“The inexplicable change in his behavior toward you this past week confirms a report that I received early this morning. A neighborhood resident finally had the courage to come forward. It seems that in the late afternoon a week ago this past Saturday, he saw Achim Fleischer sneaking down the fire escape from the attic floor of your room while the convent body was at vespers. My informant did not want to get involved with the French police, but his conscience got the better of him and so he came to me. You were out at the time, had gone to meet some friends for tea, as I recall.”

It was the Saturday that Bridgette had met the team at the book and tea shop. Confused, she said, “But why would Achim have been on the attic floor?”

Sister Mary Frances tipped her head back and leveled a gaze at Bridgette through her bifocals. “Really, my dear child, need I explain? He took advantage of our absence to search your room. He may have been looking for contraband, but my instinct tells me that he wished to learn more private details about you as a woman. That would be typical of the sneaky student I knew.”

Realization dawned. “And he found the radio,” Bridgette whispered numbly.

“I believe he must have. Did you notice anything ajar, out of place, in your quarters?”

Bridgette thought back. “Yes, my nightgown had dropped from its peg to the floor. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, but I was surprised because I always hang it by the inside loop.” Horrified by what this would mean, Bridgette said, “But if he discovered the radio, why hasn’t he had me arrested?”

“I would guess he is waiting for the right moment, perhaps when he’s joined the Vichy Milice. Either that, or up to this point he hasn’t had the heart. Regardless, you must contact your superior about this change of events and seek another place for your operation immediately. I am sorry, ma chère, but I cannot have the convent placed in jeopardy.” The mother superior stood up from her chair like a dark, unbridgeable wave rising from the ocean. “Perhaps now would be a good time to do so, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Mother.” Bridgette stood in obedience to her dismissal, cold to the core, her appointment with Madame Richter for the second fitting of her ball gown forgotten. Oh God, the drop box, the mural, her lodging, the ideal location for the radio…all to replace. She went immediately to her attic room to notify the major.

*  *  *

His long years running clandestine operations had rendered Alistair immune to the unexpected disasters of the sort contained in Bridgette’s transmission. Calmly, hardly without drawing a breath, Major Renault coded back: Do nothing. Sit tight. Immediately afterward, he put in an SOS call to his man in Paris. “I will see to it,” Henri said.