Met a Collins chap, from Brichester, interesting fellow, actually – a bit pale as I recollect.” The doctor, found a box of matches and retrieved them. A blue flame burst to life as he placed the match in the bowl of his pipe and began pulling upon it, smoke puffing up, “Seems there were some rather—shall we say indelicate whispers about the family. Of course there are always indelicate whispers from Severn Valley –“

Dr. Armitage could not help looking over at Mrs. Collins now at the mention of the Severn Valley.

“A bit infamous they say,” Dr. Lambshead finished as he got his pipe going and tossed the box of matches on the table before him. “The Collins.”

“Infamous?” Angelique laughs, “Oh, yes, they are certainly colorful. But, doctor, you are referring to the British line of the family – I am a member of the American branch you see. Or so my Husband is.”

A puff of smoke, “Collinsport, heh?”

“You’ve been to Collinsport?” She asks, now slowly rubbing her long fingers together as she looks at the doctor with a penetrating gaze.

“Collected an item for my Curiosities there.” He nodded, “A quaint little village.”

Cautiously she glances over at the women whose name was Collins.

Aware that although she was being very polite about it, Amelia Cauldwell, in not seeing his luggage suspected him of lying, Leopold Peeters smiled in an attempt to reassure her, “ Here now, I shall simply fetch it.” He suddenly stands upon one of the seat cushions, as Miss Caldwell looks on in horror at his horrid shoe on the upholstery, and he carries down a large wood framed saddle from the baggage well above the woman’s head. “Voilà!” he beamed as he dropped the wooden framed saddle to the floor of the compartment.

As if some clumsy magician had fumbled a trick, Amelia sits and stares at the horrible thing he has pulled down from over her head. For a long moment she looks at the saddle in silence and then asks, “Why on earth would you need a saddle?”

“But surely Dr. Armitage, there must be some rare and unique text you are in search of, something perhaps that is rather rare and special?” Miss Jones inquires.

Dr. Armitage, trying to keep up with the conversation about the Collins family, the Severn Valley, Collinsport, looks back at the lovely, southern lady in the purple dress – where was she from? Mississippi? “They’re all special, my dear.” He pats his mastiff’s head, “Books are like children to a librarian.”

Evangeline sips the martini the attendant has set before her, while holding her long stemmed cigarette holder between her fingers, so that the smoke frames her thin face. In silence she sits and ponders Dr. Henry Armitage – she can’t quite recall the story about him althought is is very much aware there is one . . . and so she can’t help wondering precisely what it is he is not saying – besides, the man should never play cards, he is too fixated on the conversation next to them. Retired? What was it Lambshead had said, oh yes, Poppycock. She would have laughed, but merely smiled to herself.

“Why must I have a Saddle?” Leopold laughs, “This is not just any saddle. This was the saddle I rode while traveling the far reaches of Distant Baghdad across the Mesopotamian desert. This saddle my charming lady has earned the respect of many an experienced rider of the ship of the desert.”

Oh this was really too much, “Desert ships? What on earth are you talking about man?”

“Camels my dear! It has been engraved with the monogram of King Faisal himself! See?” He points to a strange marking on the saddle. “Tell me miss,” He looks at her shocked expression, “What is your name?”

Amelia does not answer the question, and instead asks one of her own, “Who is King Faisal?”

A puff from her cigarette holder, Evangeline Jones looks at the doctor softly with that so well practiced façade of womanly ignorance she has long perfected to disguise her acute intellectual curiosity. She would have never become the foreign reporter that she was without it. “So . . . doctor, how far are you traveling?”

Angelique casts a sly glance over at the gentleman across the way—just as much aware of their conversation, as she knows the American doctor is of theirs. She wonders which book has brought him all the way from Arkham, to this train, for she is very much well aware, from information supplied by Peter Cairo, just what an unusual inventory this train contains.

“Constantinople, eventually.” He replies

“My such a long ride.” Miss Jones says with a smile, “We shall be traveling companions, you and I, seeing as how I too am going to Constantinople myself. “ and she raises her glass sweetly to the man and takes a long sip.

Dr. Armitage nods, “Oh, most certainly, Miss Jones.”

Evangeline puts her glass down and looks around the room, making a mental survey of those within the salon car – and noticing that des Essientes is not there – odd, this is where she would have expected him.

“And as for me, I am Amelia Cauldwell.” She looks up at the gentleman standing next to his worn saddle.

Leopold Peeters, with a flourish, takes her hand and kisses it. “Miss Caldwell, I, Leopold Peeters, Adventurer, have had the honor of meeting King Faisal personally. The hero of the Arab revolt against the Ottoman Turk during the Great War. He is the King of Iraq, and he personally gave me his best camel and saddle to apprehend some particularly nasty bandits along the Tigris River.”

She blushes slightly as his lips touch her hand, his mustache tickling, “Now, that certainly is impressive.”

“So professor if I may ask, what is your specialty?”

“History and Philosophy. But I was also the university’s librarian.”

Carefully removing the spent cigarette from her holder, Angelique looks up at Dr. Thackery T. Lambshead. “Although you hold that your little collection of artifacts are nothing more than scientific curiosities,” she remarks casually, while putting the remains of the cigarette into the crystal ashtray, “I can not help but recall how earlier doctor you made mentioned of Mademoiselle Provoyeur, and so, for all your protestations, you must admit that there are among your Cabinet of Curiosities, items of much interest to those fascinated with the Occult – I dare say, some items that even you find the necessity to perhaps keep under security of a lock and away from curious eyes..”

