The young Frenchman called to André in French, “You are Pierre’s son, no? Tell them quickly who I am. Make them see my urgency, I beg you.”
André looked at the man’s flashing eyes, the beaked nose, the shock of dark hair.
“Yes, I know him,” he said quickly. “This is François, the famous Maquis leader. You can trust him.”
“You sure?” Weller demanded.
“I’m sure,” André said. “I have seen him and heard my father describe him often. One moment—”
In French, François told André his story: “I was coming to your father to get more Resistance help. My band is too small. We discovered Nazis coming up behind your father’s orchard with a mobile gun. They are going to blow up this house because it is an American headquarters.”
“Translate so far,” Weller said, and André obeyed.
Weller scowled. “Yeh? Well, in that case....”
He made his way to the captain, and a moment later André heard him shouting orders.
When Weller returned he put out both hands and the Frenchman shook them warmly.