I told them how uneasy she had been. “She was really distrait,” I said. “I have never seen her like that before…except on one occasion. I remember, we were in the garden and she was not well. She wanted to go and lie down. I said I would stay with her, but she did not want that. So she went into the house. She was most insistent that she should be left alone.”

“For how long?” asked Jean Pascal.

“It must have been about three-quarters of an hour.”

“Long enough to go to the study and get something from the bureau.”

“She could have taken that information about Folkestone,” said my father.

“Von Durrenstein would have given her the key and the nursemaid kept the coast clear while she did the job,” said Jean Pascal.

“But why make her do it when Andrée could have done it so easily?” I asked.

“Probably to test her. To give her an easy task, and once she had committed this, she could not turn back.”

“But that was what she planned to do when she realized the enormity of what she had done. She was very upset about the explosion at Folkestone, and she said she was going to confess everything to Marcus.”

“And do you think she told von Durrenstein that she was going to do this?”

“Yes. She was plucking up her courage to. She said she was going to choose the right moment.”

“If she told von Durrenstein that, she was signing her own death warrant.”

“And she was killed by these people, because of this…?”

“It may well be. She was going to confess ‘at the right moment.’ She would tell him about the stolen document she had passed to von Durrenstein. Her husband was at the War Office. The entire network of spies could be betrayed. Our service would have been alerted. For a long time they have been trying to rout out von Durrenstein and his gang.” He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he went on. “These little facts we have pieced together are why I am here in England. When I heard that my granddaughter had been murdered, I wondered why. I was all impatience to come here and find out. You see, there was this unfortunate connection with von Durrenstein. When all is said and done, this man is the father of my great-grandson.”

“You think it was this gang who lured Annabelinda to her death?”

“I think it is a possibility. The bogus nursemaid would know of the house she proposed to visit. She would know that she was going to meet the house agent there. One might ask, Why did they need such a complicated setup? Why not just climb into her room one night and strangle her? Why go to all the trouble of going to an empty house? There was a great deal at stake. The murder of the poor unfortunate girl was of no great significance to them. She was someone who got in the way, who could have been a danger, and they could not afford dangers. They just brushed her aside in the manner which seemed less hazardous to their organization. The nursemaid knew of all the arrangements. The empty house must have seemed the best spot. The murderer could have been a tramp…a robber…anyone, and he could make his escape with ease. That is how I see it. Von Durrenstein was not going to be seen near the scene of the crime, for he had already had some communication with the victim. Although the meeting had been secret, someone might have seen them together. One never knows what investigations are going to reveal. So it was better for him to be as far removed as possible. I have read all about the case, of course. I know of the bogus house agent who called and was seen by the housekeeper…Mrs. Kelloway, I believe.”

“Yes, that is right.”

Jean Pascal turned back to the envelope and drew out a picture. There was something familiar about the face.

“This is Hans Reichter, one of their cleverest. He is a very worthy member of this nest of spies.”

“Surely I have seen him somewhere?” I said.

“Oh, yes, you have. It was when you were traveling across France and he joined you with Elsa, who was his sister for that occasion.”

“I can’t believe it. How we were duped! The car broke down. He fixed it…and then Andrée came with us and he went to Paris.”

“All neatly arranged, no doubt. Elsa wanted to get to England. It would not have been very easy for her. But there you were, in the company of a high-ranking officer of the British army. They knew who you were, Lucinda.” Jean Pascal turned to my father. “Your work, mon cher, has not gone unnoticed. To get into your house was Elsa’s project. And how well she managed it.”

“With our foolish help.”

“Oh, come! You must not say that. You were in ignorance. How could you have been otherwise? You have contributed to my knowledge, as I now have to yours, and we can help each other in tracking down these people and putting them where they belong.”

I was looking at the picture, remembering it all, seeing him walking across the dining room, joining us at our table after his “sister’s” dramatic exit. All lies! How could we have been so easily deluded?

“The man Mrs. Kelloway saw had a beard,” I said.

“It is not difficult to grow a beard,” commented Jean Pascal.

I was thinking of the scene at the table. I saw the man sitting there. There was something wrong with his hands. He had lost part of his little finger. I could hear his words, “I was playing with fireworks.”

It was all beginning to fit. Jean Pascal might not have discovered the entire truth, but he was somewhere near it.

“That young man,” I said. “There was something about his hands.”

“It is a distinguishing feature which has helped us considerably.”

“It was quick of Mrs. Kelloway to notice,” said my father. “It was a vital clue…and seized upon.”

“It is strange how a little carelessness can bring disaster, after all the careful planning that went into it,” Jean Pascal said.

“Yes,” said my father. “He dropped the house agent’s brochure, which he had carefully obtained to increase his credibility, and in picking it up, showed his hand to the housekeeper…and so he was identified.”

“Do you think he was the murderer?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly. He is known as a killer. He would have broken a window, got into the house and been waiting there when my poor Annabelinda arrived. He would have let her in and chatted about the house for a moment. She had seen him before, it is true, on that journey through France, but his beard would have been sufficient to disguise him for that brief period.”

“I can’t bear to think of her walking into that house,” I said.

“Poor child. She was little more. I shall not rest until she is avenged. Now…no sign must be given of anything we have talked of. I shall have the woman watched, and in time she will lead us to the others. She is only a small fish. It is von Durrenstein whom we want. We are well on the track. She will be watched night and day, and before long there will be results. It is of the greatest importance that they shall not be aware that we know who they are. You must not betray, by a look or an inflection of your voice, that anything is different.”

“I hate to think of her looking after Edward,” I said.

“Have no fear. She will look after the child. There is nothing to be gained by not doing so. It might be that she is genuinely fond of him.”

“He certainly is of her.”

“There you are. Looking after the child is all in her line of duty. How much her feelings are involved we do not know, but the boy is no threat to what she would consider her real work, therefore she will care for him. Every movement she makes will be watched, and I doubt not that before long we shall have this group where we want them.”

“The police will be eager to arrest the man who killed Annabelinda.”

“It may well be that he is wanted in other connections. We shall see. But rest assured, they will pay for their sins.”

We went on talking, going over everything we had discussed. It was late when we retired to bed—but not to sleep. I could only go over everything that had been said that night with a feeling of incredulity. But the more I pondered about it, the more it seemed to me that there was much truth there among the conjectures.