be out of Austria and away from the war, why didn’t she stop in Switzerland? That’s a neutral country.”
“She might not feel safe there,” Roger suggested.
“And instead she feels safe in France?” Saint-Germain countered in disbelief. “You know what the French want to do to the Germans these days. Why should she leave the comparative haven Switzerland offers for this?”
“It is espionage?” Roger asked, taking the other lantern and starting toward the door.
“We will doubtless soon find out. But we must be very cautious. All the Resistance would need is an excuse to come here hunting German spies and matters might suddenly become unpleasant for us.” He accompanied Roger out of the kitchen and toward the tower, the oldest part of the chateau. “I’m afraid I’ve scandalized Mister Tree again,” Saint-Germain remarked as the reverberations of their footsteps clattered away into the eerie darkness. “He’s accused me of pimping.”
Roger gave a snort of amusement. “How charming. Did he say it directly?”
“Not quite. That would mean he would have to see too clearly what has become of him. It is unfortunate that you did not reach Mirelle. She would have put an end to all this nonsense, and the worst of his anxiety would be over by now. He’s badly frightened; the thing that could not possibly happen to him has happened. Mirelle would tease him out of it. It’s a pity she does not want to be one of my blood in the end. She would do well.” They reached a narrow, uneven stairway that led into the upper rooms of the tower, and Saint-Germain stood aside for Roger so that he could light his way. The lantern was unnecessary for Saint-Germain, but his manservant required more illumination.
“It’s best that she should know her mind now,” Roger said, picking his way up the hazardous stairs. “Later, it might be inconvenient.”
“True enough,” Saint-Germain murmured. “Which room are the boxes in?”
“The second, where the trunks are stored. I stumbled on them by chance.” They were halfway up the stairs now, and Roger paid particular attention to this stretch, for he knew that the one short trip stair was located here.
“To hide a box, put it with other boxes,” Saint-Germain said, paraphrasing the maxim. “I have always applauded Madelaine’s cleverness.”
Roger got past the trip stair and moved faster. “Both boxes are unmarked, but there is the stencil design of an oak on both of them, which was what alerted me.”
“How very like her,” le Comte chuckled. They were almost at the landing, and he smiled his anticipation. “He’ll be more at ease with this.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” Roger responded with a shrug. On the landing, he pointed to the door. “That one. There’s a stack of boxes in the north corner. They’re on the top of it.”
As he opened the door and stepped into the room, Saint-Germain said over his shoulder, “You know, it is inconvenient that our scars can’t be altered. Plastic surgery might change any number of things. Mister Tree is going to have some distinctive marks on his arms and thighs which will make identification simple. If there were a way to remove them, it might be easier to go from alias to alias. Well, that time may come.” He looked around for the stack Roger had described. “Ah. There. If you’ll give me a hand getting them down, I will take them to Mister Tree’s room.”
James woke at sunset feeling more restored than he had since his accident. He stretched slowly, oddly pleased that there were no aches to hamper his movements. He was healing, he insisted to himself. When he rose from the bed, there was the first hint of an energetic spring in his step. He dressed carefully, noticing that his clothes had been pressed some time during the day. The only things that he could not find were his shoes. After a brief hunt for them, he shrugged and settled for a pair of heavy boots he had worn years before when he and Madelaine had gone tramping over the rough hillsides together. As he laced them up, he thought how comfortable they were, and hoped that le Comte would not be too offended by them.
When at last he ventured down to the sitting room, he found Madame Kunst finishing the last of her tea, a few crumbs left on the Limoges plate beside her cup and saucer. He hesitated, then came into the room. “Good afternoon.”
She looked up suddenly, guiltily, then smiled as best she could.