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jewel cases, and so on. Took him about twenty minutes.’
    ‘Was he wearing a mask?’
    ‘Not on your life. He wore gloves, but never any form of disguise. Reckoned it was safer that way. If he was seen at a distance he calculated on being mistaken for a guest or servant. It would have spoilt the effect if he’d been wearing a hood or a false beard. When Feder had finished, the boy thought he would jump out and say Boo! – just to see what happened.’
    ‘But he didn’t,’ said Liz, whose throat was unaccountably dry.
    ‘By the grace of God, no. At the last moment discretion got the better of valour. Of course, that’s why the boy’s alive today.’
    ‘And he identified Feder—Barry?’
    ‘Without hesitation. Made a splendid witness, too, I believe. Completely unshakeable.’
    ‘Bob, you’re making my flesh creep,’ said Liz.
    ‘Sorry. Unforgiveable. And I’m doing more than that, I’m keeping you out of bed.’
    ‘I must be getting along too,’ said the General, regretfully.
    ‘Give you a lift?’
    ‘That’s very good of you. Don’t know why Liz puts up with us. Come along here, drink her coffee, talk our heads off. Bore her stiff.’
    ‘It’s her own fault,’ said Cleeve. ‘She listens too well.’
    ‘I can assure you, poppets,’ said Liz, ‘that whatever else you do, you don’t bore me.’
     
    She was getting past the age when she cared for a lot of sleep. When her guests had gone she took out the coffee cups, and washed and dried and stacked them. Then she threw a handful of fir cones on the economical early-autumn fire, and settled down to read.
    Eleven o’clock had struck faintly from the church tower up the road when she heard the sound that half her mind had been waiting for; the click of a key in the lock.
    Footsteps, which paused in the hall. Sometimes Tim went straight up to bed. Sometimes he didn’t. Tonight after a moment of hesitation, the footsteps came on.
    ‘There you are,’ said Liz. ‘I’d been wondering what had become of you.’
    ‘There I am,’ agreed Tim.
    ‘You’ve missed Bob and the General.’
    ‘Had they got anything interesting to say?’
    ‘I always think Bob’s interesting. He was talking about how Chief Constables get appointed – and about country house burglars.’
    ‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Tim.
    He threw himself back into an armchair, which twanged softly. He was not tall, but thick and solid. ‘What had Bob got to say about country house burglars?’
    ‘He was telling us about one who used to operate before the war. His name was Feder, but he called himself Barry.’
    ‘Oh. Before the war.’ Tim seemed to lose interest. He lay slouched in the chair, his shoulders hunched, his arms hanging down so that the knuckles brushed the carpet.
    ‘You look as if you’d got the grumps,’ said Liz.
    ‘That’s right,’ said Tim. ‘I’ve got the grumps. And don’t tell me that all I need is a dose of salts. It goes deeper than salts.’
    Mrs. Artside was not sure if her son wanted to talk or not. If he did, she was very willing to listen. If she said the wrong word he would dry up and go to bed.
    ‘Who have you been terrorising this evening?’ she asked.
    ‘First, it was the Vicar.’
    ‘Not worth powder and shot.’
    ‘He’s a silly little man,’ agreed Tim. ‘Really, a silly little man I happened to meet him on my way down to choir practice. We started talking about politics.’
    ‘Oh, dear. And him a timid, pale-pink radical.’
    ‘Not about his politics. About politics in general. I said, what a pity it was we hadn’t got a system of free election in the church. Then parishioners would have a say in electing their own vicar. He said, terribly solemnly, “You ignore the spiritual values, Artside.” I’m sorry to say I laughed.’
    ‘That wasn’t terribly tactful.’
    ‘Spiritual values my foot. A four-figure living and only two hundred parishioners to look after. He’s on to a soft job here, and he knows