CHAPTER 9ON THIN ICE
Louis’ weather-tanned forehead knitted into a frown. “He knows you, ha?” he queried, shrewdly.
“He most certainly does,” rejoined Worrals. “I tricked him once, and then slipped through his fingers; and since forgiveness is not conspicuous in the Nazi character he would ask nothing more than to see me again.”
“It is a chance tragique,” observed Louis, undismayed. “Let us kill him. Let us kill them all,” he suggested practically.
Worrals laid a hand on his sleeve. “Wait,” she said. “Do nothing in a hurry.”
Now that she had recovered from the first stunning shock she was thinking fast. It was easy to guess what had happened. It had been known to the Gestapo for some time that trouble was brewing in the untamable Cévennes. Lucien had been traced to Carnac by his bicyc
