Ten minutes until four o’clock that afternoon, Derrick entered the book and tea shop. Only the proprietor—or the man he assumed to own the shop—was present behind a counter. Business did not appear prosperous enough to employ more help, and his apron implied he did double duty as waiter and bookseller. He regarded Derrick’s appearance more with curiosity than suspicion. What was a man dressed like a rich country squire doing in a shop like his?

“Good afternoon,” Derrick said in impeccable French. “Tea?”

“In the back room, monsieur. Allow me.” The man came quickly from behind the counter and led Derrick to a table in the tea shop. “I’ll take this chair,” Derrick said, choosing one that faced the entrance of the tearoom rather than the one the proprietor offered of a murky view of the courtyard.

“Very well, monsieur. I’m afraid our tea selections and pastries are limited today.”

“I will take what you can provide.”

Bowing away, the owner flicked a glance at the Frenchman in the corner. Henri continued reading, having shown no interest in the man who had entered, but he recognized him without doubt. No verbal exchange in faultless French, no English-tailored suit, could disguise the SS chief of the SD’s counterintelligence division in France. A nerve pulsed in Henri’s temple. The man’s appearance could mean only one thing: The name of the café had been given up as a meeting place for Alistair’s operatives, and the SD chief had come to spring the trap himself. His presence did indeed imply that at least one of Alistair’s dragonflies was still alive, or had been yesterday.

The proprietor brought in the tea. “I’m expecting someone,” Henri overheard the SS man tell him. “A petite, blond-haired woman. Would you please show her in? I may have to ask you for another cup.”

Henri’s fellow confederate bowed. “My pleasure, monsieur,” he said.

Mon Dieu! Henri thought. The man was expecting the operative Henri had guessed to be Labrador, whose undercover name was Mademoiselle Bernadette Dufor, Alistair’s radio operator. Did the man not know that she had been arrested by the French Gestapo? It was well known that the one group did not speak to the other. Had he come to arrest Mademoiselle Dufor in person?

Time passed. The trap had been laid, but no one appeared to step into it. After an hour, Henri wormed his body out between chair and table as if tired of sitting and drinking watery tea. He left a few centimes for the proprietor and walked leisurely by the man at the other table to hurry his report to Alistair.

*  *  *