“We know well enough who you are, Baron,” said one of the men rudely. His voice was high-pitched and condescending. “We have come to search your house.”

“Search it?” repeated the baron. “For what purpose, might I inquire?”

“You may not inquire,” snapped the agent. “But I will tell you anyway. We are looking for traitors to the Reich.”

“There are no traitors here, I assure you,” said the baron, doing his best to keep calm.

The man smiled a very unpleasant smile. “And,” he chuckled, “you expect us to take your word for it? You are really most humorous, Baron.”

“I tell you there is no one here. We are but a family—a farming family.”

“We know all about your family, Baron von Dortmann,” said the man, the smile suddenly disappearing from his face as he cast upon the baron a squinting glare of menace.

“Then you know we are not traitors.”

“I do not know that you do not house traitors.”

“I can assure you—”

The baron was cut off by a wave of the man’s hand. “Please, Baron,” he said, “your assurances mean nothing to me. I will find out for myself. Are there any Jews here?”

“Jews?”

“You heard me, Baron—Jews!”

The baron swallowed hard and took a deep breath. If ever these small-minded and heartless people could cause hatred to rise up within him, it was at times like this.

“No, I have no Jews on my staff,” he said, with great difficulty maintaining his composure.

The man eyed him steadily, staring straight into his eyes. The baron returned the gaze for several long moments. At length the Gestapo agent turned away, then motioned to the eight storm troopers with a nod of his head.

Suddenly six of them shot toward the house, brushing past Marion and the others without regard for courtesy, while one ran around the side to search the garden and grounds and the eighth headed for the barn and outbuildings down the slope to the east. They were all well prepared and knew exactly where to look.

The baron and his people followed the six inside, accompanied by the sound of loud clomping and running from the heavy-booted feet going up the grand stairway and down the halls in all directions. The men seemed unconcerned with the ground floor, but went straight up to the first and second. However they had come by their information, the baron thought to himself, it was remarkably accurate. They knew precisely where to search for signs of any guests.

Fortunately, all the rooms had been cleaned and changed the day the brothers from Finkenwalde had gone, and the baron didn’t believe there were any remaining traces of their presence.