Jacques Dufort followed Guy Barbier into the dimly lit warehouse. As he walked toward the office, he noticed empty space—some of the crates had been removed. The building had been crammed full on his last visit. Now some supplies had been distributed after only a few days of German occupation.
“We have a problem,” Jacques said as they entered the office.
Barbier motioned for him to sit. He took a bottle of whiskey off the top of a filing cabinet and poured a little into two glasses. He handed one to Jacques and sat behind the desk.
“The diamonds?” Barbier asked.
Jacques nodded. “It’s worse than I thought. The Gestapo is closing in.”
Barbier’s eyes narrowed. “They didn’t catch Camille, did they?”
“No, it’s not that bad. But they called Emilie at the store.”
Guy c****d his head. “How
