Chapter Seven

I didn't sleep well that night. I tossed and turned before sinking into a fitful sleep plagued by ugly dreams.

When I woke from a particularly gruesome nightmare shortly before dawn, I got up and put the kettle on. I didn't know why I had been so affected by what we had seen yesterday. It had been horrible, yes, but it was not the first horrible scene I'd stumbled upon.

So why was it that I still felt shaken and uneasy? The only conclusion I could reach was that what had happened in Sunderland had affected me more than I had believed. I wanted to think that I had set aside that harrowing experience, but perhaps such things clung a bit more tightly than one realized.

I pushed the glum thoughts aside. If I was going to be awake at this hour, I might as well be productive.

I retrieved the mythology book I had found among my father's things. I didn't know if I was exactly in the right frame of mind for cracking the code, but it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

It seemed logical to me that someone with experience as a safecracker should also be competent at cracking codes. After all, they were similar types of puzzles, when one really considered it; both required a systematic examination of the components and the patience to work out how those components fit together.

I took the folded letter that was tucked into the book under the chapter titled "Electra" and spread it out on the table. Taking a clean sheet of paper, I copied out the coded message with wide spaces between each line for me to attempt to work out what the coded message might be.

It quickly became apparent that this was no beginner's code. None of the arrangements of letters I could seem to work out yielded any sort of coherent sentences. I arranged and rearranged the letters until my teapot was empty, and my eyes had begun to cross, but I was still none the wiser about what the letter said as the birds began to chirp outside the windows, alerting me that dawn had arrived.

It occurred to me suddenly that I might know just the person to help me. Frank Doyle was a fellow who lived a few streets over. He was known for being something of an eccentric genius, a mathematician of the highest order, and a dedicated curmudgeon. As children we had dared one another to see who was brave enough to approach his house—the ultimate feat to knock on his front door before running away. Inevitably, he would spot us through the window before we reached the porch, and he would shout at us as we fled at full speed.

The memory brought a smile to my lips. I hadn't ventured into Frank Doyle's yard in more than a decade, and I hoped he wouldn't shout at me through the window if I ventured to do so now.

I didn't know how likely it was that he would be willing to help me. Frankly, the odds felt low, but it couldn't hurt to ask, could it? I determined I would pay him a visit today while I waited to hear whether Major Ramsey had been able to arrange our visit to Nico Lazaro, the diplomat.

This plan to speak to Frank Doyle had the other benefit of the fact that, as he had few friends and associates and generally disliked everyone, there would not be anyone he would be likely to tell if he did decode the message.

He seemed the ideal candidate to help me in this matter. If, that is, I could convince him to do it. But I had faith in my persuasive abilities, and, if he was not charmed by me, perhaps he could be bribed.

I set off after breakfast, telling Nacy that I had a few errands to run. She didn't ask questions, as she was distracted by her least favorite task: dusting.

On the walk to Mr. Doyle's house, I practiced what I would say to him.

His house was not on my usual route, so I hadn't been past it in quite some time. I wasn't surprised, however, to find that it looked much the same.

The house was in the same state of indifferent repair as it had been a decade ago, no better and no worse. I noticed, however, that the walk had been cleared of snow, and there was a greenery wreath hung on the door.

I felt, for a moment, that sense of nervousness that had beset me as a child preparing to sneak up to knock on his door.

Don't be ridiculous, Ellie,I chided myself. You're not a child anymore.

And so I went up the slippery walk and stepped onto the stoop. Drawing in a steadying breath as the long-ago echoes of my cousins' taunts floated through my mind, I lifted a hand to knock.

Before I could, however, the door swung open, and I was face-to-face with the man himself.

He glowered at me from under bushy white eyebrows. "Who are you?"

His house hadn't changed in the past decade, and Mr. Doyle didn't seem to have changed much either. He was tall and slightly stooped with a high dome of a forehead. His wispy white hair floated around his head, and his eyes, a cold, sharp blue, stared at me.

"Hello, Mr. Doyle. I don't suppose you remember me. My name is Ellie McDonnell, and…"

"Mick McDonnell's girl," he said. There was nothing in his tone to indicate whether this was a positive or a negative, but, either way, I would never deny it.

"Yes."

He grunted. The door remained open, so I took this as tacit permission to continue.

"It's rather a long story, but I recently came into possession of an old letter that seems to be written in some sort of code."

There was no reply.

"I know that you're a mathematician, and it occurred to me that you might be just the person to look at this. Not that mathematics and codes are the same, but there are similarities, I think."

I forced myself to stop rambling and met his gaze. He looked at me for a very long time, and I was tempted to turn and flee as ten-year-old me would have done. But I held my ground.

At last, he said, "If I did have a look at it, would you be able to do something for me in return?"

I hadn't expected this, but it certainly wasn't unfair of him to ask. "Such as?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes a man needs a favor. Can't hurt to be owed one."

Some little part of me questioned whether this was a good idea, but where else was I to go to have a code broken? I certainly couldn't confide this part of my life's story to Major Ramsey.

At last, I nodded. "All right. I'd owe you a favor."

He gave me another hard look. "Then I'll take a look."

I let out a breath. "Thank you. I have the paper here…" I reached into my pocket to retrieve the book and the copy of the letter I'd written out.

He didn't invite me in. Instead, he extended a hand through the crack in the door. I handed him the book.

