He remained where he was two or three minutes more, then rose and slowly walked to the front door.

The man waiting for the baron wore the simplest of peasant attire and stood with hat in hand with a look on his face not of nervousness or anxiety, but, as Heidi had correctly surmised, of importunity.

“I am Heinrich von Dortmann,” said the baron, shaking his hand. “I understand you asked to see me. Won’t you come in?”

Without giving his name, the man followed the baron through the door and into the small parlor just to their right, glancing down the corridors in both directions, then quickly up the grand staircase.

The baron closed the door behind them, then offered the stranger a seat.

“What may I do for you?” he asked cordially.

“I understood I might seek asylum here.”

“Asylum—what exactly do you mean?”

“Refuge, sanctuary—I was told you helped people.”

“If I am able I will help any man,” returned the baron. “How did you come by my name in this regard?”

The visitor hesitated momentarily, divulging his first hint of disquiet.

“I am a friend of Pastor Bonhoeffer’s,” he said. “He told me you would help me.”

“But as I understand it,” replied the baron, “Dietrich was arrested over a year ago and has been at Tegel Prison in Berlin ever since.”

“Yes, uh—of course you are right. He told me before being arrested.”

“I see,” said the baron. “When did you speak with him, if I might ask? I haven’t seen Dietrich in years.”

“Let me think… it must have been two years ago or so.”

“Sometime in 1942?”

“It could have been—the exact date escapes me. But he was most clear about his connections with you. He said that if ever a fellow believer was in need, Baron von Dortmann was one to reach out a helping hand.”

“Perhaps you saw him when he was in Vienna in the spring of ’42, at the underground pastors’ conference?”

“I believe you have hit upon it exactly, Baron. That is exactly when I spoke with him. Why, were you there too?”

“Oh no, I’m no pastor. I haven’t been to Austria in years. In any event, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am not really in a position to offer you what you seek.”

“My information was most specific,” said the man, eying the baron carefully.

“Your… information?” said the baron.

“Yes, that since Pastor Bonhoeffer was in prison, you were now in charge of the underground Christian movement in this area.”

The baron could not prevent himself from bursting out in laughter. His guest, however, continued to stare stoically at him, without registering the slightest hint of a smile.

“I’m sorry,” the baron said, “but nothing could be more erroneous.”