Page 50 of Strangers in Time

And the worst task of all: helping to compile the list of victims that would be posted on government buildings in the area so that people would know what had happened to loved ones.

The bell tinkled, interrupting these thoughts, and Oliver looked up to see the man there through the window. He walked quickly over and unlocked the door, looking across at the Secret Garden tea shop where Desdemona Macklin, as always, was watching through the glass. She was smoking a cigarette. She was always smoking a cigarette, it seemed. He couldn’t imagine how she managed the ration book on her Player’s brand of tobacco.

Oliver smiled at her and waved. She waved back, but her interest was clearly piqued. And not in a good way. At least for Oliver.

Once a busybody, always a busybody. And she had already questioned him about that late-night visit. He didn’t care for that, not at all.

Oliver locked the door behind his visitor and drew the short man out of Macklin’s line of sight. He was the same man Charlie had seen in the shop right before Charlie had nicked the money and the biscuits from Oliver.

He said irritably, “Cedric, I didn’t expect you today, and certainly not at thistimeof day. It’s not safe. And Desdemona saw you when you came by last time. And just now as well.”

“Desdemona?”

“Desdemona Macklin. She runs the tea shop across the alley. Sheasked me about your visit. She was suspicious. It’s not good. She’s quite the nosy one.”

“It could not be helped, Ignatius,” Cedric said with a shrug and a significant look in the direction of the tea shop. From a compartment of his long overcoat he lifted out a sheaf of papers and handed them to Oliver and said, “Things have accelerated. You need to take great care and deal with this in the usual way.”

Oliver locked the papers away in the same drawer as before. “Exactlywhathas accelerated?”

“The war, Ignatius. You English have shown more pluck than we anticipated. And the Americans have become something more than bothersome. We have reached a critical point.”

“I thought it all critical, every moment of it, except for the funny parts, of course.”

“You will have your little joke. So what do you have for me? You are always prepared. That is what we like about you.”

In answer, Oliver walked over to a bookcase, reached up, and plucked a tome off a high shelf. “This is quite a good one. I think you will enjoy it.” He handed it over.

Cedric took the book. “Consueloby George Sand?”

“Many consider this her best work.”

“Her?But the name is—”

“George Sand is a pseudonym. Her real name is Amantine Dupin, a Frenchwoman. She died in the last century.”

“French, eh?” said Cedric, looking mildly disgusted. He opened the book and looked at the papers secreted inside the space where the pages had been cut out. They contained numbers, symbols, and letters in long columns. “My superiors tell me that your encryption technique rivals that of Enigma in its cleverness, Ignatius.”

“High praise indeed.”

“It is fortunate for us that you chose to work for our interests. Cheers, as you English say.”

“I’ll see you off,” said Oliver, holding the door open for him. When Cedric disappeared down the alley, Oliver glanced over atMacklin. She was behind the counter completing a purchase for a customer, but her eyes were directly on Oliver. He smiled and waved again.

She smiled back, but there was nothing save suspicion behind it.

When she finished with her customer she came out to the alley and said, “So yourcollectoris back in town, I see.”

“Yes, yes he is.”

“Another book then?”

“He’s quite fond of certain French writers.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Oh he is, is he?”

“He is,” said Oliver. Then he went back inside his shop and locked the door.

THELOFTYDOMAIN OFANOTHER

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