Whatever it was, Gustav was sure to get to the bottom of it.

She put on what thin veneer of pleasantness one of such shallow character could manage, finished her slice of cake, gladly accepted another, visited as amiably as she could with the baron and his wife for but another minute or two, then excused herself.

She had a great deal to do, she said, and the day would get away from her if she was not careful.

On the top of her agenda was a telephone call to her son!

80 Suspicions

80

Suspicions

Gustav put down the phone and leaned back in his chair.

He had wondered if something was afoot at that place. He should have listened to his suspicions earlier!

His mother had done just what he’d asked. What she had just told him confirmed nothing specific—he couldn’t have hoped for that—but it hinted that the baron was hiding something.

Every time he was home he took up his old secret vantage point in the woods, more to watch Sabina than anything. It always gave him a sensation of power over her to know she had no idea she was being spied upon.

At the same time, there were enough little things that went on around that place—like the Americans visiting before the war, for one—that always made him wonder if the baron was up to more than he liked to let on. He saw why his father never trusted him.

Then there was that time he’d visited two years ago, in the winter—he remembered the day well. It had been very cold. He had been out in the woods early and had seen someone wander out onto the roof balcony, followed a few minutes later by Sabina. The attention of his binoculars had all been upon her, but he had thought it curious at the time how panicked she had been to see what he assumed was a guest on the balcony alone. A look of fear had come over her face as she had glanced around hurriedly and fairly pulled the person, whoever it was, back inside.

Strange behavior, he thought, for the hostess to show when the balcony had always before been a spot they had been proud to show their visitors.

He’d scarcely given it another thought, however—until now.

There was nothing he could put his finger on. But that hardly mattered.

In these times, just the vaguest hint of a secret was enough for the Gestapo!

It was just what he had hoped for!

Now—how to put all the pieces to his little scheme together for maximum profit and benefit to himself?

Christians were so ridiculous with their secretive little ways of doing things, their words, their symbols! Well, he had outsmarted them!