Heil Harris!

secretary.” She waved towards the games master. “Say hello to the policeman, Mr. Keegan.”
    “Hello,” said the games master.
    At that moment Higgs came in with the tea looking more nervous than a live eel about to be jellied. The cups rattled as he put the tray on the desk.
    “One lump, constable, or two?”
    “Three, if you don’t mind, Mrs.—?”
    “Peel. I’m afraid we don’t have any chocolate biscuits.”
    “That’s all right, Mrs. Peel. I’m supposed to be slimming.”
    The policeman must have been used to unfriendly people because he didn’t seem unduly suspicious of the three monosyllabic men who stood around waiting for him to go. He relaxed and enjoyed the cup of tea and talked happily about the halcyon days in 1936 when he’d almost joined the C.P. himself.
    “But I’m glad I didn’t,” he said solemnly. “The occupation of eastern Europe wasn’t a brotherly manoeuvre, and look at Hungary. Nasty business that. I’m non-political myself. You have to be, in the police.”
    Eventually he placed the empty cup in the precise centre of the desk, put his helmet back on and said that he must be going. “I hope you stay around, Mrs. Peel,” he declared, “at least long enough to give me another cup of tea. Good night, brothers. Ha ha ha.” And he went back into the street feeling very pleased with himself.
    As soon as the policeman had turned the corner Higgs ran back into the kitchen and dragged out Colonel Hayburn. “I’m bloody leaving,” he shouted to Emma, “and you can say what the hell you like.”
    Emma didn’t say anything. She put the files under her arm so that she could read more about the Werewolves in bed, glanced quickly round the headquarters to make sure that nothing incriminating had been left behind, and followed the rest of the party. They were already half way up the street, walking noisily and fast, with Colonel Hayburn in the middle to maintain him on a straight course.
    “Spirit,” the colonel was saying drunkenly, “I always like to encourage spirit when I see it. That bitch has a spirit of adventure. I like that. Nerve. The thrill of battle.”
    They hadn’t exploded the petrol bomb, but it was better that way. Emma doubted whether the communist party would report the theft of a few files, and they could sort out the mysterious reinstatement of Mr. Goldman next time they saw the policeman. But arson was a crime.
    “Emma, you bitch, that was pretty well handled. Come here and let me lean on you. I liked that, it took nerve.”
    Colonel Hayburn put an arm round her shoulders and they staggered towards the railway terminus. He seemed happy again, now that the weather had cleared. He waved vaguely to the three men and climbed into the passenger seat of Emma’s Lotus Elan.
    “Where are we going?” he demanded.
    “To your regimental barracks,” she sighed.
    Hayburn talked all the way back, incoherently, but he meant well. He tried to tell her that she was initiated into the Werewolves and that he admired her spirit. He liked to encourage spirit when he saw it. He was going to make her an important person in the movement, because she had spirit. That sort of thing.
    “I mean, Emma, you mustn’t think we’re a lot of boy scouts. We’re a bloody serious organisation. Did I tell you we’ve seven million pounds at our disposal? I mean, that’s money, old girl. But that isn’t all. The seven million pounds is in solid gold, things like that. It isn’t in bloody pound notes. But we can make our own pound notes in a few weeks time. Did I tell you that? We shall soon have the presses that Hitler used to run off British currency during the war.”
    “I bet your bank manager calls you sir,” said Emma. Hayburn stared at her morosely as she turned left into the parade ground. “You aren’t the fluffy, submissive type, are you? What does it take to make you swoon?”
    Emma squealed to a halt beside the guard room door feeling distinctly faint. The car next to her was a green Speed Six Bentley, 1929 vintage.
    “Why not come in for a drink?” asked Hayburn. “It’s only half past three.”
    “That’s a nice idea.”
    “Good lord,” said Hayburn. “Really?”
    She pushed the files carefully under the driving seat and then helped Hayburn out of the low slung car. He was affected by the cold air. Eager to promise her power in the Werewolf revolution and anxious to make a pass at her, but he was having enough trouble remembering to act soberly. A