It was late, at least four o'clock, though Catherine couldn't be sure because it was too dark to see the clock on the bedstand. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Peter Jordan was sleeping soundly next to her. His breathing was deep and regular. They had eaten a large meal, had a lot to drink, and made love twice. Unless he was a very light sleeper, he would probably sleep through a Luftwaffe night raid right now. She slipped out of bed, put on the silk dressing robe he had given her, and padded quietly across the room. The bedroom door was closed halfway. Catherine opened it a few inches, slipped through the doorway, and closed it behind her.
The silence rang in her ears. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She forced herself to be calm. She had worked too hard--risked too much--just to get to this point. One silly mistake and it would destroy all she had done. She moved quickly down the narrow staircase. The stair creaked. She froze, waiting to hear if Jordan woke up. Outside a car whooshed through standing water. Somewhere a dog was barking. In the distance a lorry horn blared. She realized these were just the average sounds of the night that people slept through all the time. She walked quickly down the stairs and along the hall. She found his keys on a small table, next to her handbag. She picked them both up and went to work.
Catherine had limited objectives tonight. She wanted to guarantee herself regular access to Jordan's study and his private papers. For that she needed her own copy of the keys to the front door, to the study door, and to his briefcase. Jordan's key ring held several keys. The key to the front door was obvious; it was larger than the rest. She reached in her purse and removed a block of soft brown clay. She singled out the skeleton key and pressed it into the clay, making a neat imprint. The key to the briefcase was also obvious; it was the smallest. She repeated the same process, making another neat imprint. The study would be more difficult; there were a number of keys that looked as though they might be the one. There was only one way to find out which it was. She picked up her handbag and Jordan's briefcase, carried everything down the hall to the study door, and began trying the different keys. The fourth key she tried fit the lock. She removed it and pressed it into her block of clay.
Catherine could stop now, and it would be a very successful evening. She could make duplicate keys and she could come back when Jordan wasn't home and photograph everything in his study. She would do that; but she wanted more tonight. She wanted to prove to Vogel that she had done it, that she was a talented agent. By her estimate she had been out of bed less than two minutes. She could afford two more.
She unlocked the study door, went inside, and switched on the light. It was a handsome room, furnished like the drawing room in a masculine way. There was a large desk and a leather chair and a drafting table with a tall wooden stool in front of it. Catherine reached inside her handbag and withdrew two items, her camera and her silenced Mauser pistol. She laid the Mauser on the desk. She raised the camera to her eye and clicked off two photographs of the room. Next she unlocked Jordan's briefcase. It was virtually empty--just a billfold, a case for eyeglasses, and a small leather-bound appointment book. She thought, It's a start at least. Perhaps there were names of important men with whom Jordan had met. If the Abwehr knew whom he was meeting, perhaps they could discover the nature of his work.
How many times had she done this at the training camp? God, but she had lost count: a hundred at least, always with Vogel standing over her with his bloody stop-watch. Too long! Too loud! Too much light! Not enough! They're coming for you! You're caught! What do you do now? She laid the appointment book on the desk and switched on the desk lamp. It had a pliable arm and a dome over the bulb to focus the light downward, perfect for photographing documents.