“Don’t let him shoot at the police, that’s all I ask. It’ll be his life then, not a few weeks in jail. And that’d be the end of me. I couldn’t bear it, Hildi.” And she started to cry, suddenly and very quietly. I tried to comfort her, but she wiped her eyes and pushed me away. “That’s all I ask,” she said thickly. “Go on now, get away.”

She pushed me again, and I left her, my heart full of all kinds of unhappiness. She’d caused a picture of Peter to come into my mind: bare-headed, shirt-sleeved, in chains, with a guard on either side and a black-robed chaplain, and the chilly gray light of dawn illuminating the brutal timbers and the hateful blade of a guillotine. I thrust the picture away as quickly as I could and hurried back into the kitchen.

“Come on,” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“You’re not to shoot any policemen.”

“Oh, is that it? Come on, let’s get out—”

But we got no further than the kitchen door. All of a sudden Hannerl ran in, her face white, and pushed the door shut behind her.

“What is it?” said Peter.

“He’s out there—the sergeant—in the stable—” said Hannerl, in a desperate whisper. “He came in just now with someone to look at a horse—I had to take the saddles off them other two and pretend I was putting ’em away. You’ll have to hide! He might come in here!”

Peter’s face darkened. He glanced at the clock again: a quarter to five. How long would the sergeant be?

“Get in the cellar,” I whispered. “Go on. I’ll get rid of him somehow. But get out of sight, for goodness’ sake.”

He went unwillingly and I turned to go through to the stable—only to find the sergeant himself entering the kitchen, and taking off his helmet, and mopping his brow, and sitting down at the table….“Phew!” he said. “What’s been going on in here? Trying to burn the place down?”

“What do you want?” I said.

“I want to sit down and have a glass of beer, that’s what I want. I’d like a word with your ma. Where is she?”

“What do you want to talk to her about?”

For answer he tapped his great red nose and said nothing. Hannerl was hovering uncertainly in the doorway to the stable; and Peter, I knew, would be crouched at the top of the cellar steps, listening to every word.

And then Ma came in and saw the sergeant and stamped in vexation.

“Oh! It’s too bad!” she said. “I’ve got an inn full of guests, people coming and going all day long, no help to speak of—and you come and park yourself right in the middle of it. What do you want?”