Chapter 93
The smell of the river was stronger in here, overlaid with the smell of soap. The last time they’d talked, Cook had mentioned a girl he was looking for. Hopefully the river trip was some version of Cook homing in on his prey.
Other than the large bed, there was an oak wardrobe and a chest of drawers. The same layout as Margaret’s room. The bed was flanked by two bedside tables, each with an electric lamp. No desk. No obvious place to put paperwork.
The wardrobe was full. More clothes than Margaret had owned in her lifetime.
Too full for a suitcase. Margaret leafed through the outfits quickly, out of curiosity.
There was a definite big-game hunter theme.
Margaret blamed Hemingway – he’d set the tone for a whole generation of American writers.
She’d met him once in Paris. A long and tiresome evening fending off his advances.
She pulled out the drawers in the bedside tables.
One of them was empty apart from the obligatory bible.
The other had a collection of tissues, receipts, scribbled notes.
Margaret read the notes. Aides-mémoire – ‘ask T about fishing quotas’, ‘Kennedy speech!’, ‘candy bars for C and L’.
Not exactly the work of a disciplined spymaster, unless there was some kind of elaborate code.
Margaret stood in the room and looked around for inspiration.
For a woman who was collecting intelligence and somehow feeding it to the Germans, there was precious little paperwork in the room.
Perhaps Margaret had underestimated her.
Not like she’d have left a neat file in her hotel room, all laid out ready to be discovered.
A quick check in the bathroom told her nothing useful.
A bust, then.
Margaret was on her way out, but paused. Better safe than sorry.
She checked the bedside table again. The empty one. Took out the bible. Held it upside down and shook. A leaf of thin paper fell out. Neat handwriting. Ten names and addresses. One of them had been crossed out.
Charlotte Pearson. 44 Swynford Grove.
That left nine names. Nine people who’d thrown their lot in with the Germans, no doubt feeding the American with bits and pieces of intelligence.