“Quite so. One has to travel far to learn about one’s racial heritage! When the war is over, there is so much learning that our two nations will be able to share.”

“Such as?”

“Well, for example, we have conducted a vast amount of research on the European peoples, and we have discovered enormous differences between them—just by measuring their skulls.”

“Skulls? Where are these skulls from?”

“Oh,” said Parsch, his voice unconcerned, “I don’t think we need concern ourselves with things like that! The Ahnenerbe has its fingers in many pies. It is like an octopus!”

Lockhart would normally have winced at the mixed metaphor, but he let it go.

“What else does it do?”

“You name it! Archaeology, medicine, all branches of science, and, recently, even weaponry!”

“Weaponry? Why weaponry?”

“Oh yes! Didn’t you know there was a war on? We all have to do our bit. Why do you think that even I, a humble professor, am wearing a uniform like this? Anyway, you can assume the Ahnenerbe is concerned with most elements of life in the Reich.”

Lockhart sipped his wine thoughtfully, trying not to appear excited. Parsch had used the word “recently.” Whatever it was that the professor had just learned, it would probably exist on paper, and that paper would be somewhere in his office. Lockhart knew that he had to take a chance. Tonight, he would pay a visit to Parsch’s office. He would need a thief to help him, and he had just the man in mind.

It was four in the morning when he and Stafford approached Parsch’s door. Stafford had told him that four was the best time for a burglary, because not even early risers got up that early. His chest had swollen with professional pride when Lockhart had asked him whether he would be willing to assist, telling Lockhart that there wasn’t a lock in Germany that he wouldn’t be able to pick.

Parsch’s office was at the top of a tower, which made Lockhart uncomfortable. Their only escape route was back down the stairs, unless they fancied their chances climbing out of one of the windows and lowering themselves onto a steeply pitched roof below. Even in daylight, such a maneuver would be foolhardy, but at night it would be reckless in the extreme.

“Never mind.” Stafford had grinned when Lockhart had told him of the situation. “We’ll just have to make sure we don’t get caught.”

“If we do,” Lockhart had replied, “we’ll be looking at something far more severe than four years in Pentonville.”

Stafford produced a few short strands of thick wire from his pocket and set to work on the lock. Lockhart looked back toward the winding stone staircase they had just climbed. As each second passed, he readied himself for the sound of footsteps echoing up it, but none came.

“How are you doing?” Lockhart whispered after a very long minute.

“Nearly there.”