Chapter 3: The Observatory Door Does Not Open from the Outside

Philipp carried the cognac tray at one forty-seven, which was late.

He had allowed himself a cigarette between the parlor car and the galley — a habit Mr. Crowe had noted once, two runs ago, without comment, which Philipp had interpreted as tolerance rather than approval. The cigarette had taken six minutes. He had spent the remaining twenty outside the observatory door adjusting his posture, his breathing, the precise angle at which a man holds a tray when he wishes to appear as though he has been standing there for less time than he has.

At two fourteen, he knocked.