Hero on a Bicycle by Shirley Hughes Page B

frantically, ears strained for the sound of approaching cars. Above, they could hear Paolo at work piling up loose grass cuttings over the trapdoor and dragging the wine crates from the yard.
    “It’s terribly uncomfortable, I’m afraid,” said Constanza.
    “Don’t worry — I’ll be OK,” Joe said as he stooped to get inside. He folded his long legs against the upturned box that they had put in there for him to sit on.
    “Are you sure you’ve got enough air?” asked Constanza anxiously as she closed the door on him.
    “Sure. And it’s real kind of you to do this for me. . . .” came the muffled voice from inside.
    The next task was to reassemble the assorted junk, old trunks and suitcases, cartons of broken electrical equipment and discarded magazines, so that nobody could guess that the door was there. Finally, Constanza placed the tailor’s dummy dressed in her grandfather’s old uniform in front of the door to create what she hoped was a diversion, while Rosemary swept the dusty floor clear of footprints. Then they both ran upstairs to wash, change, and comb their hair.

R osemary, Constanza, and Paolo were sitting in the living room, attempting to appear relaxed, when they heard the sound of vehicles drawing up outside. There was an authoritative knock at the front door. Rosemary put aside her sewing and went to answer it. Three men in civilian dress — Gestapo — one of whom was Colonel Richter, stood on the doorstep. Parked on the drive behind his car was an army truck containing two German soldiers and an officer, who jumped out and saluted. The officer was Lieutenant Gräss.
    “ Buona sera, Signora Crivelli —” he began politely, but the colonel cut him off abruptly.
    “Signora Crivelli? I am Colonel Richter, attached to the civilian police here in Florence.”
    “I know. Captain Spinetti has spoken of you.”
    “Possibly he has. As you know, the city and surrounding area are now under martial law. You may have heard that there was an incident with two prisoners of war last night. One of them was apprehended, but the other got away.”
    “I hadn’t heard. We — my son and daughter and our one servant, Maria — have been confined to the house. We haven’t been out, not even to buy food.”
    “You are British, I think?”
    “Yes, by birth. But I have been an Italian citizen for many years now. My passport and all my papers are in order, if you would care to see them.”
    He ignored this and went on: “We have orders to search your property.”
    “Certainly. Won’t you come in?” Rosemary stood back to allow them to enter. Lieutenant Gräss signaled to the soldiers, who followed him inside. Colonel Richter gave orders for the house and gardens to be searched, and then followed Rosemary into the living room, where Paolo and Constanza were waiting. Rosemary invited the colonel to sit down, an offer that was curtly refused. Constanza, Rosemary, and Paolo then sat in strained silence, listening to the sounds of the search progressing overhead; heavy boots crossed the floor, closets were flung open, and furniture was pulled around.
    Meanwhile, Richter stalked restlessly up and down. Soon they heard the sound of Maria scolding the soldiers shrilly at the top of her voice. She was abruptly and threateningly ordered back to the kitchen. She retreated, muttering, and slammed the door. At last, after a long agony of waiting, both search parties reassembled in the hall, along with Rosemary, Paolo, and Constanza. Lieutenant Gräss reported that nothing unusual had been found in the house or on the grounds.
    “Do you have a cellar?” Richter asked Rosemary.
    Only Paolo and Constanza noticed the slight tightening of her throat as she indicated the door.
    “Down those stairs. We use it for storing junk. There’s no electric light down there, I’m afraid. Constanza, run and get an oil lamp, will you?”
    Richter signaled to Gräss with an abrupt jerk of his head. The lieutenant led the way down