dryly. “That we broke into the house and discovered a dead body?”
I should have considered that, of course. How would we explain it? We couldn’t very well tell them we had been there on government business, that the man had been involved in the transfer of secret documents to the enemy.
Now that my head was beginning to clear, another question occurred to me. If the man had been willing to hand over the papers, why had he been killed? To silence him? Or was there some other reason?
I didn’t ask those questions, though. Something in the major’s expression told me he wasn’t in the mood for speculation. Instead, I asked what was foremost in my mind. “What do we do now?”
“That seems to be the question,” he replied.
He said nothing further, but turned and, moving along a path through the hedges, began walking down the street. I followed, and a moment later the car pulled up out of the fog as if by magic and we got into it.
* * *
We went back to the dungeon. Wordlessly passing the young man at the front desk, the major led me down the long hallway, past the room in which he had questioned me the night Uncle Mick and I had been caught, to a room at the end.
He opened the door and motioned for me to precede him. I stepped into the dark room and he switched on a light and came in behind me. It was his office, I realized, glancing around. From his general bearing and demeanor, I would have guessed it would be spartan and utilitarian, but this room, while tidy, had a cozy sort of air to it. The furniture was large and comfortable looking, the clearly expensive rug was well worn, and there was a fireplace with recent ashes still in the hearth.
There were also papers in stacks on the desk, maps on the walls, and stacks of books set here and there. I had the impression that this was a room much lived in; though very different from Uncle Mick’s shed, it had the same sort of atmosphere.
“Sit,” he said, motioning to one of the leather chairs before his desk. The kindly manner he had shown me in the park had apparently been overruled by his training as an officer, and he had begun to speak in commands. “Come here.” “Do this.”
If it continued, I would have to remind him I wasn’t one of his soldiers, but I supposed now was not the moment to challenge him. And, anyway, I found that I was suddenly very tired. I supposed the shock had had more of an effect on me than I had realized.
I was still a bit annoyed with myself for having been sick, and I determined that if I ever again encountered a murder victim, I would keep my composure. I was nothing if not adaptable.
I went to the chair and sat. Major Ramsey didn’t follow suit. Instead, he began moving around the room in measured steps that would’ve been called pacing if he hadn’t been keeping himself under tight control.
He was terribly angry. I could tell that much. Maybe most people wouldn’t have put that particular emotion to his actions, but I had always been good at reading emotions. And Major Ramsey was livid. His posture was even more rigid than usual, his jaw tight, his eyes hard.
I knew he was going over the details of the mission again and probably figuring out how he was going to report our failure to whoever his superiors were.
I realized something else, too. Though he hadn’t gone into tonight expecting to discover a body, it wasn’t the murder that was bothering him. I supposed it was natural given that he was in the military, but the bloody scene hadn’t shaken him in the least.
Indeed, I thought by now he had probably dismissed the murdered man from his mind and had turned his attention to the matter at hand. What would be done now that the papers were gone? Who had them and was it still possible to retrieve them? That would be what concerned him.
It occurred to me that I could ask to go home. I had done my part, after all. What further need could he have of me? But I was curious. And some part of me, the part that was used to succeeding at what I did, felt the same frustration the major was experiencing. So I sat and waited.
There was a tap