Free Above Suspicion by Helen MacInnes Page A

windows, while others turned their gable-ends to the street. This was better, this was more like what she had imagined. She remained standing at the window watching the moonlight on the roofs. When she moved at last she found that Richard had unpacked some things for her. She smiled her thanks.
    “Cheer up, old girl. You’ll feel better in the morning,” he said.
    I hope, she added to herself.
    But when Tuesday morning came and the constant hum of traffic outside their window awoke Frances, she did feel better. Richard was already dressed, and reading his Baedeker. They had breakfast in their room, and discussed their plans as they ate. Richard advocated the minimum of unpacking. No one noticed what you wore here, anyway.
    While Frances had slept, he had decided to work in an opposite direction from their Paris experience. Instead ofwaiting the few days until Saturday came, they would call on Fugger tomorrow, and then they could spend three or four days playing the tourist in Nürnberg. But to Frances, he only remarked that today they could explore the old town, and leave the Castle and the Museum and the churches for the rest of the week.
    “Unless I fry to death,” Frances said. She looked out at the bright sunlight in the street, promising heat even at this early hour. Resignedly she chose the thinnest town dress she had. Richard approved of the effect when she was at last ready, but he also looked at his wristwatch just slightly more pointedly than was necessary.
    “Brute,” said Frances with her sweetest smile, and led the way out of the room.
    There was that feeling of continual coming and going in the entrance hall which characterises a busy town hotel. Just as well for us, thought Richard. Frances and he were only two more in the constant stream. The other guests were mostly German. They were serious-looking men and women who walked quickly as if they had important business to attend to. Perhaps they had. He noted the number of uniforms of one kind or another, and even—astounding thing—the quick, precise salutes and the violent two-worded greeting. It was astounding because it was so theatrical, so incongruous in a peaceful hotel lobby. He caught Frances’ eye, and they both smiled gently. He imagined himself coming into a lecture hall at Oxford, surveying the rows of young faces before him, making a rigid salute and barking out “God save the King” in a parade-ground voice, before turning to his lecture on the metaphysical poets. He knew what his undergraduates would do. Theywould telephone anxiously for a doctor, two male nurses and a straitjacket—and they would be right.
    As they reached the front door, Frances paused to look at the roughly paved street and then at her shoes.
    “I thought the heels were a mistake,” said Richard.
    Frances looked stubborn. “Well, if I change into my hiking shoes, I’ll have to change my whole outfit. I’ll manage.”
    A young man had come out of the hotel door; he halted as he heard Frances’ voice, and looked at her, giving what Hollywood has perfected as the “double take.” Then the pavement was crowded with the stamp of heavy boots. Frances was separated from Richard by a wall of brown shirts. She stepped backwards to the safety of the doorway, lost her balance and felt her heel sink cruelly into something soft. The young man winced, but stood his ground.
    “I’m so sorry,” Frances said and removed her heel. “ Verzeihung… ” That must have been a sore one, she thought.
    “Pardon me,” the young man said, lifting his hat and trying to walk away without limping.
    Frances’ handbag seemed to be infected with her embarrassment: it slipped from under her arm, and opened as it reached the pavement. The last uniform had passed, and in the temporary lull Richard bent down for the bag and jammed the odds and ends back into place. The powder case rolled towards the man, who had turned as Frances had said, “Damn.” He picked it up, and handed it