CHAPTER THREEHILDE
Norway—September, 1940
The girl Ingrid walked with slow almost hesitant steps to the spot where the country road leading away from Skaalund divided. She took the left fork. A hundred yards down the road she could see a crack of light from one of the side windows of the kroj.
Now she hastened her steps a little. When she arrived at the door of the one-storied beer-house she looked quickly up and down the road; pushed the door open enough for her to edge sideways through. She shut the door behind her; stood, her back to the door, the palms of her hands pressed flat against it, looking about her. The bar parlour was long, low-ceilinged. The walls were of logs. An open fire burned at one end. There were rough tables here and there, and at the right end a bar. Two or three
