“If you don’t keep on walking,” he said, “I’ll pick you up as I would a pet cat and carry you. Now, then, once more, who are you working for? By whom are you employed, if you’re not a plain thief?”
“The—Turkish Embassy.”
“What!”
“You knew it,” she said in a low voice, walking through the darkness beside him.
“What is your name?” he insisted.
“Dumont.”
“What else?”
“Ilse Dumont.”
“That’s French.”
“It’s Alsatian German.”