84 
Surprise Caller

Within the hour Amanda found herself walking along Bloomsbury Way from the corner where she had asked the cab to leave her.

There was the sign and name exactly as she remembered—NEW HOPE CHAPEL, T. DIGGORSFELD, PASTOR.

She took a deep breath, then walked to the door and tried the latch. It was open. Slowly she walked inside. She had not been inside a church for so long, the very atmosphere filled her with inexplicable feelings she could not describe. There was no sign of life, only cool, dark silence. For several seconds she took in the peaceful, quiet ambiance, then began looking about. She saw a small placard reading PASTOR’S STUDY, and followed in the direction indicated by its arrow. A minute later she was knocking on a door which stood slightly ajar. From inside she heard movement.

The door swung open. There stood Timothy’s tall, lanky form. A bright smile of welcome, disbelief, and a host of other emotions only he could have identified immediately broke across his face.

“Amanda!” he exclaimed, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he was gazing at an apparition or the real thing.

“Hello, Rev. Diggorsfeld,” she replied.

“Come in . . . come in!” he said exuberantly. “It is so wonderful to see you again!”

“I’m not really here on a social call,” she said, following him inside.

Not to be dissuaded of his enthusiasm, nor the inward rejoicing of his heart for this answer to prayer, he offered Amanda a chair.

“You are welcome for whatever reason you have come,” he said cheerfully. “And if it is not social, why have you come, then? What can I do for you?”

“I know it may be somewhat awkward,” Amanda began, “and that I haven’t been the kindest to you. I’ve been out of the country, you see . . .”

As she spoke, Timothy nodded. He knew far more about her sojourn in the far country than she realized.

“In fact, I only arrived back this morning,” she went on. “I came to you immediately. I haven’t even had anything to eat all day.”

“Oh, then by all means,” said Timothy rising and starting for the door, “I’ll have Mrs. Alvington prepare us some lunch.”

“There’s no time for that,” said Amanda.

“No time . . . why?” asked Timothy, pausing and turning back.

“I’ve been involved with some people, you see, who are on the side of the Austrians,” said Amanda. “Actually, I think they are spies. One of the men is English, and . . . I know it sounds crazy, Mr. Diggorsfeld, I think I may have information that the War Office needs. But I don’t know where to go or whom to see.”

“I see,” said Timothy, his tone immediately serious. “I’ll get my coat and hat right away.”

“What do you think I should do?” asked Amanda, not quite understanding him.

“Just give me a minute. I’ll grab something quickly for you to eat on the way.”

Before Amanda could say anything further, Diggorsfeld disappeared. He returned two or three minutes later with a small bag and wearing coat and hat.

“Your father is acquainted with Mr. Churchill,” he said, gesturing for Amanda to follow. “I have never met him myself,” he went on, leading her out of the church, “but perhaps he will see you. If it is important information, we might as well go to the very top.”

“We?”

“I will take you straight to the Admiralty myself,” said Timothy.

Already they were on the street and he was urgently waving for a cab.