73 
Overheard Schemes

Amanda went downstairs to breakfast early the following morning.

She had to try to find out what they were up to. And she wanted to be safely in place at her table in the corner before either Ramsay or Barclay made an appearance, and with a copy of the day’s newspaper to hold up in front of her face if need be.

She had been sitting at the table almost an hour, and had drawn out her own breakfast about as long as was credible, when the two men walked in together, absent the presence of either female member of the potential trio, Greenfield or Mrs. Halifax. Amanda thought she detected Ramsay’s eyes resting upon her for the briefest of seconds. Trying to act nonchalant, though her heart began to pound the moment she knew he was looking at her, she took a slow sip from a cup of lukewarm tea, then casually raised the paper in front of her up just to her eyes. Slowly Ramsay looked away.

Whew! she thought. She had apparently passed the first test of the new mademoiselle look with flying colors.

Her self-congratulations, however, were a little too hasty. The men proceeded to serve themselves, then began walking her way.

Oh no! thought Amanda. They’ve seen me . . . they know . . . they know!

She was about to spring to her feet and make a dash for it, when they sat down two tables away. She relaxed, collected herself again, and strained to listen.

“ . . . still convinced she’s in England?” Mr. Barclay was saying.

“Of course,” replied Ramsay. “Where else would she be?”

“Then you need to get over there as quickly as possible.”

“And you?”

“ . . . can’t risk it,” said Barclay, “ . . . recognize me.”

“I can handle Amanda,” said Ramsay.

“Like you’ve handled her up till now?”

Ramsay shot the older man an angry glance.

“In any event a telegram came in for me just moments ago,” Barclay went on, “that may require my attention on another matter. The services of the lighthouse are needed. So unfortunately I have no choice but to let you deal with the girl on your own. I hope you can keep from bungling it again.”

Swallowing his mounting annoyance at Barclay’s barbs, Ramsay took a drink of coffee. “What kind of matter?” he asked.

“Another defection. But of a considerably higher level of importance than your wife’s.”

“What are your plans, then?”

“I am being met by an operative in Prussian Intelligence who needs to intercept the defector. I have to catch a train north after breakfast tomorrow. I must take him to England.”

“I can still get through by normal channels,” said Ramsay. “I’ve got double citizenship and passports. I know Amanda’s places. If she has returned to London, I’ll find her.”

“I’ll meet you at the lighthouse,” said Barclay “ . . . and make sure you have the girl this time.”

“I will leave tomorrow as well.”

“Why not today?”

“What’s the rush? You won’t be to the lighthouse for several days. I want to make the most of my time with Adriane. I will be in London by tomorrow night.”

“Unfortunately, I will be somewhere between here and Antwerp.”

Both men were silent a few minutes.

“Come to think of it,” said Barclay at length, “don’t bother bringing the girl to the lighthouse.”

“What are you implying?”

“I think we both know well enough what I mean. Just take care of it.”

“Do you realize you’re talking about my wife?” sneered Ramsay.

“I didn’t think you were the sentimental type, Halifax. I think it’s time you started thinking of yourself as a widower.”

Amanda sucked in a shocked gasp. So, they were planning to kill her!

For another twenty minutes she kept her face securely hidden behind the newspaper, but could not concentrate on anything other than what she had heard. When Ramsay and Barclay finally rose to leave, she waited another minute or two, then followed them from the room.

If they were both leaving after breakfast tomorrow, she had twenty-four hours to decide which of the two she was going to follow.

Depending on her plan, she might also need another brief shopping excursion into the city.