Atop the stone perimeter wall, hidden within the boughs of a leafy oak tree that overhung it, Werner Gruener peered through binoculars at Lambert Manor. Slowly, he scanned the windows. In his tweed overcoat pocket was a copy of “Psychic Glimpses” by Elizabeth Stoddard (a.k.a Queenie). Chapters twenty-five and -six had brought him here. He stopped. There was movement at a window. Adjusting the focus, he watched. A slow twitch at the corner of his mouth erupted into a smirk. He had come to the right place.
In a low hateful tone filled with loathsome fanaticism for the horde inside the manor, he murmured, “Humpty Dumpty stands on this wall; his goal about to bring a great fall; all the King’s horses and all the King’s men can’t stop Humpty from killing again.”
Barking dogs in the distance caused him to scramble down from his perch and he twisted his ankle in the descent. Crouched, he hugged the wall and waited, massaging the ankle. The sounds of the dogs receded. He felt relief. I’ve not been discovered.
In her book, Queenie’s grasp of British history was naïve to say the least. But that was of no matter. He was intrigued by the locations she had ci...