She whispered: “No sign of
the bastard, senor. Shall I cut our losses and get back to London. God only
knows where he has gone, I’ll gut the bastard if we find him.” The slight military man, dressed in a worn Gieves suit, smiled. “So glad you and your dear husband enjoyed the beans.
I shall be picking another basket soon.” His whisper was insistent. “You’ll
stay where you are. This is a test to see whether we are pro-Jerry or English
stooges. He will come back and you must keep on about Adolf the
wonder boy. The English have had enough of the Blitz and would welcome some
sort of deal. Not just an easing of the bombing, we want a deal.”
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