Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Neville shot Leland a plaintive look, but Leland backed away, his hands raised in abstention. “Tell her what you told me, Sam. Let the girl decide for herself.”
Neville drew a shuddering breath and removed his glasses, pressing his haggard face into one hand.
“I heard … whispers. Among the Germans. Of a new source supplying all sorts of information, especially from the British inner circle. They were often careless around me, and my German was better than they realized.” He swallowed.
“The word they kept repeating was die Krone.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Craddock muttered under his breath.
Beside Sidney, the door eased open a fraction. Ginevra peered through the crack, a finger pressed to her lips.
“I know all of this,” Marion said. “It’s in his memoir.” She jerked her head at Leland, who had moved to the window where he gazed upon the lawn.
Neville’s eyes darted toward the professor’s backside. “When we searched Robert’s things,” he continued, “there were—messages. Ciphers containing sensitive information he could have only picked up from eavesdropping on officers.”
Marion leaned on the chessboard, toppling pieces, and stared Neville in the eye. “Did he confess though?”
Neville recoiled. “Well, no—no,” he stammered. “Of course not—”
“They never do.” Leland turned, hands in his pockets, and rocked back on his heels. “Dash it all, girl, but I’m sorry. Robert was a liability, and we had the safety of our men to consider. The Germans said their stool pigeon was die Krone—the crown—and the evidence was there too.”
Marion’s jaw clenched. “Evidence which could have been planted.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Professor,” Craddock said, “it was die Zahnkrone, not die Krone, which you would remember if you had paid attention to those notes I’ve tried to give you this year.
The Germans called your uncle the Tough Crown,” he sneered at Marion, “because he was a hardheaded little snot with social aspirations he couldn’t achieve. ”
Sidney frowned at Craddock. “That’s not what die Zahnkrone means.”
“How would you know?” Craddock scoffed.
The thought had popped out unintentionally, but an opportunity to take Donald Craddock down a peg would always be Sidney’s Achilles’ heel.
“Because die Krone does mean ‘crown,’ but Zahn doesn’t mean tough; that would be z?h.
Die Zahnkrone would be more like…” Sidney hesitated, the weight of realization slowing him down.
He looked toward the door where Ginevra still stood, both hands balled before her face. “Tooth crown.”
Slowly, everyone revolved toward Leland. Like a beacon, the gold crown on his molar glinted at them all as he gaped at Sidney and Craddock.
“What? No.” The professor shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Donald, have you had too much to drink?”
“No, I heard the word quite clearly,” Craddock said, his expression troubled. “I was pressing your shirts in the next room when Dr. Neville came in with the news. I’ve been trying to tell you all year it’s wrong in your book…” The color drained from his face, leaving him a queasy shade of green.
“It doesn’t really make a difference now,” Leland blustered. “Robert was the stool pigeon. We know that, end of story.” But even as he spoke, the light caught again on his gold molar. Glittering like a lie.
“It was you,” Marion whispered. “You betrayed them all … and pinned it on Uncle Robert?”
“You think that because of one word?” Leland tapped his cheek, scoffing. “Do you know how many men in our unit had these?”
“None that I can think of,” Craddock murmured.
Neville stared at Leland slack-jawed. “You—you convinced me that I’d misheard. That you’d heard die Krone from another source. Did … did you also plant the evidence on Robert?”
Leland dragged a hand through his hair. “Dash it all, this is absurd—”
“You knew the Germans’ nickname for you and saw how to change the story to your advantage,” Marion said, her voice low.
“Uncle Robert was the perfect person to be guilty. He was friendless after his expulsion from Oxford. No longer part of your Damocles inner circle, no longer protected. The strong offered up the weak, and your fellow officers were only too happy to close the matter with a simple answer. Tell me I’m wrong. ”
Leland stared at her, a muscle quivering in his jaw, and Sidney held his breath.
A confession before so many witnesses could reopen the Vosburg incident and tarnish the professor’s reputation well enough.
But Tolliver must have deduced the German error that named his killer and tried to tell Ginevra with his dying breath.
Leland was a traitor twice over and had more to lose than the others realized.
Behind the door, Ginevra stood with her face buried in her hands, her shoulders taut with bridled emotions that mirrored Sidney’s own.
He wanted to drag her into his arms and bury his face in her hair, to tell her it was over—to convince himself it was over—mostly thanks to her unflappable resolve.
Despite his best efforts to evade this partnership, it was the first good, solid thing he’d had in a long time.
And he was almost ready to admit he didn’t want it to end.
“Move away from the door, Braithwaite,” Leland ordered.
Sidney stilled. Leland had withdrawn a pistol and trained it on him, gesturing him aside. The shiny, mesmerizing bit of metal spelled out two distinct options. If he moved, Leland would escape. If he stayed … well, he’d already told the Rook he didn’t fancy another bullet in his gut.
“Professor,” Sidney said warily. “Everyone here now knows what you did. Escaping this room won’t leave the truth behind.”
A nasty, frightened gleam lit up Leland’s eyes, and Sidney stiffened.
Surely the man wasn’t so irrational he’d kill them all to continue hiding his lie …
but desperate enough? Very likely. With his hand behind his back, Sidney clenched and unclenched his fingers, readying for an attack.
He might only have one chance to disarm him.
But Marion threw herself upon Leland with a banshee’s shriek first.