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Page 65.

They walked a brisk, pleasant twenty minutes from town toward a large lake surrounded by trees and villas. A few fishermen stood on the shore, under umbrellas, with poles out over the water. Little sailboats cruised back and forth on the blue water. It was a sunny, pleasant day. Rick and Hannah held hands. She whispered in his ear, "One day, we can come here and relax and enjoy all this."

He gave her hand a tug. "If I can be alone with you anywhere, I'll relax and enjoy myself."

"Ice cream," she said secretively with a very naughty look.

He tugged her hand in return.

Romain got the address from neighbors as they strolled past the lake. Following a long road further south, they came to a miniature castle of sorts—a gray bastion of concrete and stucco, shaped into turrets and ramparts with the typical black slate roofing.

"It's a little mansion," Hannah said. "Look, there are rose gardens all around." She waved to an elderly woman who was tending the gardens, wearing a babushka and black-and-white cotton dress. "Bonjour!"

"Bonjour," the woman replied. She had sun-reddened skin on her face and arms as she held a cutting instrument in one hand and a sheaf of grass and weeds in the other.

Romain spoke with her in Luxemburgish, then to his companions. "She says the Professor went into town earlier today for some shopping and errands, including something waiting for him at the post office."

"Now what?" Rick said.

The woman waved energetically for them to go into the house. When they appeared hesitant, not wanting to intrude, she waved all the more.

"She suggests we get some coffee in the kitchen and come sit a while to rest."

"We could take a quick peek inside," Hannah said. "I want to make absolutely sure he doesn't have the package on this kitchen table or something. Then we'll hustle back to town. I'm getting an uneasy feeling."

"Yeah, I'd hate to see the Cuban woman again, much less Wan himself," Rick said.

"Or Yoichi," Hannah said. "He's the martial arts guy who breaks people's necks with his bare hands."

They stepped into the picturesque little house, which was more of a cottage inside. "He lives alone," Romain said. "He is a widower, and now his only son is dead. Poor man."

"So he'd have nothing to lose in this McGuffin matter," Rick said. "I hate to do this."

"Go on," Hannah said.

Romain nodded in agreement, "We must track down the package before Wan's people do."

"Okay." Feeling intrusive and creepy, Rick stepped into the Professor's little study. It was a cozy little room, walled in with books, and illumined by a partially leaded glass, partially stained glass window (almost a miniature of the famous stained glass in the Gare in Luxembourg City).

"Look here." He saw it immediately, on top of piled papers and manuscripts stacked on Sander' huge wooden desk with glass top. He held up a yellow slip. "It's a notice from the post office. There is a package waiting for him."

"Do you think he knows?" Hannah said. She examined the small rectangular form, but could not make sense of the scrawled penmanship of some clerk.

"The housekeeper says he is out on errands, and she mentioned stopping at the post office in Echternach," Romain said. "It must be his daily walk—maybe his routine. Whether he knows about the notice or not, he'll stop in the post office when it opens, and they'll tell him the package is there."

"Makes sense," Rick said. "It would only take a day to get there, direct from the post office at the Gare to the post office thirty minutes away in Echternach."

Romain shouted, "Come on! Let's go." He dashed out the door, followed by Hannah and Rick.

They ignored the housekeeper's pleasant, innocently puzzled question from where she waved in the rose garden.

The three jogged along the lake road, then took the Route des Romains (Roman Road), into the city. In all, it was about a kilometer, and left them puffing for air despite being in good shape.

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