58 
Lauterbrunnen

Under the shadow of the Jungfrau range, situated in the long narrow valley extending from Interlaken to the base of the Jungfrau herself, Lauterbrunnen was not a large village. Fortunately on this occasion, it proved just large enough to keep Amanda from the danger that was stalking her much closer than she had any idea.

As Amanda and Sister Gretchen entered the village and made their way to its small station, the husband whom none of the sisters knew about had at last narrowed his search to the Lauterbrunnen valley. He and his treacherous companion, in fact, had arrived only twenty minutes earlier on the very train whose scheduled return trip his wife planned to take, not knowing that she would be doing so under his very nose. He was at that moment questioning the man whose name their contact in Interlaken had given them.

“Look, old man,” an angry Ramsay Halifax was saying, “the name is Reinhardt. She lives somewhere around here.”

“If she were one of the villagers,” the man insisted, “I would know it. I tell you, I have never heard the name.”

“You old fool!” cried Ramsay. “She is here, and I think you—”

“Let’s go, Halifax,” said Scarlino. “This is useless. He knows nothing.”

“I think he does.”

“Then you are a fool too, Halifax. His eyes would betray him. I can tell. He knows nothing. We will try the church.”

“The church—that’s it!” cried Ramsay glancing about. “There it is, over on the other side of the station. I remember seeing it when we got off the train. Of course the priest will know.”

“Perhaps I should handle the interrogation,” returned Scarlino sarcastically. “You are too hotheaded. We can’t have you losing your temper and killing a priest.”

It was quiet between the two women as they awaited the time for Amanda to board the train into Interlaken. How much had changed since their first meeting in Milan! Across the tracks rose the steeple of the Catholic church. Amanda glanced toward it and was reminded nostalgically of the Milverscombe steeple.

The time finally came. The train was preparing to depart back down the valley. A strained embrace followed.

“Thank you again,” said Amanda. “You helped me when I had no one to turn to. I won’t forget it.”

She turned and walked toward the train.

The moment she was out of sight, Sister Gretchen began to cry. She searched the windows, but Amanda had taken a seat on the opposite side.

Gretchen could bear the wait no longer. She turned and hurried back to her waiting wagon.

The two strangers to the peaceful valley entered the church gate and made their way through graves and tombstones toward the empty church building. Scarlino led the way to the rectory behind it. If he was intimidated by the sacred tradition and intimations of eternity around him, he did not show it. Whatever his warning to Ramsay, he himself would not hesitate to kill a priest if need be. Although on this occasion, necessity probably did not extend quite that far. His plans involved larger fish than anyone in this little village, or anyone in Ramsay Halifax’s scheme either.

“Good day,” said Scarlino with a smile as the door of the rectory opened to his knock. “We are looking for someone and hope you might be able to help us.”

Immediately on his guard, the priest eyed the two carefully. How deeply a spiritual man he was, his eyes did not immediately reveal. But that he was a better-than-average judge of character was clear from the imperceptible squint accompanying his first glimpse of these suspicious visitors.

“For what purpose?” returned Father Stein.

“She is believed to be harboring a spy.”

“She?”

“That is, we think it is a woman—the name is Reinhardt,” replied Scarlino. “The individual we speak of is extremely dangerous.”

“Switzerland is neutral. I am neutral. I have no allegiance one way or another in this conflict. Whoever it may be is no spy to me. I am afraid I cannot help you.”

He attempted to close the door.

“I realize the war is none of your concern,” said Scarlino, preventing the door from closing with his foot. “Yet she could be a threat to your parishioners,” he added with a subtle tone which was not lost on the good priest, “if not found.”

The point was well taken, though Father Stein was still reluctant. The eyes of the two men locked momentarily. Father Stein knew the words he had just heard were a threat to him as well as to the people of the village. He was not overly anxious about his own safety. But it would be better to be straightforward than confrontational, and hope the men would simply leave without causing any trouble.

“There is no one by that name in Lauterbrunnen, I assure you,” he said. “You can confirm what I say with anyone in town. Your information is obviously wrong. I know only one Reinhardt, and she lives at the chalet in Wengen, not Lauterbrunnen.”

“Chalet . . . what chalet?”

“She could not possibly be the person you are seeking.”

“Why do you say that?”

“It is a house of unmarried sisters.”

“Sisters?”

“Sisters, women of God . . . nuns, if you like,” he added, stretching the truth just a little, hoping it would dissuade them. He already had the uncomfortable feeling he may have been a little too straightforward. “Believe me, the last thing you will find at the chalet is a spy.”

“We will be the judge of that. Where is this Wengen?”

“There . . . on the mountain,” he answered reluctantly.

The two followed his pointing hand.

“Up there! But how does one get there? Is there a train?”

Father Stein smiled.

“I tell you, whoever it is you are looking for is not there. Even if they were, you will not get there at this time of the year. No, there is no train.”

As a train whistle sounded behind them, Ramsay turned quickly toward it. A premonition swept through him. He had not realized the train was pulling out behind him on its return from where it had come an hour before. He stared after it for several seconds as it picked up speed and gradually disappeared down the valley. His thoughts were interrupted by Scarlino’s voice.

“But I see a wagon that appears on its way up the mountain right there,” he said, still looking off in the opposite direction toward the mountain.

“A few people make the trip,” said Father Stein. “But unless you found one of the villagers willing to take you by wagon or donkey, I do not think you will get there at all. On foot you would never make it. And unless I am mistaken,” he added, glancing over his shoulder toward where the peak of the Jungfrau would be had they been able to see it, “a storm is on the way.”

“Then who is that there!” finally exclaimed Ramsay impatiently, pointing toward the wagon pulled by a single horse that was just disappearing into a thicket of trees.

“From this distance, I really could not say,” answered the priest.