handwriting will match my letters to Barnaby in their possession.”
It didn’t get much clearer than that. Barnaby Ellhurst had been shot down by the Germans and was being held hostage to ensure Miss Abbot’s cooperation. She had secured the documents to save her fiancé’s life, but it seemed the Germans had suspected that someone might try to make a switch. Her accompanying letter was insurance against that.
The pilot had apparently been carrying letters from Miss Abbot when he was captured. Now the Germans were using this to their advantage. Miss Abbot had been instructed to write a note replicating certain parts of the plans. Once they matched the handwriting in the note to the handwriting in her letters, they would know the plans were legitimate and would, presumably, release Lieutenant Ellhurst.
All of this meant we must substitute not only the plans but an artificial letter that corresponded to the artificial plans. Things had just become considerably more complicated.
The conversation Maudie Johnson had told me about between her and Thomas Harden about the comparison of handwriting samples now made sense.
I stared out the window as the car moved through the bustling streets. It was strange how, in so many ways, life was going on as usual. A week ago, I might have been walking along these streets myself, blissfully unaware that an enemy agent was preparing to turn weapons plans over to the Germans.
And the major had been unaware that the woman he had once cared about had involved herself with enemy spies.
“I don’t think she killed Harden or that waiter,” I said. “She’s doing this against her will. Surely she wouldn’t have committed murder.”
The major didn’t answer.
I knew he was still coming to terms with these newest revelations about Jocelyn Abbot. Now that I knew her motivations, I could understand—even sympathize—with her. What lengths would any of us go to to protect someone we loved? If the Germans had told me they had Toby and I must betray my country to save his life, what would my answer be? It wasn’t an easy thing to consider.
But the major was very much a man who saw things in black and white, and I was sure that Miss Abbot’s treachery was something he wouldn’t be able to overlook.
We reached the dungeon at last and went inside. Oscar Davies, the major’s aide, was already on his feet when we entered.
“Kimble and Mr. McDonnell are waiting for you, sir. I … I wasn’t quite sure where to put them, but Kimble said your office would be all right, so…”
The major moved past him without answering and I followed, after shooting a sympathetic expression at Oscar. The major would no doubt berate the young man later for letting anyone into his office while he wasn’t there.
Uncle Mick and Kimble were sitting in the leather chairs before the major’s desk, and both of them rose as we came in. The air was heavy with cigar smoke.
“Hello, Ellie girl,” Uncle Mick said. “How’d things go?”
I glanced at the major. “Not … quite as expected.”
Kimble showed no reaction whatsoever, but Uncle Mick’s brows rose in inquiry.
Since it was clear from the major’s general demeanor that he wasn’t in the mood to discuss the situation at the moment, I filled the other two in on what had happened and how our plans would have to change.
Uncle Mick let out a whistle when I had finished. “That is a bit of a problem, now, isn’t it?” There was the slightest twinkle in his eyes as they met mine, however, and I realized he was thinking what I had been thinking on the drive from the tearoom. There was a way out of this.
It was a solid plan. The problem would be convincing the major.
As all of this was crossing my mind, it seemed that Kimble was making plans of his own.
“We’ll have to deal with him, then, sir? Before he delivers the papers.”
Despite the toneless, almost bored way Kimble said it, I knew well enough what that meant. They were going to kill Matthew Winthrop and take the documents. I was beginning to see why Kimble had not been a good fit for Scotland Yard.
My distaste for violence aside, killing Matthew Winthrop to retrieve the documents would rob us of the chance to give the Germans false information. I could understand it might be necessary to resort to such extremes if all else failed, but we hadn’t failed just yet.
“Before we get to that,” I said. “I have another idea.”
The