Dr. Armitage looks at Angelique at mention of the word “occult”

“Like certain diseases,” Mrs. Collins, “There are some objects that need not be exposed to man, and so, for that reason they should remain as you say – locked away.”

“From Dominique Provoyeur?”

“Most certainly from Dominique Provoyeur.” He reaches for his box of matches and shakes them to see if any remain.

“Indeed.” Leopold Peeter says as he sits down across from Amelia Cauldwell. “You see, I am on my way to Istanbul, and from there on to Aleppo. And from there, my dear, I will lead an expedition to find a lost and ancient city, forgotten to all but the most obscure of texts.”

“And what city might that be?”

“If you don’t mind my interrupting, Dr. Lambshead, I could not agree more.” Dr. Armitage leans over in response to his comment about locking items away.

The British doctor looks at him and stops shaking the box of matches.

Smiling at Dr. Lambshead with her practiced innocence, Evangeline looks over at Armitage and asks, “Which University did you say it was again professor.”

Dr. Armitage looks at her, certain he has said, “The Miskatonic.”

Evangeline nods, smiles, and then looks over at the couple sitting across from them, as if she is embarrassed to have asked the doctor were he was from.

“It is in Arkham, Massachusetts.”

“Oh, no interruption sir at all, I am sorry, I am Dr. Lambshead. Thackery T. Lambshead . . . and you sir?”

His hand held out very theatrically, Leopold Peeters continues, “Irem. City of Pillars. Lost to the sands of time and forgotten by all but the most obscure of texts.”

“A city of pillars? but we have plenty of those.” Amelia protests.

“Ah, but my dear lady, it is what is under the pillars that interests me.”

“Sand?”

“Armitage. Dr. Henry Armitage, professor emeritus.” The doctor introduces himself to Lambshead and Mrs. Collins.

Evangeline leans over to the women across from her and extends her hand, “And I am Evangeline. Evangeline Jones, I am originally from Biloxi Mississippi, but I live in New Orleans at the moment.”

“New Orleans – now there is a city for you Mrs. Collins, I daresay – “ he begins the routine of packing his pipe’s bowl, shaking the match box to be assured of a match, opening it to extract one, and flashing the blue flame to place it in the pipe’s bowl, “One fairly dripping with occult mumbo jumbo. Voodoo and all that – superstitious rot infectiously spreading out from the swamps”

“Well doctor, there was an incident not too long ago from those swamps – that was right bizarre to say the least.” Miss Jones comments.

“Yes, well – “

“As you said doctor, there are some things best left locked safely away.” Angelique’s lips curl back with a wicked smile.

Leopold Peeters smiles and taps his nose knowingly, “Gold.”

“Gold?” She repeats.

He nods.

She blushes as he lightly strokes his moustache – satisfied to let him tell her more.

“I’ve been from the sands Marrakesh to Shanghai, but a time comes in ones life when he wishes to settle down.” He smiles at her.

“Have you seen Saracen bandits, oh, well no doubt you have.”

“Yes, madam I have, but now, I should see about the compartment.” And he smiles and lifts up his saddle.

“So nice to meet you.” She tells him.

“A pleasure madam. Perhaps we shall see one another again shortly.”

“I would expect so.” She nods.

And he exits the coach.

Dr. Armitage checks his watch and then looks over to Miss Jones with a smile, “Miss Evangeline, I do apologize, but I shall need to refresh before dinner. Possibly before we weigh anchor.”

“Weight the anchor?”

“Depart the station.” He smiles, “I fear I must tear myself away from your charming company.”

“Professor.” Lambshead nods to Armitage as he stands and then sits back to puff on his pipe.

Evangeline smiles pleasantly and raises her drink in silent agreement, “To the weighing of the Anchor.”

“Thank you, sir. And it’s ‘doctor’. He rises from the table to make his departure, his large dog rising from the floor at his feet, “Goodnight, Miss Evangeline.”

He turns to the man beside him, “Goodnight, Dr. Lambshead.”

“Good evening.”

Dr. Armitage nods to Miss Collins in passing.

“Good evening doctor,” Evangeline says softly as she watches him make his way through the salon car..

His camel saddle over his shoulder, Leopold Peeters bumps into Dr. Armitage, as he walks out of the salon car and into the narrow passageway of the next coach.

“Pardon.”

“Oh! My apologies, monsieur.”

Peeters edges sideways past the gentleman, almost breaking a window with the large saddle. Searching for the conductor, he opens the connecting door, and finds himself entering the salon car.

Angelique Collins watching the door that the American doctor has just exited sees it now opening to reveal an odd gentleman with a camel saddle and a thick mustache.

Her green eyes narrow and her lips tighten.

It is him!

He is here.

She sighs – he is finally on the train.

Dr. Lambshead turns in his seat, hand cupping his pipe as he looks to see where her attention has suddenly been drawn, “Someone you know? He brings rather good news, I gather.” He asks aware of her expression.

Her smile is absolutely wicked, “Oh, yes, Doctor, very, very good news indeed. Something I have been looking for may be soon be with in my grasp.”

Evangeline leans back in her seat and sips her drink, which dangles from her fingertips.

“That seems almost sinister, I must say.” Miss Jones replies.

Cue Music End of Episode