“Er ist ein sehr dummer Mensch, wenn Sie sich kümmern mich sagen nicht,” said the man, placing his hand on Maisie’s knee. He’s a very stupid man, if you don’t mind me saying.
Maisie picked up the man’s hand and placed it on his own knee, reached for the reins, and stopped the horse, smiling at him. “I think so too,” she said in German, “but I should start walking again here. I think I can hear his motor car, and it’s about time he picked me up.”
She stood waving to the man as he tapped the horse’s rump with his whip, and went on his way along the road, slowing to allow a motor car to pass. Afraid the driver might have seen her, Maisie stepped back onto the verge, leaning toward the hedge as the headlamps illuminated the driver’s route ahead.
She began walking again, and then stopped. It sounded as if the vehicle was turning; she could hear the back-and-forth of gears changing, and the sound of the engine grew louder again. Only a single tree offered any protection.
“Blast!” She uttered the word as if in disgust at her own incompetence, and ran for the tree. “All that training for nothing,” she whispered.
Holding her breath as the motor car approached, she heard it slow down as it passed; then the gears changed again as it reversed until it was parallel with the tree. A door whined as it opened. She waited for it to slam shut, but the sound didn’t come. Only footsteps toward her hiding place. She reached into her bag, felt the smooth pistol in her hand, and brought it out, readying it to fire.
“I wouldn’t kill the knight in shining armor if I were you.”
Maisie closed her eyes, slipped the revolver back into her bag, and stepped out from behind the tree.
“You’re like a nest of ants, Mr. Scott—seen once, and then you’re everywhere.”
Mark Scott opened his mouth to speak.
“And don’t you dare say anything about the number six,” she added.
“Come on,” said Scott. “You’re in real danger now. We’d better be on our way.”
Maisie ran to the passenger side of the motor car without comment, seating herself as Mark Scott closed his door, opened the throttle, and drove into the darkness, on toward the city of Munich.
“I suppose you found out where I might be from one of your informants. Was it Ulli Bader?”
“Not something you want to know, Fr?ulein D. Let’s just say that I learned about your intended departure from sources in Munich, and it occurred to me that you might not make it up into the skies.”
“I wasn’t afraid,” said Maisie.
“I didn’t say you were—you would have to be braver to stay, if you want my opinion, though you probably don’t. But you had to remain behind for the same reason that Elaine Otterburn will only go as far as—where? My guess is Zurich. She wants to have the last say, and so did you, Fr?ulein D.”
Maisie looked out of the window, by instinct keeping her head low whenever they passed another motor car. “This is not the time to want the last word, Mr. Scott.”
“I thought there might be another reason.” He lifted one hand from the steering wheel to pat his coat. “Would you look in there? I could do with a smoke.”
Maisie reached into the glove compartment, took out a packet of cigarettes, and shook one out toward Scott. She found a box of matches, struck one, and held it toward him. He leaned in to light the cigarette and inhale. She nipped the match’s flame with her finger and thumb, throwing the end out of the window.
Scott opened his window, blowing smoke into the wind. “No, I think you wanted to face nasty Hans Berger, the monster, didn’t you? I think you wanted to leave him with the realization that you knew very well who he was—a cold-blooded killer. But if he can take the life of his own without compunction, who else can he murder? He’s a monster, a man of many faces—an artist, a gentleman, a killer, a torturer, and a man who can shed tears because it’s a pretty day in the Hofgarten. Nice combination, don’t you think?”