Hanging on

and mutter in one of his clairvoyant seizures. Even if they knew it was only Kowalski under them, any men in the house would have been scared silly by the sounds he made. Everyone was especially keyed up tonight. It would take very little to send them screaming into the streets. And if men had been upstairs right now, ears to the floorboards to listen to this conversation, they would have exploded like bombs with short fuses.
        "Perhaps the Germans will not go looking for partisans," Maurice said. "This Rotenhausen is a dedicated soldier. The first priority, so far as he will be concerned, should be Remlock's tanks. If you get to him soon after the bridge goes up, and if you tell him where to find the nearest fordable stretch of river, he will be off like a Sash, leaving St. Ignatius in peace."
        "Maurice, you are a genuis!" Beame exclaimed.
        The greasy mayor accepted the compliment with little grace, smiling and nodding as if to say that Beame was perfectly correct.
        "One thing," Kelly said. "How much will you want for the dynamite and other equipment-which was once my property, but, as you may recall, which I am now only holding for you until this present crisis passes."
        "I want nothing more than what you have already given," Maurice assured him, raising two workworn hands, palms outward to placate Kelly. "Naturally, I will expect you to rebuild the bridge and put up the tollbooth according to your original agreement."
        "And nothing new?"
        "I am no monster, Major," Maurice said, putting one hand over his heart. "I do not always require payment. When my friends need me, I am always there."

----

    4
        
        The young Wehrmacht Schütze at the intersection of A Street and Y Street took his twentieth step eastward, turned sharply, and paraded toward the river again.
        The Schütze at the intersection of B and Y took his twentieth step westward, turned just as sharply as the first soldier had done, and marched toward the forest.
        In the half minute when both sentries had their backs on the block between them, Major Kelly and Private Tooley burst from the north side of Y Street and ran quietly across to the back of the convent yard. Kelly located the hidden door in the eight-foot-high fence-which was exactly like the hidden door in the fence behind the rectory -and they passed through. Tooley pushed it gently into place behind them.
        They both stood still for a moment, listening to the sentries' jackboots.
        No alarm was raised.
        They went across the convent yard to the small door in the back of the false structure. Kelly hesitated a moment, then softly knocked shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits.
        Lily Kain opened the door. "What's wrong?"
        "Plenty," Kelly said, slipping past her into the dark building.
        When the door was closed, one of the other nuns struck a match. Two well-hooded kerosene lanterns sputtered up, the fuel feed turned as low as possible. They barely diluted the darkness.
        The whole of the convent, with the exception of the foyer which had been finished toward the front, was one enormous room with a plain dirt floor. The walls soared up three stories to a jumble of wooden beams which supported the simple roof. There were no rooms laid off. There was no furniture. Only the phony nuns and the heavy machinery and various other supplies occupied these sacred quarters. The machines stood in two lines, one row against each of the longest walls. They looked like peacefully slumbering animals, oil and grease puddled under them instead of manure.
        In the middle of the floor, between the machines, stood the other nuns. Fifteen of them in all. Kelly recognized Nathalie Jobert, and he smiled at her. She was a sweet little piece, all right. She was a good kid.
        He also recognized Nurse Pullit, now Sister Pullit, but he did not smile and nod at the nurse. He tried to pretend Pullit was not even there.
        "Have you found Slade?" Lily asked.
        "How did you know he was missing?"
        "David was around earlier, asking about him."
        "We have a worse problem," he said. He told her about Bobo Remlock.
        While he talked, he looked her over. If her face had not been so unwholesomely erotic, and if her big jugs had not molded to the bulky habit she wore like a knit sweater, Lily would have made a fine nun. Her winged cowl was neat and crisply starched.