She eased her way downstairs, although her heart screamed at her to run.
On the landing outside the living room, Else tiptoed past the closed door, holding her breath. One more flight, then the door.
What if the Gestapo were out on the street? She’d go out the back door.
Gingerly, she made her way down the stairs.
A knock on the door.
Else sucked in a breath and froze. The Gestapo?
The door to the living room creaked open. “Come in,” Fru Riber called. “The door’s unlocked.”
“No!” Else flew down the last four steps, slammed her body against the door, and threw the lock.
“Else, no!” Fru Riber cried.
Else glared over her shoulder at the landlady. “Traitor.”
“You’re the traitor.” Fru Riber thundered down the steps.
Else ran past the stairwell, the bicycles under the stairs, and she swung out her arm and toppled a couple of bikes behind her.
Then she sprinted down the hall to the back door.
“No!” Fru Riber opened the front door. “She’s going out the back. Stop her!”
Else threw open the door to the courtyard. Which way?
North! To Nørreport, the quickest way to Vedbæk.
And the first place the Gestapo would look for her.
With a groan, Else ran to the carriageway leading south, and she peeked out onto the street.
No Gestapo rounding the corner, so Else ran across the street and down a side street heading south, the opposite direction they’d expect.
Passersby approached, coming home from work. Running would make her look guilty, so Else slowed to a brisk walk.
But her heart raced, her breath. Men and women passed wearing blank, end-of-the-day expressions, oblivious to her danger.
She glanced behind her. That man in gray—was that a uniform or a suit?
He fixed his gaze on her, stepped to the side to see better, eyes flashing.
Following her!
Else ducked around the corner to the left and ran—she didn’t care who saw. She dodged people on the sidewalk, crossed the street, turned right down the next street, glanced behind her.
She didn’t see the man, but she couldn’t have lost him so easily.
Running, panting, she took a zigzag path south. She had to get to a train station, get to Vedbæk. Sunset was coming. Curfew. She didn’t have much time.
What if the Gestapo was behind her? What if they followed her to Vedbæk? To Hemming? To Laila and the Thorups and their guests?
Else rounded a corner, her feet pounding the cobblestones. She’d have to take a roundabout route. But doing so would take a long time. Hours.
She had less than an hour before curfew.
