David focused on the street ahead while recalling Michael's hotel recommendation. Hôtel des Trois Rois. Just off the Mittlere Brücke. Then refreshing his memory of the route to the bridge, he drove along Kleinhüningerstraße and beside the Rhein, meeting a few horse-drawn carts laden with cargo from the barges. But with the lateness of the day, he saw mainly groups of dockworkers walking home from work.

After a sweeping turn onto Klybeckstraße, away from the industrial docks, the scene changed to modern apartment blocks and shops. As he steered into Clarastraße, the street widened with tramway tracks, the bright blue sparks above the passing tram cars bringing him back to his first visit here.

He breathed a deep sigh, watching men in straw boaters and women in bright summer dresses strolling along the sidewalks. Such a different world. Oblivious to the war raging just a mile north.

Through Claraplatz, he watched the milling people. No uniforms. No walking wounded. More men than women. The Germans need to see this. Even descriptions of it.

Past the Clarakirche, David guided the Lancia into the much narrower Rheingaße, descending gently toward the river's banks and gaining a view across it to Großbasel. The scene opened up dramatically as he drove onto the stone spans of the Mittlere Brücke, the tyres humming smoothly against the granite paving blocks.

He looked to the left at the swift current of the broad Rhine, churning past in a pale, silty blue. Meltwater from the Alps. Halfway across the bridge, he spotted the grand neoclassical façade of Hotel Les Trois Rois, sitting majestically above the river. At the end of the bridge, he turned right and, a short distance along, stopped directly under the hotel's grand glass awning.

No guards. No barricades.

A liveried doorman in a crisp navy-blue coat stepped toward the car. "Bonne soirée, monsieur. Bienvenue à l'hôtel Les Trois Rois." He opened the door, and David stepped out, removing his driving coat.

"Good evening. I require lodging for the night, a secure garage for my vehicle, and arrangements for dinner."

"Of course, sir. Our head porter will handle everything immediately." The doorman turned and snapped his fingers, summoning a young bellhop. "Call for Henri from the garage, then take the gentleman's bags to the reception desk."

David had barely time to fold his driving cloak when a man wearing a leather apron appeared from the side courtyard and looked at the Lancia. "An exceptional machine, sir. We will house her in our locked carriage garage overnight."

"Thank you," David said, handing him the brass ignition key. "Can you also have her fueled with high-quality petrol in the morning? I have a long climb to Bern."

After confirmation, David turned and walked up the grand stone steps, passing through the threshold into the opulent lobby. Massive crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over polished marble floors, neoclassical pillars and rich Persian rugs. No wonder Mary raved about it.

At the mahogany reception desk, the concierge greeted him, "Good evening, sir. May I have your passport for the registry?"

David presented his Swiss passport, and after the concierge examined it, he dipped a pen into a silver inkwell, entering David's name into the heavy leather ledger, then looked up. "We have a room available on the second floor with all comforts and a balcony overlooking the Rhine. Will that suit your needs, Monsieur Meier?"

"Perfectly. And dinner?" He glanced at his watch. Just past 19:20. Haven't eaten since breakfast. "I am road-weary and would prefer to eat in my room. Is that possible?"

"Yes, certainly, sir. But you would enjoy far finer fare if you waited until after seven, when the kitchen begins its evening menu. They have fresh Rhine salmon and veal sweetbreads this evening."

At seven? He glanced at the grandfather clock behind the desk. Haven't yet adjusted my watch. "Yes, of course. I must first make a trunk call and wash off the road dust. Could you have someone bring me the dinner menu in half an hour?"

"I will do that, sir." He nodded, wrote in the ledger, then struck a small brass bell on his desk. The bellhop immediately stepped forward with David's leather suitbag while the concierge instructed him, "Escort Monsieur Meier to Room 214 and ensure his comfort."

David followed the bellhop across the lobby and up the sweeping marble staircase, their footsteps muffled by the thick crimson stair runner. On the first floor, they followed a wide corridor lined with gilded mirrors and oil paintings. The boy stopped at a pair of tall oak doors, unlocked them, and stepped aside to let David enter.

High ceilings, framed by intricate white plaster mouldings, loomed over a massive bed draped in crisp white linens and heavy damask silk. A crackling, low fire had been lit in the marble fireplace to chase away the evening river chill.

The bellhop set the suitbag down on a wooden luggage rack, walked across the room, drew back the heavy velvet curtains, unlocked the French doors and pushed them outward. The gentle, rushing sound of the Rhine River instantly filled the room, and outside, the sky had just begun to colour.

"Your room, Monsieur Meier," the bellhop said, bowing politely. "Enjoy your stay."

David thanked the boy, and when the door clicked shut behind him, he went to the bathroom to refresh. Then he sat at the desk, lifted the telephone's earpiece from its hook and turned the crank.

When the switchboard operator answered, he said, "Please connect me to the trunk line for Bern."

"I will connect you to the municipal exchange, sir."

The line clicked, and a brief while later, a voice said, "Basel exchange. How may I help you?"

"I require the residence of the British Legation in Bern."

"It might take a few minutes, sir. I will ring you when we have established a connection."

While he waited, David set his watch back an hour and wound it while thinking: A censor will monitor, so shape only. No details.

Several minutes later, the telephone bell sounded, and he lifted the earpiece from the hook. "Yes."

"Your connection has been made, and they are waiting, sir. I will plug you through."

When the earphone clicked, David said into the mouth trumpet, "Good evening, Stanley. It is David. Can you connect me to my wife?"

"Good evening, sir. She has not yet returned from the hospital."

Oh! Working late? Or is something amiss? "When she arrives, could you inform her that I am at Les Trois Rois in Basel for the night?"

"I will do that, sir – and I will also inform the Ambassador."

"Yes, of course, Stanley. I will see you tomorrow."

David returned the earpiece to the hook and looked at his watch. 18:32 and not yet back? A long day, or ...