“Here,” said Klaus to Marguerite, smiling apologetically, “let me finish that for you.” And he lifted Marguerite up by the elbows, put her in the corridor and whisked the sheets into place with a surprisingly deft touch, while chattering about where in Switzerland he was from; he had moved to Spiez recently, he said, but he grew up in Kandersteg, which is very pretty, oh! – lots of waterfalls and beautiful forests, you must visit it, best cheese in the whole country, very lovely people.

Sister Marguerite looked rather disappointed that her chance to cause mischief had been cut short, but she lay down on the bunk with good grace, and pulled a billowing pyjama-habit out of her bag. Klaus made up the other bottom bunk too, and lifted Ester up by her elbows and into her bed. “There you are, Ester,” he said.

“Delightful,” said Ester – but not like she meant it.

“What a treasure you are, Klaus,” said Sister Marguerite. “How do you two know each other?”

“Ester is my aunt,” said Klaus, stowing their luggage as he talked. “I’m taking her on a special holiday. She’s always wanted to cross Europe by train. We spent some time in Paris first and we’ll spend some time in Istanbul at the other end.” He beamed. “It’s wonderful. Slight mix-up with the tickets – we were meant to be in a private car – but otherwise it’s all going brilliantly.”

“Oh, how lovely!” said Marguerite. “How are you finding it, Ester?”

“Disappointing,” hollered Ester, and she chucked a pear drop into her mouth and sucked at it noisily.

Klaus chuckled, said “Oh, you”, and clambered up on to his berth with some knitting needles and wool. The berth sagged under his huge weight.

So, thought Max, so. That was two still on the list, and now they had names. Ester and Klaus. She couldn’t make up her mind about Klaus: looking at his glowering face, she felt sure he had a history of terrible crime, but then he spoke and she sort of wanted to give him a hug. Ester, on the other hand, was cut-and-dried villainous. And covered in jewels. As she lay and thought, Max took out Marguerite’s newspaper and superglue from her case, and carefully stuck the day’s front page into her notebook.

The train began to slide out of the station, and Max sideways-watched Munich slip away. She couldn’t see city or sky, just blackness dotted with lights. She still felt anxious, but it was helped by the cosiness of her berth, and the fascination of meeting two more suspects. Was Rupert on the train? Who else had come on board?

She found out when she went to brush her teeth. The train really was small. She only counted four people from the TGV: Ester, Klaus, the red-headed woman from the food hall, and Rupert Nobes.