“Because it was a painting of a woman who would rather die than accept her fate. It was a painting of fearless defiance and unassailable courage.” She paused. “That, and it would be considered degenerate by the Nazis. I did not want to take the chance of losing it.”

“So you still have it?”

“Yes.”

“Would you show it to me? I think I would like to see what fearless defiance and unapologetic boldness looks like in paint.”

“Perhaps.” Estelle left the hearth to stand near the window, peering down at the street below. The earlier sun had been swallowed by another heavy bank of clouds, and Estelle shivered. It was still summer, but the sky reminded Estelle that fall and winter would be here far too soon, and with them, more death—if not at the hands of the Nazis, then certainly at the hands of cold and starvation.

“Tell me what you need from the Ritz.” She turned from the window to face the British agent.

Sophie ran her fingers along the edge of the marble mantelpiece. She opened the glass face of the clock that sat in the center. “Are there many spies working at the hotel?”

Estelle felt her brows shoot up. “The Ritz is a hornets’ nest of employed spies. In the kitchens and behind the bars, in the maids’ rooms and management offices. The trick,” Estelle said without humour, “is knowing what side they are on.”

Sophie closed the glass face with a snap. “And is this something you know? Which side they are on?”

“More than most,” Estelle allowed. “Why?”

“There is a machine somewhere in that hotel. A ciphered communication device that is used to send messages to and from some of the most important members of the Reich. I’ve been sent to confirm its existence and copy whatever codebooks accompany it so that we might have a chance of understanding intercepted messages.”

Estelle opened her mouth and then closed it, a peculiar feeling crawling through her.

“The intelligence that such a machine existed was old, something that only recently came to light, so it’s possible that the device has since been moved. We were not even able to verify the network that sent the original radio message or the source who provided the information in the first place, but it was likely someone who once worked or still works at the Ritz.” Sophie winced. “Crumbs, is what my superior called them. Crumbs of possibility that nonetheless left a bread trail convincing enough to warrant my dispatch. You should probably know that before you agree to anything further. But finding this device is critical.”

A mix of disbelief and euphoria was now dancing across Estelle’s skin, making the hairs on her arms rise. “Crumbs?”

You never know what crumb might turn a tide. It was what Jerome once said.