He sat up slowly when he saw me, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and got to his feet. He strode to the bricked-up kiln and stood with his back to me and the two soldier boys who were on guard. Then, as if he wanted to show how much he disdained us, he began to whistle.

My heart fell. What did I expect—a big welcoming smile? For him to hand over more cipher machine settings with a flourish? For him to kiss my hand, like Eberhard Moritz did to Jane? Felix Baer wasn’t that stupid, anyway. He knew I wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with him.

Maybe I just wanted to hear another danke. I never imagined he’d turn his back on me on purpose—even the other two German prisoners hadn’t been rude.

Then I realized he was whistling the opening bars to the Hebrides Overture.

But no—as he went on I recognized that it wasn’t the beginning. It was a similar eight bars from somewhere in the middle. He didn’t go on—he just repeated those eight bars. And the rhythm was off. It was off in odd places—sometimes it seemed right, other times he seemed to stutter.

Oh crumbs, was it Morse code?

My heart lurched. I balanced the edge of the tray on the packing crate with one hand, and with the other I lifted the coffee flask and put it down on the crate.

I’d showed him I understood Morse. Was he doing it on purpose—for me?

My whole body gave a shudder.

He was. I knew he was.

But I’d only just learned Morse, and when I practiced with Jane I was much slower listening to it—“receiving”—than I was at transmitting. He repeated the same passage three times, and I still didn’t catch most of the letters. I heard As and Ms and an I.

I wasn’t fast enough. I was going to miss it because I wasn’t fast enough.

I picked up the china cup Mrs. Campbell had sent, and instead of putting it next to the coffee flask, I gave it a whack against the edge of the tray and let it slip from my fingers and smash on the dirt floor.

“Bother!” I exclaimed loudly.

Baer stopped whistling. He spun around to look.

“Oh dear, what a mess—” I apologized to the guards, and mimed sweeping. “Let me run and get the dustpan and another cup.”

“Need a hand?” one of them asked.

I put the whole tray down on the packing crate next to the thermos flask. “No, I’m fine, but it was clumsy of me! I’ll be back in a jiffy—is that all right?”

“Jerry’s not going anywhere,” said the guard.