“I hope he doesn’t plan on feeding the pigeons,” the landlady said, nodding at the large sack of birdseed on the table. “They make such a mess.”
Petra suppressed her outrage over the stolen quilt and walked over to the window. The paint was cracked and flaking. This was an old house and the landlady would have her work cut out for her keeping ahead of it. Most of the houses in Poland had been a lot of work like that. Even the glass in the window was the antique wavy kind. She looked out on the slightly distorted view of Pennsylvania Avenue below. She could see the entrance to the Metropolitan Hotel clearly; if Hess had been watching, he would have spotted her coming and going through the doors. She threw open the window. There was no birdseed on the sill outside.
She turned and walked the few steps to the center of the room, then sat down in the chair with the sack of birdseed on the table in front of her. She knew that Hess was not the sort of man who made a hobby of feeding pigeons. There was a long depression in the middle of the sack, as if some heavy object had been resting there. From where she sat, she had a perfect view out the open window of the hotel entrance and of whoever came and went.
“It’s a little chilly up here, dear,” the landlady said, rubbing her arms. She moved to shut the window.
Petra was covered in goose bumps, but it wasn’t from the cold. She was thinking of Hess’s rifle and of the sniper’s scope so carefully wrapped up with it. No wonder he had warned her not to look. She jumped when the window slammed shut.
“I must go,” Petra said, standing so suddenly that the chair fell over. If Hess returned to find them in his room, there was no telling what he might do.
“What about the package?” the landlady asked.
Petra didn’t bother to answer. Only with an effort did she manage not to run from the room. The landlady hurried after her. “What should I tell Mr. Brinker?” she asked as they went down the stairs.
“Please, tell him nothing,” Petra said. “Maybe I was mistaken about the package being here. I don’t want him to be cross with me.”
“But —” The landlady, red-faced from taking the stairs so quickly, looked flustered.
“Thank you,” Petra said at the front door. “You have been very kind.”
Petra half-feared that she would run into Hess, but he was not on the street. All thoughts of a movie or magazines disappeared as Petra hurried home. Too impatient to wait for the light to change, she ran through traffic, prompting drivers to honk their horns. Petra barely heard them. She went in through the back door, glad to find the kitchen empty. She went right to the pantry and looked on the shelf where the case holding Hess’s rifle had been hidden. It was gone.
Hess might have thought he had chosen the perfect hiding place, but nothing that happened in Petra’s kitchen escaped her attention. She had known the rifle was there, and now she knew it was gone. That could only mean it was hidden somewhere in the room at the boarding house. But where? She was sure it was under the mattress, beneath a floorboard, or any other place she had not been able to look with the landlady standing there.
Petra now understood without a doubt why Hess had come to Washington. She might have guessed as much when she first looked into his eyes and glimpsed his soul. She suspected that the German’s soul was a little like one of those deep, dark wells into which one pitches a stone but never hears it splash.
She knew then what she must do. Telling Frau Von Stahl was out of the question. Her mistress would never turn on Hess. The result would be that whatever Hess was up to in Washington would bring ruin to them all. She was angry, thinking that Hess had put at risk her life here in America. She had a room to call her own, a warm bed, good food to eat. That had not always been the case in the war-torn Poland of her girlhood. She knew she had to be clever now. She was going to let someone know about Hess, but it had to be the right person. The police would think she was crazy. No, she thought, she must think of someone else.
Hess must be stopped, no matter what.
“I know just the person,” she finally announced to the empty room.
Gathering her courage, Petra made her way into Frau Von Stahl’s study. There was a bookcase and an old-fashioned radio where Dorsey sometimes tuned in baseball games when he knew the mistress of the house was not at home. At one end of the room was a tidy desk where Frau Von Stahl wrote letters, paid her bills and attended to other household matters. In a top drawer, Petra found a stack of blank stationery in a creamy yellow color. She settled herself at the desk and began to write.
Petra could not remember the address of the house where Hess was hidden. Also, Petra thought this might be a case where it was better not to show that she knew too much. It might be easier to explain later. She folded the paper carefully and stuffed it into its matching envelope. She addressed it to Colonel Fleischmann. He had overheard him mention once that his office was located in the National Institute of Health building. Petra knew from his visits to the house that he was a man with connections — leastways, that was what he liked to brag. He would know just what to do with the information. Briefly, she considered sending a similar note to Ty Walker. While he was a friend of Frau Von Stahl’s and was assigned to General Eisenhower’s staff, Petra had the impression that Captain Walker was someone who would come running to Eva Von Stahl to ask her what she meant. Petra didn’t think there was time for that. She needed someone who would act immediately and ask questions later, if at all.
She put her coat back on and hurried to deliver the note that would save the general.
Hess took his time returning to his room in the boarding house because he had seen General Eisenhower leave in the morning with his entourage of officers. Once again, a clear shot had not presented itself. He doubted that the general would return until evening. Hess would be waiting, hoping that his luck would be better.
He climbed the stairs to his room. He did not see Mrs. Gilpatrick upon entering the house and there was no light under the door of the other boarder's room. As soon as he entered his own room, he knew something was wrong. There was a scent in the air of perfume or powdered talc. Without bothering to close the door, he walked to the dresser and looked for the rifle. Still there, undisturbed. He made a quick inspection of the room. Everything seemed to be in its place except for the chair next to the table, which had been moved. Someone had been in the room.
Hess heard the sound of footsteps in the landing and whirled, reaching for the Luger tucked into the waistband at the small of his back. But it was only Mrs. Gilpatrick, who stood in the doorway. He let his hand fall away from the pistol grip.
“Mr. Brinker, where have you been?” she asked, hands on her hips and an expression on her face like a stern schoolteacher. “I understand you weren’t at work today.”
“You were in my room,” Hess said, barely able to control the anger that suddenly welled within him. He took a step toward the landlady.
“A girl came to collect a package,” the landlady said, her stern manner slipping. “I didn’t think there would be any harm in it.”
“What girl?”
“The girl from Sterling Optical,” Mrs. Gilpatrick said. She suddenly looked perplexed. “Don’t you know her? She didn’t want me to tell you, but I don’t want you to be upset about someone coming in here. I thought I should explain.”
“This girl,” he said. “What did she look like?”
“A nice-looking girl,” Mrs. Gilpatrick said. “She had an accent much like yours.”
Hess took a step toward her. “You should not have let anyone in here,” he said.
Mrs. Gilpatrick retreated to the landing at the top of the stairs. She fingered her necklace of fat, fake pearls nervously. “I didn’t think you would be so upset,” she said.