The Andre Norton Megapack - 15 Classic Novels and Short Stories

that it was this, more than anything else that turned friendship to love. And Peter Mohun—there was no doubt about it—Peter Mohun was a man to capture the imagination, and stir the sleeping heart. But how did Peter Mohun feel? Was he a man of steel and flint like the heroes created by her Victorian novelists? He had been married, she knew, and divorced, if one could count on town gossip. But she must not think of love. She must not allow herself to spoil a friendship that promised so much.
    This firm resolution taken, Fredericka turned over so that she could look out to the luminous night sky and its pinpricks of light, like the lovely star pattern of her quilt. She must do something about that quilt tomorrow. She turned her back on the night. But still sleep would not come.
    And then she remembered the book. She had carried it upstairs after Peter had given it to her and had put it on the bed table. But from that moment to this, she had forgotten it. She sat up, turned on the light, and opened the book to the title page. Spycatcher by Oreste Pinto. She turned the leaves slowly and presently came to a pencilled passage:
    The potential spy-catcher needs at least ten qualities, seven of which he must be born with and three of which can be acquired by his own efforts.
    1. Phenomenal memory.
    2. Great patience and regard for detail.
    3. Gift for languages.
    4. Knowledge of practical psychology.
    5. Courage.
    6. Baedeker-like knowledge of the capitals and important towns in Europe.”
    Beside this item Peter had scribbled, “or the U.S.A. for that matter.”
    7. Thorough knowledge of international law.
    8. Must be born actor.
    9. Gift of detection (in many ways this is a highly developed sense of logic).
    10. A practical experience of previous dodges.
    Fredericka studied this list with interest. Obviously to track down the murderer of Catherine Clay was well within the province of the spy-catcher and indeed could be considered essential training under several of these heads. As if to underline this, Fredericka came on another marked passage:
    “The task of counter-intelligence in peace or war is similar to that of the police. It is, first of all, to prevent spying and acts of treachery against the well-being of the state, and, secondly, if such acts are committed, to trace and arrest the person responsible.”
    Well, Fredericka thought, that seems to make everything crystal clear. No wonder Thane Carey lets him in on his local excitement. No wonder. She picked up the book again and went on through it carefully, giving especial attention to the marked passages. By the time she was ready for sleep, it was well after two A.M., and, as she reached to turn out the light one thought emerged from her reading. It was evident—more than evident, since this book was his bible, that Colonel Peter Mohun, U.S.A., was a dedicated man. It would be wise, therefore, for Fredericka Wing to remember this, and to stop romancing. From this sound, if somewhat sad, reflection, she was at last released by sleep.
    Fredericka was awakened by a curious thumping noise that for some moments set her heart beating wildly and made her sit bolt upright in the half darkness. Then she heard a muffled voice:
    “Fredericka, FREDERICKA WING—are you dead, too?”
    Peter. Of course. She reached over the side of the bed and banged on the floor with the heel of her bedslipper.
    Silence.
    Fredericka got up quickly and went to the head of the stairs to call down the advice that she would appear in ten minutes.
    She did it, too, and won a smile of approval from her self-appointed boss whom she found busy in the kitchen.
    “I didn’t read in your book that spy-catchers had to be cooks.”
    “Oh, but that goes without saying. Scratch meals under difficulties. And,” he hesitated, and then went on quickly, “as you may have gathered they have to do without wives.”
    Fredericka said nothing in reply to this. Since she had gathered as much from her reading, she didn’t think it necessary or even very polite to have it announced with a megaphone, and at such an early hour in the morning.
    She managed to say nothing, however, and, after a few moments, Peter went on cheerfully: “So you’ve read my bible? What did you think of it?”
    “I think, as the author himself suggests, that your job is: one, inhuman, and two, thankless.”
    “How right you are. Clever Fredericka. I’ll graduate you cum laude before I finish with you.”
    “Thanks. Am I allowed