Annabelinda was never out of my thoughts. She had lived dangerously, of course, and these were dangerous times. But who could have wanted to lure her to an empty house to kill her?

I was in a dilemma. I could not get out of my mind that Annabelinda had been deeply worried just before her death. I had never seen her like that before. Of course, she had been terrified that Carl would insist on seeing her and possibly try to break up her marriage, but that was no reason for killing her.

I wondered whether I should tell my father or mother and ask advice. I had promised Annabelinda that I would tell no one. How could I break my word now?

I would lie awake at night…wondering.

I had thought that my mother should know who Edward’s parents were. After all, she was his guardian. I tried to convince myself that Annabelinda’s involvement with Carl had nothing whatever to do with her death. But why?

The days passed. We heard that the police were continuing with their inquiries. Mrs. Kelloway was questioned once more, but she had told all she knew. And the mysterious man with the beard and the maimed hand had not materialized.

I think they had begun to wonder whether he existed outside Mrs. Kelloway’s imagination. There was no doubt that she had enjoyed her temporary importance.

I saw Marcus alone when he came to the house to see my father, who was not just then at home.

There was a certain embarrassment between us.

“Oh, Marcus,” I said. “I am so deeply sorry. This is all quite terrible.”

He nodded. He had changed. He must have loved her dearly, I thought. This was more dreadful for him than for any of us. And if there really was to have been a child, it would be a double tragedy.

“How could it have happened, Lucinda?” he said. “You were in her confidence more than anyone else.”

I shook my head. “It is what they are trying to find out.”

“To what purpose? It won’t bring her back.” He looked at me ruefully. “They suspected me.”

“Not now…only just at first.”

“That’s so. I was with people all that day, so they had to eliminate me. Rather reluctantly though.”

“I’m relieved about that. It must have been dreadful for you.”

“Yes, it was.”

I thought of his family. How distressed they would be! They must never know that Edward was Annabelinda’s child. Nor must Marcus. He himself had had a secret family life, but he was arranging that in a manner which was presumably satisfactory to all concerned.

“Lucinda,” he said. “Let us meet sometime. This will all be cleared up one day.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

I was glad when my father came home.

So thus we continued, and the mystery of Annabelinda’s death seemed as far from being solved as it ever had.

Sometimes I walked along Beconsdale Road to the Square. I walked past the gate where I had stood with Mr. Partington and waited for Annabelinda. I glanced at the house. It certainly looked eerie. The shrubs were more overgrown than they had been. The place looked desolate, a house where a murder had taken place—a brutal, unexplained murder of a beautiful young woman by a man with a maimed hand.

Then one day we had a visitor.

When I came into the drawing room I saw him sitting there. I could not believe it. I had not seen him since before the war.

Jean Pascal Bourdon rose as I entered and, advancing toward me, took both my hands in his.

“Lucinda! Why, you are a young lady now…and a beautiful one at that!” He drew me to him and kissed me on both cheeks.

“I have wondered about you,” I stammered. “How…how did you get here?”

“With some difficulty…as was to be expected in wartime. But here I am and it is good to see you. These are terrible times.”

I nodded in agreement.

“This is a great blow. My granddaughter…such a beautiful, vital girl…”

I thought immediately of the adroit way in which he had extricated Annabelinda from her trouble.

“Is the Princesse with you?” I asked.

“Oh, no…no. It was not easy to get here. I have come alone.”

“And she is well?”

“As well as anyone can be in these circumstances. It is not a thing we like…to have an enemy on our land.”

“I understand the situation is getting better.”

“Perhaps. But until we have driven the lot of them out of our country we shall not be content.”

“You came because you have heard of Annabelinda?”

“I heard…yes. It is one reason why I have come. I wish to see your father. It may be that what I have to tell him may be of some importance.”

“He will be here soon.”

“Then we shall talk.”

“What happened to Madame Rochère?”

