"I'm Stephanie, the niece of Mademoiselle Lemas."

The visitor did not bother to conceal her suspicion."! didn't know she had a niece."

"She didn't tell me about you, either." Dieter heard the note of amiable amusement in Stephanie's voice, and realized she was being charming. "Would you like to sit down? What's in that basket?"

"Some provisions. I'm Marie. I live in the country. I'm able to get extra food and I bring some for... for Mademoiselle."

"Ah," said Stephanie. "For her... guests." There was a rustling sound, and Dieter guessed Stephanie was looking through the paper-wrapped food in the basket. "This is wonderful! Eggs... pork... strawberries..

This explained how Mademoiselle Lemas managed to remain plump, Dieter thought.

"You know, then," said Marie.

"I know about Auntie's secret life, yes." Hearing her say "Auntie," Dieter realized that neither he nor Stephanie had ever asked Mademoiselle Lernas's first name. The pretense would be over if Marie found out that Stephanie did not even know the name of her "aunt."

"Where is she?"

"She went to Aix. Do you remember Charles Men- ton, who used to be dean at the cathedral?"

"No, I don't."

"Perhaps you're too young. He was the best friend of Auntie's father, until he retired and went to live in Provence." Stphame was improvising brilliantly, Dieter thought with admiration. She had cool nerves and she was imaginative. "He has suffered a heart attack, and she has gone to nurse him. She asked me to take care of any guests while she's away."

"When will she come back?"

"Charles is not expected to live long. On the other hand, the war may be over soon."

"She didn't tell anyone about this Charles."

"She told me."

It looked as if Stephanie might get away with it, Dieter thought. If she could keep this up a little longer, Marie would go away convinced. She would report what had happened, to someone or other, but Stephanie's story was plausible, and exactly the kind of thing that happened in Resistance movements. It was not like the army: someone like Mademoiselle Lemas could easily make a unilateral decision to leave her post and put someone else in charge. It drove Resistance leaders mad, but there was nothing they could do: all their troops were volunteers.

He began to feel hopeful.

"Where are you from?" said Marie.

"I live in Paris."

"Does your aunt Valerie have any other nieces hidden away?"

So, Dieter thought, Mademoiselle Lemas's name is Valerie.

"I don't think so-none that I know."

"You're a liar."

Marie's tone had changed. Something had gone wrong. Dieter sighed and drew the automatic pistol from beneath his jacket.

Stephanie said, "What on earth are you talking about?"

"You're lying. You don't even know her name. It's not Valerie, it's Jeanne."

Dieter thumbed the safety lever on the left of the slide up to the fire position.

Stephanie carried on gamely. "I always call her Auntie. You're being very rude."

Marie said scornfully, "I knew from the start. Jeanne would never trust someone like you, with your high heels and perfume."

Dieter stepped into the kitchen. "What a shame, Marie," he said. "If you had been more trusting, or less clever, you might have got away. As it is, you're under arrest."

Marie looked at Stephanie and said, "You're a Gestapo whore."

It was a wounding gibe, and Stephanie blushed. Dieter was so infuriated that he almost pistol- whipped Marie. "You'll regret that remark when you're in the hands of the Gestapo," he said coldly. "There's a man called Sergeant Becker who is going to question you. When you're screaming and bleeding and begging for mercy, remember that careless insult."

Marie looked poised to flee. Dieter almost hoped she would. Then he could shoot her and the problem would be solved. But she did not run. After a long moment, her shoulders slumped and she began to cry.

Her tears did not move him. "Lie facedown on the floor with your hands behind your back."

She obeyed.

He put away the gun. "I think I saw a rope in the cellar," he said to Stephanie.

"I'll get it."

She returned with a length of washing line. Dieter tied Marie's hands and feet. "I'll have to take her to Sainte-Ccile," he said. "We can't have her here in case a British agent comes in today." He looked at his watch. It was two o'clock. He had time to take her to the chteau and be back by three. "You'll have to go to the crypt on your own," he told Stephanie. "Use the little car in the garage. I'll be in the cathedral, though you may not see me." He kissed her. Almost like a husband going to the office, he thought with grim amusement. He picked Marie up and slung her over his shoulder. "I'll have to hurry," he said, and went to the back door.

He stepped outside, then turned back. "Hide the bicycle."

"Don't worry," Stephanie replied.

He carried the bound girl through the courtyard and into the street. He opened the trunk of his car and put her inside. Had it not been for the "whore" comment, he would have put her on the backseat.

He slammed the lid and looked around. He saw no one, but there were always watchers in a street such as this, peering through their shutters. They would have seen Mademoiselle Lemas being taken away yesterday and would have remarked the big sky-blue car. As soon as he drove away, they would be talking about the man who had put a girl into the trunk of his car. In normal times, they would have called the police, but no one in occupied territory would talk to the police unless they had to, especially where the Gestapo might be involved.

The key question for Dieter was: Would the Resistance hear of the arrest of Mademoiselle Lemas? Reims was a city, not a village. People were arrested every day: thieves, murderers, smugglers, black marketeers, communists, Jews. There was a good chance that no report of the events in the rue du Bois would reach the ears of Michel Clairet.

But there was no guarantee.

Dieter got into the car and headed for Sainte-Ccile.

CHAPTER 19

THE TEAM HAD got through the morning's instruction reasonably well, to Flick's relief Everyone had learned the falling technique, which was the hardest part of parachuting. The map-reading session had been less successful. Ruby had never been to school and could barely read: a map was like a page of Chinese to her. Maude was baffled by directions such as north-northeast, and fluttered her eyelids prettily at the instructor. Denise, despite her expensive education, proved completely incapable of understanding coordinates. If the group got split up in France, Flick thought worriedly, she would not be able to rely on them finding their own way.