Their train arrived an hour later. The crush to get on it was appalling, but somehow Lockhart and Leni managed to secure themselves some standing room in the corridor alongside the first-class compartments. Their only comfort was that the journey should take no more than thirty minutes. After that, it would be a fifteen-minute walk to the comparative safety of the guesthouse.

The train had remained stationary for at least ten minutes, which caused Lockhart some anxiety. Leni could see in his eyes that he was troubled.

“Why do you think we aren’t moving?”

“I don’t know,” said Lockhart. “I’ll see if I can have a look.”

Unfortunately, the corridor and its windows faced away from the platform, so Lockhart had to step into the compartment next to them. The compartment contained six men, two of whom looked like complete thugs, Lockhart thought. Gestapo? Or was he being paranoid? He noticed that the air reeked of cigarette smoke and stale sweat.

“Can you see why we’re not moving?” Lockhart asked, bending down to look out their window.

A collective shaking of heads. Lockhart peered out, but could see no reason for the delay. All he could make out were a few angry prospective passengers who hadn’t been able to get on the train, and the odd guard. He noticed that they were all looking in the same direction, down toward the locomotive. Lockhart stepped further into the carriage, to the obvious annoyance of its occupants.

With his face to the window, he craned his head to the left. There was obviously some commotion about three carriages down, and he thought he could make out the uniform of a civilian policeman or two, as well as that of a junior SS officer who had his back to him. He squinted hard, trying to make out what they were up to.

The policemen were removing men from the train and presenting them to the officer, who was then inspecting their papers. Lockhart wanted to jerk his head back from the window, but stopped himself. Instead, he moved away slowly and looked around the compartment with a casual smile.

“I think they must be looking for a fugitive or something,” he said.

A sigh from the occupants. The two men whom he thought to be Gestapo briefly looked at each other and then returned to their newspapers.

“We’ll be here for fucking hours!”

“I’ve already been here for three!”

Lockhart shrugged, as if to say that it was not his fault; that they shouldn’t blame the messenger. He stepped out of the compartment and stood next to Leni, who looked apprehensive.

“What is it?” she asked.

Lockhart didn’t want to whisper, so he told her the truth as nonchalantly as possible, hoping that she would remain calm.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “There are some policemen and an untersturmführer hauling people off the train. Probably looking for someone.”

Leni nodded, while some of their fellow standing passengers moaned.