Heil Harris!

dear old chap, you’re not in love, are you?”
    “No.”
    “Tired of life? Did you know that old Buffy St. Claire put his head in a gas oven last Friday? Must have been a pretty large gas oven.” He dispensed the balm with an expression that made Steed think of a St. Bernard dog. “Fancy putting your head in the oven. Must have given his wife a shock when she went to take out the joint.” \ Every time he saw Archie Newman Steed hated him more than the last time. Seeing Archie was like visiting the dentist, it hurt, it undermined one’s faith in human goodness and it brought out the sadist in Archie.
    “I didn’t really mean to mention Heidi,” he said larnely.
    “No no, old man. Glad you did. Get it out of your system. Did I ever tell you about that Fraulein I picked up in Hamburg?”
    Steed glowered. “By the time we’ve emptied this bottle I shall be asking you to step outside!”
    “Better not, old fellow. Last time you asked me outside you were thumped pretty heartily.”
    “By the police, protecting your canine face.”
    Archie was hurt. “I nearly married the girl, you know. She had long brown hair, like Brigitte Bardot. But when the war was over they shaved her head because she slept with me. I broke my heart over that. Took the vow for nearly a week.”
    Steed smiled affectionately. “It’s hell sometimes, isn’t it?”
    “By God yes. On the eighth day I went off and got plastered. Is this your—?”
    Steed considered. “Second day.”
    “By God.”
    “We all rush around protecting people, and they get killed. We protect countries and they have wars which most of the politicians wanted anyway. It gives one pause. The army exists to increase our safety, and in fact it increases the danger of attack. I’m supposed to be protecting Germany or Swindon or somewhere from the threat of Fascism. But I doubt whether many people would mind if the N.P.D. got into power.”
    “Swindon? Do they have the vote—?”
    “Little place near Birmingham.”
    “I heard about it on the news tonight. A few chaps in the Wiltshire County Regiment have locked themselves in the barracks or something. I had to laugh. I mean, if you’re going to stage a revolt, at least you should do it in London. What do they want, independence for the south west?” He laughed immoderately. “Independence for Wessex!” Ha ha ha.
    Steed rose unsteadily to his feet. “What did you say?”
    “Wessex. It was one of those kingdoms, like Mercia—”
    He felt sick so he sat down again. “Silly bastards. What do they think they’ll achieve? There was a revolt like that in Aldershot a few years ago, and what happened?”
    “Absolutely,” said Archie Newman. “But this is more fun. There’s a woman leading the rebellion. And they say that Lord Throgmorton is behind it. You know, the revolt of the upper classes and this lord trying to wrest the government from the mayor of Swindon.”
    Steed shrugged. “It’s too improbable for words. I mean, listen, Archie. What would you say if I suggested to you that all this Fascism and stuff today was organised throughout Europe by one man? No no, listen. Supposing Adolf Hitler hadn’t died in that bunker in April 1945. Supposing he was still alive—”
    “I’d say bunkum., old man.”
    “Yes.” Steed thought for a moment. “Yes, so would I.” He poured out another round. “By the way, who’s this woman leading the rebellion?”
    Archie Newman chuckled. “Rather a fetching young thing according to the news. Red head with stacks of money called Orange Peel or something.”
    Steed laughed. “Emma Peel?”
    “Yes. Probably.”
    “Oh well, there’s nothing to worry about. Let’s finish this bottle and then go back to my place for a nightcap.”
    Two hours later Steed and Archie Newman staggered out of the Jack of Hearts and fell into a waiting taxi. They were in the middle of an argument about love, and whether you have to be seventeen to appreciate it. Steed had to admit that he was slightly under the influence of brandy because his point was that when you’re in love you feel seventeen anyway.
    The taxi driver said “Oy oy, what’s all this debauchery?” and headed Archie Newman out again.
    “Excuse me, my man,” pronounced Steed, “but we are travelling together.”
    “Shoulder to shoulder,” yelled Archie Newman. “Sorry, guy,” said the taxi man, “but His Nibs only gave me your name.”
    Oh God. It was Benson, turning up at the worst possible time as