Conspiracy of Blood and Smoke Read Online Free PDF Page B

other fellows out there, and any of them would be lucky to have you. Just wait. It won’t be long before you’ve forgotten all about him and moved on to somebody else.”
    A hysterical laugh bubbled in Gretchen’s chest. This was what her friends thought she was worried about? That Daniel had broken things off with her? How little the English understood what was happening in her country. In a way, she supposed she couldn’t blame them—the terrorist attack in Berlin must seem like a dream to them, here in their snug homes, where they had enough coal to warm them and food to fill their bellies.
    Many people in Oxford were poor, too, for the Depression had struck here, as well. But they didn’t know how it felt to see the streets of their city swarming with men in different political party uniforms, truncheons in their hands. They didn’t know how it felt to watch one shoddily constructed government after another collapse, and to go to bed hungry most nights while your parents wept because they didn’t have the money to feed you.
    Gretchen’s eyes met Mary’s, which were shining and sympathetic. She pushed her laugh down deep inside. It wasn’t Mary’s fault that she didn’t understand.
    “Thanks,” she said. Mary beamed and they returned to their cluster of friends to talk about the upcoming geometry exam.
    When she got home, Gretchen slipped into the front hall andleaned against the wall. It was a relief to be alone, where she didn’t have to paste on fake smiles for anyone’s benefit, answer Julia and Alfred’s concerned questions about Daniel— No, I’ve heard nothing yet —or smile at her friends’ misguided concern. She could clutch her throbbing head in her hands, praying that she would get something from Daniel, a letter, a telegram, anything to let her know that he was all right. Even though part of her knew he wouldn’t dare getting in touch with her.
    From upstairs, she heard the boys shrieking with laughter. Sighing, she automatically reached for the pile of afternoon post on a side table. Nothing from Daniel. But her hand paused over the final envelope, where “Miss Whitestone” had been written in unfamiliar script.
    She ripped it open. It was from Daniel’s editor at the Oxford Mail , saying that he had received a strange telegram this morning from Munich and was enclosing it in hopes that she would be able to decipher it.
    Her heart surged into her throat. She pulled the telegram from the envelope.

    They know the Lion has returned.

    The Lion—it must be a code word for Daniel. He’d been named for the Old Testament Daniel, who’d been thrown into a den of lions. Only a friend would have known that.

    Lion wanted for murder in Berlin. Not seen in days. Possibly dead.

4

    A CRY BURST FROM GRETCHEN’S THROAT. HER mind seemed to have frozen; all she could think over and over was no . She stared at her fingers, tightened to white on the telegram; somehow they looked unreal.
    From the kitchen, she heard Julia asking if she was all right, but her mouth wouldn’t work. Dead . She wouldn’t believe it.
    She flipped the telegram over and shook the envelope upside down, as if there might be another piece of paper, something that said this had all been a terrible mistake, and Daniel was fine and on his way back to England even now. But there was nothing else except for the name of the man who had sent the telegram, typed neatly under the message: Fritz Gerlich.
    Then there was no mistake. Herr Gerlich was the anti–National Socialist journalist whom Daniel liked and respected more than any other. Although they hadn’t worked together, theyadmired each other greatly. She still remembered his quiet gaze and soft voice. He wouldn’t have written this telegram unless he was certain it was true.
    Something about the message swam to the front of her consciousness. She stared at the telegram again. Why would Daniel be wanted for murder in Berlin? He was incapable of killing, of course, and he