to peruse it while keeping an eye on her table, waiting for Matthew Winthrop to arrive.
She glanced at me once, but I pretended to be absorbed in making my decision. That was all a show, too, because I didn’t have much money on me. Enough for a cup of tea and a sandwich, perhaps. I should’ve asked the major to lend me a few bob.
When Miss Abbot was engaged with her own menu, I glanced at my wristwatch. It was past the appointed time. Matthew Winthrop was officially late.
She seemed to realize it, too, for she looked repeatedly at the clock on the wall.
The waitress came and took my order. She looked surprised that I wanted only tea and a slice of cake, but she was polite enough about it.
After that, there were then about five or ten minutes in which nothing occurred. Miss Abbot watched the clock, and I watched her. They were taking a long time about my tea.
I suppose spies and policemen and others concerned with the greater good usually have training that teaches them patience in situations like these. I, alas, had not had that training. With a safe set in front of me, a complex problem for my brain to solve, I could be patience personified, but sitting here waiting for something to happen was torture.
* * *
At last, they brought my tea and cake, and I lingered over them, waiting to see what would happen.
I had almost resolved to go back outside and confer with the major when I saw Matthew Winthrop walk in.
He glanced around the room, his eyes coming to light on Miss Abbot.
She wasn’t glad to see him. That much would have been clear to anyone watching, for she didn’t bother to hide it. But she’d been the one to arrange the meeting, hadn’t she?
I wasn’t near enough to hear what they were saying, but there was a smug expression on his face, and she was whispering something to him in hushed but urgent tones. It almost looked as though she was near tears and making an effort to hold them back.
Then I saw her reach for her handbag.
I stood up, tossing a few coins onto the table. She had just pulled a set of papers out of her handbag and slid them toward Mr. Winthrop as I approached their table. I made out a few sentences of hushed conversation before they noticed me. They weren’t exceptionally competent at paying attention to their surroundings, but, in their defense, I’d always been stealthy.
“Wonderful to see you, Miss Abbot,” I said brightly.
They both froze. It might have been comical under other circumstances.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Winthrop. Fancy seeing you again, too!” I said brightly. “I hope you both have a lovely afternoon.”
Without waiting for a response, I walked unhurriedly away and left the tearoom.
Major Ramsey was waiting for me where I’d left him.
Wordlessly, he took my arm and we began walking down the street. It wasn’t until we had rounded a corner that he stopped and turned to me.
“Did she give him the papers?” he asked.
“Yes.”
I watched him closely, but whatever he was feeling, I couldn’t tell.
He gave a short nod. “Then we’ll make the switch at Winthrop’s house. Kimble and his men are already keeping a watch. I’ll put another man on Miss Abbot. Well done, Miss McDonnell.”
There was more, however. He hadn’t heard the worst of it, the sentences I’d caught when I approached their table. The information that turned the tables on everything.
“That isn’t all,” I said. “We’ve got a bit of a problem, I’m afraid.”
“What is it?”
“She’s written a note to accompany them, to verify their authenticity.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, a slight frown flickering across his handsome brow.
“The Germans have Barnaby Ellhurst. They’re holding him hostage until she sends the documents. Your altered plans won’t be enough. We need a note in her handwriting.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Jakub picked us up around the corner, and we drove back to the dungeon in a tense silence. I could feel the major stewing beside me. Not that I blamed him. This was certainly a spanner in the works.
He’d questioned me about it more than once on our walk to our agreed-upon meeting place with Jakub, and each time I’d assured him that I was quite certain of what I’d heard.
Matthew Winthrop had said quite clearly to Miss Abbot, “Ellhurst’s life depends on you. You know that. Did you write the note?”
“Yes,” she had replied. “I’ve replicated key passages by hand, as instructed. My