"May be two or three days," he said. "I'll be in touch."

Before I could answer, he closed the door.

As so often seemed the case in my life since the war began, I currently had many more questions than answers. But at least I was taking steps to make sense of what information I did have. My code was in the hands of Mr. Doyle, and the major had said he would make an appointment for us to see Nico Lazaro today, if possible.

From the sound of things, Lazaro was a busy man, but I had confidence in the major's ability to have his way.

My confidence, it turned out, was not misplaced.

I was helping Nacy fold some freshly washed linens when the telephone rang.

"Hello," I said as I picked it up.

"Miss McDonnell?"

"Yes."

"This is Constance Brown calling on behalf of Major Ramsey. He said he has confirmed your appointment for this afternoon and asks if you could come to his office at one o'clock."

I looked at my wristwatch. It was nearly noon. That didn't leave me much time.

The major's secretary was always so polite, and I knew she sugarcoated the major's lack of courtesy when impatient. He'd summon people like a king, and Constance would make it sound like we were doing him a personal favor.

Whatever way he'd relayed the message, I was glad he'd been successful at getting the interview with Mr. Lazaro. I hoped we would be able to learn something from the man. With any luck, we would be able to find what the thieves were looking for and catch whoever was responsible for poor Anna Gillard's brutal murder.

I was at the major's office well before one o'clock, and I had to wait for a bit in the little parlor off the entryway, as he was on a telephone call when I arrived.

At last, Constance poked her head into the room. "He's ready for you now, Miss McDonnell."

"Thank you. And, please, call me Ellie."

She smiled. "All right."

I made my way to the major's office and found the door ajar.

"Come in," he called before I could knock.

He was standing looking at a map on the wall. He turned when I came into the room.

"I've made contact with one of my people in Lisbon," he said without preamble. "There are several rumors, as of yet unsubstantiated, that there was an attaché case stolen from a man at the casino there."

"What was in it?" I asked.

"Whatever it was, it has the Germans scrambling. I'm told there was a slew of intercepted communications relating to the event, though they were all very vague."

I sighed. "That doesn't provide us with many answers, does it?"

"Not yet," he said. "But at last, we know that we're on the right track."

"We knew that already. As soon as we saw Anna Gillard's body." I couldn't help but cringe a bit at the memory.

I felt his eyes on me. "Are you all right?"

"I couldn't sleep," I said, and then was immediately angry at myself for admitting it. But the words were out now, so I might as well confess the whole of it. "I kept dreaming about her."

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he said. "I should have kept you out of the room."

"No," I said firmly. "I don't need to be sheltered. It was just a shock."

He was studying me, and I had the uneasy feeling he was wondering if I was up to snuff.

"War isn't easy on any of us, but we'll get by," I said in an attempt to dismiss his concern. "You were able to make an appointment with Mr. Lazaro?"

He was still looking at me in a way I couldn't quite interpret, but at last he nodded. "Yes. You told me once that you could take shorthand, I believe."

With a sinking feeling, I remembered that steel-trap memory of his. From now on, I could mention only things I wanted him to know. "Yes," I said warily.

"Good. You can pose as my secretary and take notes while I question him."

This was rather a demotion, as I had always previously posed as his girlfriend or wife. I was not, of course, going to make this joke to him aloud. I suppose I should be grateful he was allowing me to take part in the investigation at all. It was clear he valued my contributions; if he did not, I certainly would not have been invited along.

"All right," I said, trying to sound more game than I felt. "When do we go?"

His eyes swept over me. "What you're wearing is a sufficient costume for a secretary. We'll go now."

It was Nacy who had suggested I dress up a bit in order to pay my visit to the major. I had, naturally, rolled my eyes at the suggestion, but in the end I had given in because I knew we were going to see Mr. Lazaro.

I had chosen a dark-blue wool suit, one of the few suits I owned. It was not exactly the sort of thing Noelle Edgemont would have worn, and had probably cost about ten times less, but I left smart enough and now I was glad that I was well prepared for the visit we were about to pay.

The big black government car was parked in front of the house as we emerged.

"Doesn't Nico Lazaro live in Mayfair?" I asked. "I thought that's what it said in the article. We could walk from here."

"We could," he agreed. "But Lazaro is best dealt with using all the pomp and circumstance at our disposal. The more important he feels his information is, the more likely he will be to share it with us. He is the sort of gentleman who enjoys a bit of the theatrical."

I had wondered why he had not chosen to go in civilian clothes, perhaps posing as a policeman or some such official. Now I understood that, in his capacity as a member of military intelligence, he would be most impressive to our interviewee.

He opened the door for me, and I exchanged pleasantries with Jakub as I settled into the leather seat. The major slid in beside me, and the car pulled away from the curb.

We lapsed into silence for the few minutes that the trip took, both of us no doubt lost in our own thoughts. At last, we pulled up before what seemed to have once been a Georgian manor that had been converted into a building of very swanky flats. It seemed it had thus far escaped any bombing damage. I suppose that was why Lazaro had felt confident enough to host a dinner party.

"It goes without saying that you're to remain quiet and do as instructed, like a proper secretary," Major Ramsey said.

I tried to quell the smile that crept up at the corners of my mouth. "Yes, Major."

He got out of the car, and I met Jakub's eyes in the mirror. I gave him a wink before the major opened my door.