Dark shadows hid him from immediate view.
Pausing, he took the time to study the street behind him and in front of him intently.
Paris–at night and in the middle of a war–was very dark and ominous.
The streets were barren of the usual pedestrians and lovers strolling toward the Seine or to some new bistro or club. Not this night. War had a way of making a city’s streets very barren. Satisfied he was not being followed, he put the heavy carpet valise he was carrying down on a doorstep and from a pocket inside his tunic pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a cover of matches. Lighting up, he exhaled blue smoke and stayed in the darkness as his ears and eyes continued to survey his immediate surroundings.
He couldn’t shake off the feeling he was being followed.
He felt edgy–nervous. Since
