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be singing a different tune if Hitler comes knocking on their doors. Do you think he’ll welcome them? Fat chance. He hates nationalists of any stripe.”
    “No IRA sympathizers?”
    “Not that I know of. I hope to God we squelched that lot when the last two got the drop for trying to blow up the police station.”
    “That was back in February, wasn’t it?”
    Mason nodded. “We haven’t heard a peep since then. Good as bloody gold they are. So, sabotage? I doubt it. It’s my view that the explosion was an accident. Those gals are rushed through their training. They’re young, heads in the clouds. One mistake, one lapse of attention, and
boom
, you’re a goner.”
    He yawned again. “Beg pardon. Long day. Sorry I don’t have much more I can give you. I did ring over to the factory, though, and they’re getting you a place to work from. Endicott’s secretary will meet you and show you around. His name’s Cudmore.” Mason made a flip-flop gesture with his hand. “He’s a good fellow, for all he’s a bit limp-wristed. You might not even see Charles Endicott. He avoids trouble like the plague. And he’s notoriously tight-fisted. If you do recommend changes to routine, he’ll put up a fight if he thinks it’ll cost money. Just ignore him or pull rank if you have to. Tell him you’re a personal mate of Winnie’s. That’ll shut him up.”
    He got to his feet. “If you want to come back here for your meals, just sign up with the canteen. Frankly, you’ll get better food at the British Restaurant on Broad Street. It’s just opened.”
    “I’ll look into it.”
    “There’ll be some breakfast served here at seven thirty. Not much to write home about these days – toast and tea.”
    “I don’t have to go to morning lock-up parade, I hope.”
    “We’ve suspended that for the duration, thank God,” said Mason with a chuckle. “At least with this war, justice is swift. Nobody’s much bothered with so-called reasonable doubt, which as far as I’m concerned is a crock of shite. You were caught red-handed, matey, off you go to clink. No toffee-nosed lawyer to whinge for you.”
    Tyler laughed. In spite of his tough talk, he knew Alf was a fair and conscientious copper.
    “I won’t see you till tomorrow night,” continued Mason. “It’s going to take an elephant’s age to get to Nuneaton if the fog keeps up, so I’m off at the crack of dawn. Ready?”
    Except for the fact that he knew it would have embarrassed both of them, Tyler could have hugged his friend. His kindness and matter-of-fact manner were a balm. Mason banked down the fire, then led the way into the hall, snapping off the light behind them.
    “I’ll say good night then. You know where the loo is. I’m bunking in number twenty-six.” Mason looked at him. “Sleeping all right these days?”
    “Not bad,” Tyler lied.
    “It’ll take time, Tom.”
    “To tell you the truth, I was glad to be called up here. Change of scene.”
    “Thought it would be.”
    They parted company at Tyler’s door with a couple more thumps on each other’s arms.
    Tyler went into the bedroom. He unpacked the few things he’d brought with him. Two fresh white shirts, a couple of sombre ties in case he spilled something on one of them, warm underwear, woollen socks. He put them into the top drawer of the dresser. The previous occupant of the room had left behind a wrapped toffee. Tyler considered having it but he wasn’t sure how long it had been there. He left it alone.
    He got into his pyjamas and slipped under the covers. Typical of police-issue furniture, the mattress had known better days. The middle sagged like the belly of an old donkey.
    A constable in the adjoining room was playing a record on his gramophone, not loudly, but the music was still audible. It sounded like the weedy American, Frank Something or other. He was singing
I’ll never smile again, till I smile at you
. Tyler found the song disturbingly pertinent to hissituation. Only