Three Hours to Sarnen

The night express climbs toward Sarnen Pass, its lit windows travelling along the snow like a string of paper lanterns. Halfway through dinner service, Conductor Brechal makes a stiff announcement: a trunk has gone missing from the sealed guard's van, and compartment four is bolted from within and will not answer. At Sarnen, in three hours, there will be police, a locksmith, and forms. You set down your fork. Three hours is a long time, if a person uses it.