Then in the neighboring bedroom reserved for Gerda, I race to support her alibi by binding her ankles and wrists with rope. I hope it’s enough to keep her safe. Following my short but heartfelt thanks, I use scarves to cover her eyes and mouth.

At last, I close the door and return to Evelien. I whisper as we move toward the staircase, “To be superb at magic, and especially escapes, you must first learn to be quiet as a mouse. Can you do that?”

She nods up at me in earnest, protecting the doll in the crook of her arm. This is precisely where it remains as I carry them down the steps on the balls of my feet to best prevent creaks. We’re just past the landing when I hear it.

A rumbling motor, paired with a slam.

A car door.

My stomach leaps to my throat.

“Heil Hitler,” a man greets, just outside. The guard.

I hold Evelien closer and sprint down the remaining stairs. I’m wheeling around the newel post when a rattling sounds, a fumbling of the doorknob.

The library is too far away.

Against the wall under the staircase sits a telephone table. On its far side, away from the entry, I crouch low in the shadows with Evelien in my arms. I press my finger to my lips, a silent shh, just as the front door bursts open.

It’s Ziegler, I presume, glimpsing his black boots and wide breeches through the legs of the table. Abruptly I fear that Evelien might call out, even run to him. He could have tricked her into thinking he’s a kind, fatherly type.

Then he hollers, “Gerda!”

And the girl shrinks into me. Her little limbs shake.

He hasn’t fooled her at all.

I know right then: I’ll do anything it takes to keep her from his clutches.

But why is he here? Was the event canceled?

He cusses in German as his boot steps cross the foyer, striding in the other direction. “Wo ist das Geschenk?” he shouts.

That word again. Geschenk. Now it references a different type of gift.

En route to the dinner party, he must have circled back, preferring tardiness to an empty-handed insult. He marches into the parlor, searching for either Gerda or the present. Regardless, this is our chance.

Holding Evelien tight, I dash toward the library—quick but quiet. Once inside, I set her down and close the door just to the frame, not latching it, remembering the squeak. At the open window, I cautiously peek past the drapes. “Arie,” I project in a hushed tone, scanning the hedges.

“You got her?” he asks, jolting me. He’s already in place.

“Ziegler’s back. I’m passing Evelien through.” I turn around to grab her.

But she’s gone.

The door is open, her tiny figure barreling toward the foyer.