Estelle pulled the first one out, the familiar eagle above the swastika stamped on the red cover. SONDERMASCHINEN SCHLÜSSEL was written above. Special machines key, Sophie translated, and it was almost identical to the picture Miss Atkins had once shown her in a Baker Street flat. This was what she had come for.

She laid the manual out and began taking photos. Four times she changed the tiny film canisters, sliding each completed one into an empty Gauloises packet from her handbag. When she had finished the last book, she restacked them and placed them back as they’d been found. She closed the drawer, relocked the cabinet, and switched off the light. She estimated that the entire process had taken less than fifteen minutes but still Sophie hurried back up the stairs as soundlessly as possible. She reached the closet and pushed the hidden door closed, making sure it latched behind her.

She smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and edged her way to the suite door, listening hard. She put a hand up to push the door open but just as her palm made contact she stilled.

They were no longer alone.

Chapter ​21

Chapter
​21

Estelle

Paris, France
26 August 1943

Mademoiselle Allard. What are you doing up here all alone? I did not expect to see you again so soon. What a…happy surprise.”

Estelle froze where she had been pacing and tried desperately to smother the horror that bloomed through her chest. She lifted her chin and faced Scharführer Schwarz. He was standing in the door of the Imperial Suite, the weasel-faced aide, Hesse, hovering behind him.

“Scharführer,” she greeted loudly, not allowing herself to look anywhere near the dining room. “It is a happy surprise. Whatever are you doing here?”

“The same thing I was doing last time we met,” he said. “Looking for a traitor.”

“What?” Estelle let her voice rise, which wasn’t very difficult. “What are you talking about?”

“Madame Beaufort. Where is she?”

“What?” Estelle stalled, feigning utter bewilderment.

“The woman you entered this hotel with. Where is she?”

“You think Madame Beaufort is a traitor?” Estelle said, making an epic effort to sound merely appalled and not terrified.

“Where is she?” Schwarz demanded again, ignoring her question.

“I don’t know where Madame Beaufort is at the moment,” Estelle said. “She left. We have been waiting and waiting for Hauptgefreiter Müller to find a ladder and whatever things he needed to get a painting hung up properly on the wall. But it’s been an age, and she got bored of waiting. She probably went to get a drink. Did you check the bars?”

“She’s not in the bars,” the aide muttered in German. “I told you something wasn’t right. And I told you this whore here can’t be trusted.”