(Cast of Characters needed...spies, sleuths, thugs, rich tourists, femmes fatale, Gestapo, anarchists, etc) PARIS 1938

"Boarding now the Orient Express..Departing Paris for Budapest - Bucharest - Istanbul and points between! ALL ABOARD!" The Conductor's words reverberated in the hollow tunnel that housed the sleek, silver, steaming length of the Orient Express. Paul Villeneuve folded his copy of the Paris Morning paper and lifted the two items of baggage that sat by him on the platform: One was a large leather satchel, the other a slender black violin case. He showed his paper to the conductor, who smiled and offered to assist him to the first class car. Villeneuve refused the help, and raised himself onto the steel step with a grunt.

The train was packed, and loud with the chatter of the excited departing passengers. It was with some relief that Paul found his car, but with some trepidation that he discovered it was to be a dual-berth. He locked the sliding oak door, pulling the curtain closed across the small window in it. Likewise, he covered the exterior window. Snapping open the satchel, he shuffled quickly through the papers before extracting a folded envelope. He opened this. At the top of the cover sheet were the words Preliminary Study for Production of Thermonuclear Device. Paul looked up nervously as the latch on the door turned against the lock. Quickly, he unsnapped the instrument case to reveal an ancient violin. Villeneuve refolded the envelope and stuffed it into the sound hole, and then closed and locked the case. This was his fortune. The violin itself was worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, but the formula! The Russians had promised him Millions after a bidding war with the Germans, the British, and the Americans. He would take the train to Budapest, where Stalin's agents would whisk him to Moscow and his fortune. He smiled as the door slid open, more in self-satisfaction than in greeting.

The Porter rapped at Mr Villeneuve's door promptly at noon, holding the tray of Wine and Pheasant under Glass that the scientist had requested. After the third unanswered knock, the Porter called his name. Perhaps, thought the man, he is in the Club Car. I'll leave his dinner for him. The door slid open, and the porter dropped the tray to the floor, where the contents spilled into a pool of blood. Villeneuve's eyes were still shock-pried in death, his shirt front red with the blood that had spilled from the long wound in his throat. Clutched in his hands was the leather satchel, apparently his only piece of baggage.