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even though they were under artillery fire.”
    “When did the attacks take place?” asked Hope, who had joined her guests at the far end of the table.
    “In 1942,” the baron responded. “The Nazis were targeting the iron mines on Belle Isle. They had maps of the island because Germany had imported iron ore from there before the war. They sank two freighters, if I remember correctly.”
    “Don’t forget about the sinking of the SS Caribou ,” someone said.
    Now everybody started talking at once. Lori learned that a passenger ferry was fired on by a German sub and over a hundred people, mainly civilians, went down with it.
    “That’s news to me,” a man said who was out of Lori’s sight. “I never imagined that the Germans sent submarines to Newfoundland, of all places.”
    “Why not? After all, Canada had declared war on Germany,” another guest said.
    The table pounced on the man for forgetting that Newfoundland wasn’t actually part of Canada in 1942, but was, in effect, still a British colony. Lori felt sorry for him.
    His tablemates bitterly reminded him that Newfoundland hadn’t held a referendum on becoming Canada’s tenth province until 1948 and became the tenth province the next year. Apparently, it was a decision that some at the table still regretted, and they continued arguing about it until dessert.
    “Well, we certainly stirred the pot,” the baron said, winking at Lori.
    “Yes, you and your historical digressions,” his wife joked, though she’d brought up the subject.
    The men suddenly got up and left the table, with friendly good-byes. Hope escorted them to the door.
    “If anyone around here is a spy, it’s them,” the baron remarked.
    Lori gave him an inquiring look.
    “They’re here looking for something, and I bet it’s oil.”
    Lori knew there were oil rigs off the south coast of Newfoundland, but was there oil up here in the North?
    “They don’t tip their hand; everything’s top secret. But the oil companies watch one another like hawks, believe you me. The competition for oil is no tea party.”
    He acted as if Lori knew precisely what he meant.
    Hope returned. “Somebody wants to see you, Lori. Can you come right now?”
    It sounded like an order.
    Lori gave an involuntary shudder, as if there was something to fear.
    “Excuse me,” she said to the German couple.
    On the way out, she whispered to Hope, “Who is it?”
    “A cop.”

CHAPTER 5
    The policeman turned toward her as she came into the hotel office. He was younger than she was, squat, with a little paunch, and his jaw was working some chewing gum. He greeted her with a nod.
    “You’re traveling through this region?”
    Lori said yes.
    “This your first time?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    She couldn’t hide her uneasiness.
    The officer bobbed up and down on his toes.
    “We just want to inform tourists that four polar bears have been sighted along this coast. The game wardens will track ’em down and anesthetize ’em. We’ll then take ’em out by helicopter.”
    “Oh my God,” Lori exclaimed. “Somebody at dinner said something about polar bears, but I hoped it was a joke.”
    The officer grinned.
    “No, it’s not a joke. A couple of ’em show up here every few years, but right now we just know about these four. It’s pretty unusual. Are you planning to go to Stormy Cove?”
    “Possibly,” said Lori, on her guard once more.
    “Two of ’em are over that way. One was nosing around some houses yesterday. Some people put out bait for coyotes, and that attracts the bears. Just be on the lookout. Polar bears aren’t afraid of anything.”
    Lori was tempted to say that the best thing that could happen to her was a polar bear trapped in her lens.
    Instead she said, “I appreciate your taking the trouble, but please excuse the question: Did you come here just to tell me that?”
    The policeman stopped chewing for a moment.
    “Wouldn’t our men in Vancouver do the same?” He cleared his throat. “This