Bruno Kattscheidt sat on a cushioned seat in the Salon Premiere, the exclusive tavern in the Club Car of the Orient Express. He tipped his beer mug straight up to finish the dregs of his Uberbrau, when a brass doorkey tumbled from the bottom of the stein and struck his right front tooth with a sharp metallic note. Lifting his fat fist as if to quell a belch, he snagged the key and dropped it in his shirt pocket. He turned his eyes to the bartender, who gave him a sly wink, and said "that will be 9 francs" which meant that Villeneuve was in Cabin 9. Bruno used his thumb and forefinger to remove a small paste of beer-foam from his walrus-like moustaches, and flicked the detritus onto the expensive Turkish carpetting. He stood up, his stiff lederhosen creaking against the barstool.

He stopped into the washroom, where he had stashed the Luger behind the Watercloset tank. He checked that there was a round in the chamber, then went about retrieving the silencer from where he had hidden it down the front of his leather shorts. The bulge it had produced had enticed a French Waitress at Cafe Montmarte to comment "ca von votre appendage plus grande!" (* What a Dandy!) He now found it had shifted position somewhat, and he was having some difficulty disentangling it from his underhosen. It was at this point that the door opened, and Father Popovich entered, took one look at the fat German with his hands in his shorts, muttered "zoprosky anatolyanof" (*May God grant success!) and backed out.

Kattsheidt assembled the deadly weapon and stalked down the hallway toward Villeneuve's berth. He gradually be came aware of a hubbub in that direction and quickly pushed the pistol into his shirt, briefly revealing the tattoo of an eagle, the twin letters "SS", and the slogan Blut und Eire. Resuming a cheery appearance of ignorant bonhommie, he stepped to the doorway saying "vat is zis kaffe-klatch for?" It was then that two porters emerged carrying the French Scientists limp body.