Despite the cold, Balaton was perspiring heavily, and Ashley found no comfort in his deteriorating self-possession. She guessed he was at least as terrified as she was, although he had the gun. She could almost feel his fear. Perhaps if she could reassure him, she thought, they had a chance.

“This will end,” he said. “Believe me, it will end. The jewels. Miss Wakefield.”

She shrugged. “Okay. But they won’t stop the truth from coming out. Even killing everyone on this island won’t stop that.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded, lunging toward her.

Involuntarily, she took a step backward. He seemed to like that; his mouth curled with satisfaction as she twisted her hands together. Did he want her to be terrified? Or soothing? Or in control of herself, if not him? She wished she knew.

Now she could only tell the truth. “You never intended the Balaton jewels to leave Hungary, did you? You couldn’t have. It was too dangerous. You see, Mr. Balaton, it’s known that the Balaton jewels were stolen from Balaton Castle the night Countess Balaton and her children were slaughtered at the end of World War II.”

The gun wavered. “No!”

It was a strangled sob more than a cry, but Ashley knew she had struck a nerve: he didn’t expect her to know the story of the Balaton jewels. “It was another atrocity during an era of atrocities, but the Balaton jewels—they’re the link to that night. And you have them, which means you must have been there.”

“Lies—all of it.”

And yet he seemed mesmerized by her words, which she was choosing carefully, hoping to get him to follow her logic. “Early in the war, young András Balaton—the real András Balaton—left Hungary to fight with the Resistance. You befriended his family. Your real name is József Major. You came from the same village as the Balatons.”

“József Major is an identity I assumed in order to pass information to the Americans.”

“No,” she said in a soothing voice, “it’s not. You befriended the Balatons and you betrayed them and they were shot—and you stole the Balaton jewels.”

“Lies!”

Ashley tried to ignore the raw fear in the pit of her stomach. How far did she dare push him? He seemed weakened by her words, but if she went too far... She couldn’t think about consequences now. “Mr. Balaton, I’m sure those were difficult years, and impossible for Americans like myself to understand. But the truth will come out. You see, the Balaton jewels have been examined and photographed in detail by an expert in New York; his report is in the hands of my attorney.”

Balaton shut his eyes and sobbed, but the gun remained pointed at Ashley.

“Also,” she went on, not challenging him, but speaking reasonably, as if they were merely arguing about the weather, “I have two photographs from the 1940s. One shows a young József Major—you—with a group of his comrades. All, including you, are wearing the uniform of the Hungarian fascist party, the Arrow Cross. The other photograph—both were sent by a Hungarian historian in charge of restoring Balaton Castle, by the way—is the only known photograph of Count Istvan Balaton and his eldest child, András. That András is clearly not you.”