Heathersleigh Homecoming by Michael Phillips Page A

light’s controls. Beauchamp was studying the code book he had managed to pinch from the Admiralty before defecting from London. It gave the disposition of many of the fleet’s ships as well as depth charts for all its harbors, along with the secret codes for passing on the information.
    The mist on England’s east coast had lifted, and they had climbed the whitewashed column of the slender lighthouse about thirty minutes before. At present they were the only two inhabitants of the red-roofed house which sat below. It would be the scene, however, of many comings and goings in the months ahead—activity which they would do their best to keep out of the London Times . With England at war, the sorts of people who would be coming here would definitely not want their presence known.
    Built to keep vessels from disaster on the shoals and reefs of the Yorkshire coastline at night and during storms upon the North Sea, it might have seemed peculiar that the unlikely pair were so busy shortly after noon on a calm day with the sun high in the sky. It was indeed an odd time for a lighthouse to be about its business. But the objective of this particular lighthouse was not to warn ships off the rocks, but to guide German U-boats toward their destinations, and signal instructions to be relayed to their counterparts in Germany and Austria.
    A few minutes after McCrogher’s initial message, a series of return lights flashed back in code.
    â€œThey say they’ve got a bloke what’s needin’ t’ come ashore,” said McCrogher.
    â€œDo they say who?” asked the Englishman.
    â€œOne o’ their spy blokes that’s wantin’ t’ fetch that book o’ yours there.”
    â€œAnything else—is anyone coming ashore to stay?”
    â€œDon’t know, Mr. Bee’ch’m.”
    â€œRight. Well, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Signal them back, then get down to the dinghy and go out for him.”

 10 
Milan Station
    Amanda did her best not to look at the lady she had noticed a few moments ago. But she could not prevent her eyes from periodically wandering in that direction. Whenever she glanced toward her, the lady seemed to be watching her.
    At length the brown-haired woman rose. She was of medium height but somewhat stocky build, with round face and tall forehead. She approached Amanda where she sat.
    Ramsay Halifax sat on the express out of Verona. He had been lucky to get on another westbound so quickly. He was only a couple hours behind Amanda now, which this particular express should make up half of by the time he reached Milan.
    Just wait till I get my hands on that vixen , he thought to himself.
    His hand unconsciously tightened into a fist. Had Amanda seen him now, she would not have recognized him from the dashing man who had so charmed her back in England three years before.
    If Ramsay had been angry before, he was enjoying one of Mr. Barclay’s white furies now. He had been detained for questioning at the border more than an hour before the imbecile guards finally realized he was telling the truth.
    The fools! he thought. The absolute idiots!
    He nearly had his hands on her. If they had just let him through to begin with, by now he would be almost back to Vienna with her. Was he going to have to chase her all the way to France before this was over!
    The idea roused his passion to yet greater heights. When he did get his hands on her, he would make her pay for this ridiculous escapade!
    Amanda glanced away as the woman approached. Should she get up and run away? But before she could think what to do, it was too late.
    â€œYoung lady,” said the woman in a kindly voice, “you look lost . . . do you need some help?” she said.
    â€œWhy . . . what do you mean?” replied Amanda. Her tone was uncertain.
    â€œOnly that you look like you need a friend.”
    The statement took Amanda off guard, as did the