His eye on his aide, Derrick felt a swell of affection for the man who had served him loyally for six years. He had offered him a Montecristo, but Karl neither smoked or drank. He and the sergeant were soon to part. At best, Derrick believed he could talk the arresting authorities into allowing him to take off for his home in Germany to wait out the war like many other German soldiers who had already decamped. At worst, he could get them to agree to send his aide to an American prisoner of war camp until the war was over, which he expected to be in less than a year. He hoped that Karl would not think him a traitor. For his aide’s sake, he had left him in the dark about his activities throughout their association. Derrick thought that Karl might secretly share some of his views of the Third Reich and, like him, felt as betrayed by its leader as did the superior officer he had served. In any event, Derrick would miss him and remember him as a superb soldier and man of honor.

He started when he heard the knock on the door.

“Shall I get it, Mein Colonel?”

“No, Karl. I will answer,” Derrick said.

*  *  *

As long as he lived, Maurice Corbett would never forget the look on Colonel Derrick Albrecht’s face at the appearance of the two French policemen he never thought to see again.

Cool as a lettuce leaf, the colonel pulled in a draught from his cigar, its smoke rich and fragrant, and expelled it through his finely shaped nostrils before he spoke. “Please come in,” he said in perfect French. “You must forgive my surprise. I was expecting…other visitors.”

“We are surprised to see you as well, Colonel. We would have thought you’d have been gone long ago with your fellow comrades.”

“I had obligations that induced me to stay.”

“Like destroying sensitive files of your organization’s work here in Paris?”

“Something like that. Why are you here, Detective? I’ve answered all your questions to the best of my ability, and I am pressed for time.”

“This won’t take long.” Maurice glanced at the colonel’s aide, who had ceased packing and was staring at him in stilled surprise. “You are Sergeant Karl Brunner, I believe?”

“That is correct.”

Maurice drew himself officially erect. “Colonel Derrick Albrecht and Sergeant Karl Brunner, we have come to arrest you for the homicide of Beaumont Fournier. You have the right to an attorney, to notify a relative and employer—”

The colonel waved away the charge with his cigar. “Don’t be absurd. By what evidence?”

“A witness has come forward who will testify to your and your aide’s poisoning of the victim, and we will call others who saw Monsieur Fournier in your office on the day of his murder, when you told us that he did not appear.”