Rendezvous With Danger Read Online Free Page A

know what happens. Perhaps I can take you on a tour round on my day off.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘I’d put a little booklet that I thought might interest you on the reception desk, and I’ve come out without it.’ She paused, making no effort to go back for it herself.
    The inference was obvious, and I left them together, going back in the coolness of the foyer for the booklet. Feeling rather a gooseberry, I took my time and as I glanced through the window I saw my assumption had been correct. Christina had wanted to talk to Stephen alone. Her gaiety had left her and she was talking hurriedly, her face anxious. Uncomfortably I strolled back down the wooden steps and across to the car. Christina turned, smiling once more.
    â€˜Yes, that’s the right book. It has a whole list of places that most tourists miss. Have a look through and tell me what you think. I do hope you hear good news when you get back.’
    She stood, smiling and waving, as we took the Niedernhall road once more.
    After a little while, Stephen said, ‘As was no doubt obvious, Christina wanted to speak to me alone.’ He paused, changing gear and sweeping round the bend of the road. ‘ She says she spoke to her father about the Herr Cliburn we mentioned, and he tells her there is no one of that name living in Niedernhall that he knows of. She also said,’ he added impassively, ‘that her father knows everyone in the district and couldn’t possibly be mistaken.’

Chapter Three
    I sat silently for a while, gazing unseeingly at the vineyards and fruit trees that sped past. I should have gone straight to the police myself, it was what any sensible person would have done, not leave it to a complete stranger to report. Turning to Stephen I said with more confidence than I felt, ‘I’m sure Christina’s father can’t know everyone in Niedernhall.’
    He made no effort to banish my doubts.
    â€˜Can he?’ I asked tentatively.
    â€˜That, Susan, is what we’re going to find out. I’m beginning to think Mr Cliburn was just a little too good to be true.’
    There was no answer to that, and I stared moodily at the shining surface of the nearby river, its banks thick with celandines and buttercups. A kingfisher, the sun glinting on its bright blue and emerald plumage, swooped and dived, but I was scarcely aware of it. Even Stephen’s presence did nothing to dispel my growing anxiety.
    There was a stiff breeze blowing and I pushed my hair out of my eyes and opened my shoulder-bag, reaching for my head-square. It wasn’t there. I searched through the bag hastily, then felt in my pockets.
    â€˜What’s the matter?’
    â€˜My scarf. I must have left it at Ohringen.’
    â€˜Do you want to go back for it?’
    â€˜No. I’m more worried about the car at the moment.’
    â€˜Don’t worry. I’ll see to it you’re not left without transport,’ said Stephen capably, ‘and I’ll bring your scarf along next time I see you. What is it like?’
    â€˜Scarlet silk. You can’t mistake it. Oh goodness, are we forced to drive this fast?’ I asked nervously, as the passing trees merged into a green blur. Stephen obligingly slowed down. We rounded the next bend at a more leisurely fifty miles an hour and he began to tell me of his visit to Wies.
    â€˜It really is incredible, Susan. Quite isolated. You walk through dark forest then suddenly emerge in green meadows and in the middle is the church. Very unobtrusive and ordinary looking. But inside it’s fantastic. Baroque gone mad. You must see it before you leave.’
    â€˜Is there a shrine?’
    â€˜Oh yes, that’s the reason the church was built. Way back in the early seventeen hundreds a couple of friars made a wooden statue of the Saviour out of fragments of saints’ figures. Apparently it was carried round on Good Friday but aroused the faithful to such a