Father Constantine begged her to keep quiet, but she went on muttering against them. After some minutes a soldier's voice reported all the potatoes upstairs, on a cart. They had taken one of Ian's.
"And the wine?"
"Three dozen bottles." Father Constantine squirmed to think of that good wine going down German throats.
"Get up the rest," ordered the subaltern. "And send me that Jew."
Szmul had been wall-tapping on his own account. He appeared breathless.
"Oh, Excellency ... there is a hollow wall just over there. And it's wider than the others."
"Lead the way." Their steps died in the distance.
"Did you hear what he said about Ian?" she asked.
"Yes. I'll run over and warn him not to come till they go."
"We have plenty of time," she said bitterly. "They have a dozen places yet. Oh, if I were a man!"