“It’s just this,” said Peter. “I know the Nazis stole a lot of books. But so far as I know, they didn’t stock them away in salt mines like they did with artwork.”

“I thought of that, too,” said Jean. “There’s only one thing the Nazis are famous for when it comes to books.”

Peter smiled and finally took a sip of his tea, then nodded to Jean as he said, “Burning them.”

“I don’t know why I even care about this,” said Jean Simpson, draining the rest of her coffee cup and pushing back her chair. “I should just mail the book back to the library in Prague and let them deal with Ingrid Weiss—if she really is a book thief.”

“Yes,” said Peter, “that’s exactly what you ought to do. It’s probably no more than petty theft and someone trying to inflate their charitable résumé. Just send the book back and let it lie.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You’d be on the next plane to Prague.”

“It’s a lovely city.”

“Well, not everyone has Peter Byerly’s taste for bibliographic mysteries.”

“Not everyone,” said Peter with a smile, “but you do.”

“Exams are over in a couple of days,” said Jean.

“And you go to Europe every May.”

“Vienna this year,” said Jean. “Two weeks including a conference on the art of Prussia.”

“Sounds delightful. And I assume you already know how far Vienna is from Prague?”

“Four hours by train,” said Jean. “And the same distance to Munich.”

Patton couldn’t decide whether to be angry, frightened, or relieved. If Nemo had left for good, maybe she could put this whole crazy affair behind her. But if Fritz and Franz thought she had the Enigma sheet, her life might still be in danger. And how did she know this place was secure? How did she know Nemo wasn’t working with Fritz and Franz? How did she know they wouldn’t be back any minute to finish her off and bury her in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever find her?

She felt in the bottom of the sleeping bag and was relieved to discover the guns were still there. She shoved Nemo’s in her belt and held the Beretta in front of her, the safety flicked off, as she made her way toward the ruined house. A half-moon gave just enough pale light for her to find her way to the remains of the front steps where she sat waiting and trying to decide if she would be pleased or concerned if she saw headlights coming up the track from the road. An hour later, when she saw just that, two white lights bobbing up and down and growing gradually larger, she pointed the Beretta toward the lights and waited.