Free Above Suspicion by Helen MacInnes

returned for their luggage with another porter. This time they drove to the Gare due Nord. Frances looked at Richard in the taxi, as he changed the labels on the suitcases. He was smiling broadly.
    “I do believe you enjoy this,” she said in amazement.
    He laughed. “What about you?”
    “I’m hungry.”
    “Well, we can have breakfast on the train. We’ll travel luxuriously and get some sleep before Strassburg.”
    As Richard had predicted, they breakfasted well. Frances watched him in the dining car with amusement.
    “Every moment you look more and more like a cat before a dish of cream.” Richard gave a laugh which degenerated into a yawn.
    He said, “Well, I feel something is making sense. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we have finished our visit. Let’s go back to the compartment.”
    “And sleep.”
    “I’ll have a pipe first.”
    Frances thought this strange. Richard didn’t usually smoke a pipe until after lunch. However, back in the empty compartment she understood. Out of certain pages in the guide-book which he had studied last night he made very efficient lighters. When all that remained of them was curled fragments of charred paperhe threw the expurgated book out of the window. It landed satisfactorily in a broad irrigation ditch. Richard watched it disappear, and then relaxed in his corner, stretching his legs. He gave Frances a satisfied smile.
    “Everything all right with you?” he asked.
    She nodded.
    “Good. Everything’s all right with me.” His eyes closed. “Sorry,” he added, his voice fading.
    Frances looked at the trees and the fields and the sky. The express devoured the miles. Someone, she thought, ought to stay awake. But the journey was completely uneventful and, apart from an inner excitement at crossing the frontier, it was as dull as the scenery in the last stages of their travels. Once the minor thrills at Strassburg had passed—when the engine had been changed for a (no doubt) superior German model, when the carriages had the last French dust swept from them efficiently and contemptuously by a squad of German cleaners, when their bags and money and passport had been thoroughly examined—there only remained the sagging feeling of relief. By the time they reached Nürnberg, Frances was cross and tired. She was resigned to a holiday in which the main excitement would be merely a succession of tensions. Richard was resigned to the fact that so far their luck had been almost too good to last.

7
THE WALLED TOWN
    It was very late when they did arrive at Nürnberg. Frances waited at the entrance to the Hauptbahnhof and stared across the warm darkness of the enormous square. Richard had told her that the old town lay beyond. Its lights were few. It seemed already asleep within its walls.
    The porter had found them a taxi, at last. Richard gave the driver the name of the hotel. The driver looked at them. His face was large and round and expressionless.
    “It isn’t here, any more,” he said.
    The porter was listening. “The Königshof is near the same place. It is highly esteemed,” he volunteered.
    “All right, then,” said Richard, “the Königshof.”
    They sat in silence during the short journey to the hotel.
    “You could have walked,” said the driver as they got out of the taxi. He seemed as if he disapproved of their extravagance.
    Richard made no reply.
    “Did you know the Goldner Hahn well?” the driver asked suddenly.
    “I stayed there in ’32. What happened to it?”
    The man was silent.
    “What happened to it?” Richard asked again.
    The man hesitated. “Oh, they went away.” His voice was as expressionless as his face. Richard noted Frances’ speculative interest. He knew what she was thinking.
    She was still silent when they reached their room. It was warm inside; the massive furniture made it feel still warmer. She opened a window and looked out into the Königstrasse. The houses had high steep roofs, some of them pitted with attic