“Madame Rochère! That great spirit! She stayed as long as she dared. She would have dared further, but she is no fool. Indeed, she is one of the shrewdest ladies I know. There came a time for leaving. She is with us near Bordeaux.”

“And how do you manage there?”

He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in a despairing gesture. “It is not good. But our day will come.”

“And the school?”

“The school became the enemy’s headquarters, I believe.”

“Will it ever be a school again?”

“Indeed it will. But not in your time, chérie. By that time you will have left your school days long behind.”

When my father arrived, he was delighted to see Jean Pascal.

“I heard you were coming,” he said.

“Ah. The news travels.”

“You did not tell me,” I said. “I should have been so glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” said Jean Pascal, with a little bow. He has not changed at all, I thought.

“You must dine with us,” said my father. “And we will talk later. Is that in order? Or would you prefer to talk first?”

“I think it would be delightful to sit at the dinner table in a civilized manner. We have had the enemy at our gates for so long. The peace of this place is too enticing for me to resist. Let us eat and chat of happier times than those which have recently befallen us.”

So we dined together—just the three of us. Jean Pascal talked of the life in France—the dangers, the uncertainties—and the difficulties of getting to England. It was all of immense interest, but I had the impression that both he and my father were biding time before they discussed the really important matters that were the reason for his visit.

As soon as the meal was over, my father said, “I think we should go to my study.”

Jean Pascal nodded, and my father looked at me and then questioningly at Jean Pascal.

Jean Pascal said, “I think it is necessary that Mademoiselle Lucinda share our talk. I think she already knows more than you realize.”

My father looked surprised and I was overcome with a feverish desire to know the real reason for Jean Pascal’s visit.

When we arrived at the study and entered it, my father locked the door.

“Yes,” said Jean Pascal. “This must be very secret.”

“I guess,” said my father, “that you are very deep in things over there?”

“Ah, mon cher, there is a great deal going on. Do not think we calmly accept them on our soil. We are working against them all the time. And with some success, I may tell you. It is because of our discoveries that I am now in England. There are certain people here who we are very anxious to bring to their deserts.”

He took a large envelope out of his pocket and from it took a picture, which he put on the table.

“Do you know this man?” he asked my father.

I gasped, for I was looking at a picture of Carl Zimmerman.

I said his name aloud.

“No, no,” said Jean Pascal. “This man is Heinrich von Durrenstein. He is one of the best and most experienced spies the Germans have.”

“Carl Zimmerman!” said my father. “He was with the Swiss Embassy before the war broke out.”

“Certainly he was here in the Swiss Embassy. He did some very good work there. Not so good for the allies, of course. You know him then, Lucinda?”

“Yes. I first met him here in this house. He said he had lost his way.”

I told them how I had seen him outside the cubbyhole.

“I remember,” said my father. “We thought there had been a robbery. Papers were disturbed. That was before I had any suspicions of the real motive. He made it appear like a robbery. The jewelry we thought had been stolen was later found. It is all coming back to me.”

Jean Pascal nodded slowly; he turned to me. “And you saw him next…?”

“In the gardens of La Pinière.”

“He did a good job there. He reconnoitered, found all the weak spots in the surrounding country and arranged for the German army’s headquarters at the school.” He looked at me. “I think, Lucinda, your father has to know. He has to see the whole picture clearly. This is too important a matter for us to hide anything.”

He looked at my father and went on. “He managed to seduce my granddaughter at the same time as he was working so assiduously for his country.”

My father was aghast.

“There was a child,” said Jean Pascal calmly. “I arranged for the birth and for the child to be cared for afterward. His foster-parents were killed during the bombardment of Mons and Lucinda stepped in. She rescued the child and brought him here.”

“Edward!” said my father. “And you…Lucinda…?”

“Lucinda was noble. Lucinda was wonderful,” said Jean Pascal. “She brought my great-grandson out of danger. She knew who he was, you see. She was in my confidence. She had to be, because of the way everything had worked out. With the help of Marcus Merrivale, she brought him out of France.”