Jackdaws

She looked mildly offended: women of her generation did not use tobacco. "I don't smoke."

"Then who are these for?"

She touched her chin, a sign of dishonesty. "Visitors."

"And what kind of visitors do you get?"

"Friends... neighbors..." She looked uncomfortable.

"And British spies."

"That is absurd."

Dieter gave her his most charming smile. "You are obviously a respectable lady who has become mixed up in criminal activities from misguided motives," he said in a tone of friendly candor. "I'm not going to toy with you, and I hope you will not be so foolish as to lie to me."

"I shall tell you nothing," she said.

Dieter feigned disappointment, but he was pleased to be making such rapid progress. She had already abandoned the pretense that she did not know what he was talking about. That was as good as a confession. "I'm going to ask you some questions," he said. "If you don't answer them, I shall ask you again at Gestapo headquarters."

She gave him a defiant look.

He said. "Where do you meet the British agents?"

She said nothing.

"How do they recognize you?"

Her eyes met his in a steady gaze. She was no longer flustered, but resigned. A brave woman, he thought. She would be a challenge.

"What is the password?"

She did not answer.

"Who do you pass the agents on to? How do you contact the Resistance? Who is in charge of it?"

Silence.

Dieter stood up. "Come with me, please."

"Very well," she said staunchly. "Perhaps you will permit me to put on my hat."

"Of course." He nodded to Stephanie. "Go with Mademoiselle, please. Make sure she does not use the telephone or write anything down." He did not want her to leave any kind of message.

He waited in the hail. When they returned, Mademoiselle Lemas had taken off her apron and wore a light coat and a cloche hat that had gone out of fashion long before the outbreak of war. She carried a sturdy tan leather handbag. As the three of them were heading for the front door, Mademoiselle Lemas said, "Oh! I forgot my key."

"You don't need it," Dieter said.

"The door locks itself," she said. "I need a key to get back in."

Dieter looked her in the eye. "Don't you understand?" he said. "You've been sheltering British terrorists in your house, you have been caught, and you are in the hands of the Gestapo." He shook his head in an expression of sorrow that was not entirely fake. "Whatever happens, Mademoiselle, you're never coming home again."

She realized the full horror of what was happening to her. Her face turned white, and she staggered. She steadied herself by grabbing the edge of a kidney-shaped table. A Chinese vase containing a spray of dried grasses wobbled dangerously but did not fall. Then Mademoiselle Lemas recovered her poise. She straightened up and let go of the table. She gave him that defiant look again, then walked out of her house with her head held high.

Dieter asked Stephanie to take the front passenger seat, while he sat in the back of the car with the prisoner. As Hans drove them to SainteC‚cile, Dieter made polite conversation. "Were you born in Reims, Mademoiselle?"

"Yes. My father was choirmaster at the cathedral."

A religious background. This was good news for the plan that was forming in Dieter's mind. "Is he retired?"

"He died five years ago, after a long illness."

"And your mother?"

"Died when I was quite young."

"So, I imagine you nursed your father through his illness?"

"For twenty years."

"Au." That explained why she was single. She had spent her life caring for an invalid father. "And he left you the house."

She nodded.

"Small reward, some might think, for a life of dedicated service," Dieter said sympathetically.

She gave him a haughty look. "One does not do such things for reward."

"Indeed not." He did not mind the implied rebuke. It would help his plan if she could convince herself that she was somehow Dieter's superior, morally and socially. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"None."

Dieter saw the picture vividly. The agents she sheltered, all young men and women, must have been like her children. She had fed them, done their laundry, talked to them, and probably kept an eye on the relationships between the sexes, making sure there was no immorality, at least not under her root

And now she would die for it.

But first, he hoped, she would tell him everything.

The Gestapo Citro‰n followed Dieter's car to SainteC‚cile. When they had parked in the grounds of the chfteau, Dieter spoke to Weber. "I'm going to take her upstairs and put her in an office," he said.

"Why? There are cells in the basement."

"You'll see."