conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Snare of the Hunter about Helen, MacInnes, Scottish-born with the genre: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Helen MacInnes (1907-1985) was the Scottish-born American author of 21 spy novels. Dubbed "the queen of spy writers", her books have sold more than 25 million copies in the United States alone and have been translated into over 22 languages. Several of her books have been adapted into films, such as Above Suspicion (1943), with Joan Crawford, and The Salzburg Connection (1972).
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Snare of the Hunter
  Yes, I could stretch it. But do I want to stretch it? It could be too painful. And what about Irina? Would she want to see me again?
  They ate a quick meal, and Bohn began talking as they finished their coffee around the heavy wooden table at one end of the kitchen.
  As Bohn paused to pour himself some brandy, McCulloch leaned over to David and said quietly, "I can fill you in on the increasing importance of the name. Later. Along with any other points you may want developed." He went back to drinking his coffee.
  Bohn again took centre stage. "I was pretty sure that one of our intelligence outfits would come to the rescue. I was wrong. I was even told that they didn't know where Kusak was. So I called George Sylvester on the 'phone—that's the London publisher who must be in contact with Kusak, or else how could Kusak's manuscripts reach him? I told him I had a note from Irina for her father, and I had just mailed it to him; he'd better make sure he was the only one to open it. I asked him to call me back when he had received it, and let me know how he could help. I thought his friends in Whitehall might be interested and could arrange for everything to be handled efficiently. I also said I was ready to fly to London as soon as he had something definite to suggest, have a private discussion, and show him a letter I myself had received from Irina." Bohn drew a deep breath. "Yes, I think you can say I did go to work on it." He looked pointedly at David. "Then I called on Hugh and enlisted him for the battle. He has connections, knows ways and means."
  David looked startled. He nodded, gave time of departure, flight number, and space. These were details he always memorised, just in case of a misplaced ticket. "But isn't that a risk—I mean, if you and I take the same flight and are seen talking?" He foundered slightly.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Snare of the Hunter
  Yes, I could stretch it. But do I want to stretch it? It could be too painful. And what about Irina? Would she want to see me again?
  They ate a quick meal, and Bohn began talking as they finished their coffee around the heavy wooden table at one end of the kitchen.
  As Bohn paused to pour himself some brandy, McCulloch leaned over to David and said quietly, "I can fill you in on the increasing importance of the name. Later. Along with any other points you may want developed." He went back to drinking his coffee.
  Bohn again took centre stage. "I was pretty sure that one of our intelligence outfits would come to the rescue. I was wrong. I was even told that they didn't know where Kusak was. So I called George Sylvester on the 'phone—that's the London publisher who must be in contact with Kusak, or else how could Kusak's manuscripts reach him? I told him I had a note from Irina for her father, and I had just mailed it to him; he'd better make sure he was the only one to open it. I asked him to call me back when he had received it, and let me know how he could help. I thought his friends in Whitehall might be interested and could arrange for everything to be handled efficiently. I also said I was ready to fly to London as soon as he had something definite to suggest, have a private discussion, and show him a letter I myself had received from Irina." Bohn drew a deep breath. "Yes, I think you can say I did go to work on it." He looked pointedly at David. "Then I called on Hugh and enlisted him for the battle. He has connections, knows ways and means."
  David looked startled. He nodded, gave time of departure, flight number, and space. These were details he always memorised, just in case of a misplaced ticket.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She's postponing her decision, he thought. "Look at the map again, Irina. From the Italian border to Merano is only a hundred miles. We'll reach there by two o'clock, perhaps sooner."
  The pencil stopped abruptly, a sharp jab to match her feelings; its lead broke off. Yes, that was Tarasp. And it was close to the border. No distance at all. She laid the map on the seat beside her, pocketed the pencil, and frowned. "But why all the change in our plans? This isn't the way it was meant to be. Is it, David?"
  The last stretch of road, heading west to the Austro-Italian frontier, was as straight and dull as the single-minded railroad track that ran beside it through a flat broad valley of empty fields, with the mountains now pushed far back to the south and north. The cars ahead were beginning to slacken speed. Irina watched them unbelievingly. "They hardly stop. Are you sure that's the frontier, David?"
  As they came closer to the small scattering of buildings, Irina could see the cars more clearly. "Some have been stopped." She was nervous. "Why?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: "Why?". "Look at the map again, Irina. From the Italian border to Merano is only a hundred miles. We'll reach there by two o'clock, perhaps sooner."
  The pencil stopped abruptly, a sharp jab to match her feelings; its lead broke off. Yes, that was Tarasp. And it was close to the border. No distance at all. She laid the map on the seat beside her, pocketed the pencil, and frowned. "But why all the change in our plans? This isn't the way it was meant to be. Is it, David?"
  The last stretch of road, heading west to the Austro-Italian frontier, was as straight and dull as the single-minded railroad track that ran beside it through a flat broad valley of empty fields, with the mountains now pushed far back to the south and north. The cars ahead were beginning to slacken speed. Irina watched them unbelievingly. "They hardly stop. Are you sure that's the frontier, David?"
  As they came closer to the small scattering of buildings, Irina could see the cars more clearly. "Some have been stopped." She was nervous.She's postponing her decision, he thought.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last five paragraphs. Start with the sentence 'David caught Weber's astounded eye'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: David caught Weber's astounded eye. "Yes," he agreed with him. "We are possibly a little crazy at this moment."
  Extraordinary people. Weber stopped watching them, and concentrated on his food. They were talking now about leaving Tarasp once they had eaten, and going to see Krieger. After what they had been through last night, really extraordinary. As for their journey here from Vienna—he had still to find out about that. It must have been much more than a long drive west. Jo, this morning, had been charming but vague. "Dave will tell you about it," she had said. Would he? Weber pushed his plate aside. "I shall be leaving here too. I must be back in Geneva by this afternoon. Would you give me a lift as far as Samaden?"
  Jo said, "I'll fly to Zurich and get a plane for Rome. A few days there, and I'll be able to face a fashion show again. What about you, Dave?"
  Ah yes, she thought, Geneva and Hugh McCulloch and talk about Irina. She poured herself one last cup of coffee and fell silent. Weber lit a cigar. David was looking at the valley below them. His thoughts were farther away than the mountains.
  Born in Scotland, she studied at the University of Glasgow and University College, London, then went to Oxford after her marriage to Gilbert Highet, the eminent critic and educator. In 1937 the Highets went to New York, and except during her husband's war service, Helen MacInnes lived there ever since.