“Hmm,” said Chris. He took the note to his cubicle, aware that the narrowed eyes of the sports director remained on him until he had shut the door. A shiver of unease ran between his shoulder blades. Herr Mueller’s suspicion seemed intensified this Monday morning. Chris was well aware that he had been under the man’s microscope since his arrival, so he’d taken the precaution of removing certain carelessly written pages from his lesson planner and had warned Jules Garnier to do the same. They were both convinced that someone employed at the school went on the prowl after hours, and Chris was sure it was the sports director. Chris had left a small trap for him, a note concerning one of the students that the boy was to deliver to his father. Instructors were forbidden to make direct contact with the parents. Sure enough, that afternoon, Louis called a meeting to remind his staff that they were not to interact with the students’ parents. It was his job, and his alone, he made clear, directing a blistering look at Chris.

The courier-delivered note was from Major General Konrad March. Please do my son and me the honor of joining us for dinner after your tutoring session today. Herr Wagner will also give us the pleasure of his company.

My goodness, thought Chris. The note was just short of a formal invitation. Maybe the general had expected Louis to read it and the language was for his benefit. But why a written invitation at all? Why not have Hans extend it when he arrived at the general’s this afternoon? Was it to make sure of the presence of his son’s tutor in case he had other plans? Maybe he and Limpet had been invited at the behest of Wilhelm, and the invitation extended this early in the day was simply the general’s way to make sure the boy would not be disappointed.

Yet something about the invitation nibbled at him. It was this sort of subtle gnawing to which the major had urged them to pay particular attention. If the aura of something doesn’t smell right (Major Renault was a good one for the word aura), be alert to it. There’s liable to be something dead in the woodpile somewhere. Use your own judgment and beware.

He’d given the general no reason to be onto him, and he was sure that Limpet hadn’t, either. The general couldn’t possibly know that Herr Bauer had photographed Admiral Canaris’s letter. But he would beware, and he would warn Limpet to be on guard, too.