Heil Harris!

with him. It seemed as if Steed was known. A moment later a sergeant marched out by the left and went through the drill of halting by the Bentley, falling out and climbing into the passenger seat.
    “What do you want?” asked Steed.
    “You’re under arrest. Sir!”
    Steed grinned. “And where do you want me to take you?”
    “Is this your address?”
    “Of course. That’s my driving licence.”
    “That’s where I want you to take me.”
    Steed shrugged and drove on.
    The sergeant was a taciturn man who knew nothing and believed implicitly that a man arrested by the British army was thereby arrested. He didn’t bother with guns or anything like that.
    There were several army vehicles in the village itself and they passed two different squads of soldiers marching along the lanes.
    When they reached the cottage he found a full military guard on the place. Steed saluted them limply and went down the front path. He put his hand in his pocket for the doorkey, but as he approached the door was opened from inside.
    Colonel Hayburn was lounging by Steed’s mantelpiece with a revolver in his hand. He smiled when Steed went in. “So you’ve come back at last. I was afraid you might have met with an accident in Bavaria. You know what it’s like out there. Guns going off all the time. It’s a dangerous place. Have you had breakfast?”
    “Yes thanks. I only take a cup of black coffee.”
    “Very wise.” He turned to the escorting sergeant. “Take this man to the barracks dungeon and put him in chains. Mr. Harris will see him when he’s been broken.”
    “Yes, sir!”
    “I suppose you wouldn’t mind telling me what the hell’s going on?” asked Steed. “This tin pot rebellion of yours doesn’t stand the slightest chance of succeeding.”
    Hayburn nodded. “I’m inclined to agree with you. But then, I’m afraid that’s your fault. We shall have to execute you as the first enemy of the regime.” The colonel had certainly got his spirit back. “I think I shall enjoy that. Sergeant, take him away.”
    This time Steed travelled in a special army van with an escort of two men. They seemed to know less of what was going on than Steed, but they felt pretty sure that Herr Harris was going to provide some fun before life reverted to the normal barracks tedium.
    “You’ll be thrown into gaol,” said Steed.
    “Not us, guv. We’re following the orders of our superior officer. That’s laid down in the Queen’s Regulations.”
    When they reached Swindon Steed tried to make a fight of it, just to show that he couldn’t be thrown into a dungeon at whim. But the two soldiers looked perilously keen to try out their guns, and Steed wanted to meet this man Harris anyway.
    The dungeon was one of the bleakest places Steed had ever seen, and after two hours sitting in a corner with rusty chains round his wrists and ankles he decided it was time to begin the reversal. Colonel Hayburn had been given all the encouragement he was going to get.
    Steed stretched out as far as he could towards the brazier. If he could reach one of those branding irons it would act as a fine crowbar to wrench open his shackles. He strained forward, but the burning pressure on his wrists was too much.
    He sat back and thought again. He thought of the last time he had seen Hayburn in Einsiedeln, the white face at the wheel of the black Mercedes. With a sudden lurch Steed kicked out and tipped the brazier over. The effort almost made him scream with pain, but the nearest branding iron was just by his foot.
    Steed worked busily for nearly half an hour, and one by one the shackles snapped. Then he picked up the brazier, returned the irons into the fire, and sat back against the wall with the chains in place. He felt in a better position to enjoy the proceedings now.
    Herr Harris was a distinctly odd man, he found. When he arrived, with five men and Colonel Hayburn in tow, Steed’s first instinct was that he had seen him before. But Harris was old, a frail old man kept alive entirely by the fanaticism that showed in his eyes. He was boring as well. He delivered a very long speech about Germany and the decline of the west.
    “Where’s Mrs. Peel?” asked Steed.
    “Do you know her?”
    “No, but I heard about her on the news. I thought she might be more amusing than you.”
    Hayburn stepped forward and slapped his face.
    “You’re both insane,” sighed Steed.
    Harris chuckled. “Yes. I expect we are. Mrs. Peel is at Throgmorton Hall