Heil Harris!

of fascists affect me the same way.”
    “I’ve devised your initiation test.” He giggled tipsily. “I think it should amuse you. And then when you’ve passed it I’ll introduce you to our leader. Drink up and I’ll tell you about it.”
    She took a deep breath. It was all very well to climb the three hundred feet to the top of the Speech Room at Bahia University, because it had only risked her own life, and hanging a chamber pot from the spire had demonstrated how juvenile it was. But this seemed different. Couldn’t she just be a friend of the cast, like Cynthia, a harmless hanger-on? Seemingly not.
    “The communist party headquarters are due for a little attention. We’d like you to lead the raid on Thursday. You’ll make a most charming burglar.” Ho ho ho; he laughed so much that he had to be drunk. “Have another drink to our success.” Splash splash.
    Emma filled up his glass with the rest of the whisky bottle. Then when he waved at her glass she filled that up as well. “To our success.” She smiled ironically. “May the better man win.”
    Colonel Hayburn stood up shakily. “By God yes. May the better man win.” He knocked back the whisky in two draughts. “Come back to my place for a night cap,” he slurred. “Get to know your new friends.”
    “I think I know all I need. You’ll have to be in better condition to teach me anything more.”
    Emma drank the rest of the Campari, picked up her bag and walked steadily out of the pub. As she passed Cynthia she gestured towards the colonel and mentioned that he was in trouble« Then she emerged into the open air. To her rather childish satisfaction Colonel Hayburn didn’t follow her this time. He was helped out ten minutes later by Freddie Flamborough and a lance corporal.
     
    “Steed,” she said over the phone that night, “I think we’re needed.”
    “Nonsense, Mrs. Peel. We both need a holiday. We see ghosts in the shadows and menace in the phases of the moon—”
    “There’s no need to be literary.”
    “The pen is mightier than the sword, Mrs. Peel. Mustn’t disparage. Only this morning I demonstrated how Dunkirk could have been transformed into victory.”
    “All right, I’ll show you.” She hung up irritably. She would save the world from Nazi domination by herself.
     
    It rained on Thursday night and the streets of Swindon echoed and splashed emptily like a Victorian slum. Their voices as they made their way to Jubilee Street sounded loud and disreputable. The town hall clock struck two in the market square. Emma was feeling unexpectedly tense as they reached the communist party headquarters, perhaps, she told herself, because she was working with amateurs. They huddled outside the shop doorway, and the four men looked at her for leadership.
    “Shall we just throw the petrol bomb and scarper?” asked Corporal Higgs.
    “Don’t be silly.” Emma took the slivver of perspex from her handbag and slid it along the side of the lock. A slight pressure from the shoulder and the door creaked open. The entire operation had taken three seconds. There were no bolts, no burglar alarms. Communists were trusting people. “Come in,” she whispered.
    In addition to Higgs there were two masters from the local secondary school (one of them didn’t really count because he was the sports master) and Colonel Hayburn. Emma closed the door behind them. “All right?” she called softly.
    “Yes. There’s nobody here.”
    “Good.” Emma turned on all the lights.
    Hayburn turned pale. “Is this sensible? We can be seen vividly from the street.”
    It was an old greengrocer’s shop with two workrooms and a kitchen at the rear. The flats above had a separate entrance and there didn’t seem to be a basement with an illegal printing press.
    “Of course we can be seen,” sighed Emma. “The important thing is to look at home. Higgs, sit at that desk and look bolshie. Watch complacently while we go through the files.” She turned to the colonel and shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose the only thing for you is to go into the kitchen and make a pot of tea.”
    “But—”
    “It steadies the nerves when you’re working late. And if the constable on the beat does drop in for a chat he’s bound to recognise you. So keep out of the way while we do the work.”
    Colonel Hayburn wrestled with his convictions that a woman’s place was in the kitchen, then he grunted and did as he was ordered. Emma remained in command of the three