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any funny business from any of ’em and they’ll find themselves blown out of existence.’
    With a quick, determined gesture he whipped open the trap and called down into the cellars.
    ‘All right, you can come out of there. One at a time with your hands above your heads . . . I’ll give you five minutes, and then you can expect trouble . . .’
    We stood round, waiting. The first to emerge was a little old hag, her sticklike arms held trembling above her skull-like head. After her came five other women. One was carrying a small baby in her arms. A pause, and then the men arrived. There were several of them, most of them young. Heide and Barcelona searched each and every one of them, and Tiny demanded plaintively that he be allowed to search the women, which only provoked a fresh outburst of rage from Lt. Ohlsen, whose temper was never at its sweetest when Tiny was around.
    ‘You lay so much as a finger on any one of them and I’ll shoot you, you great oaf, so help me God I will . . . Are there any more of ’em down there?’
    The Russians all solemnly shook their heads. We gazed at them, not sure whether to believe them. Porta jabbed Tiny in the ribs.
    ‘Why don’t you try your strangling trick on one of ’em? We can at least be sure of getting at the truth that way.’
    Tiny, of course, was only too happy to oblige. He stepped up to the nearest Russian and adroitly twisted the wire round his neck. He tightened his grip a moment, then relaxed it. Porta smiled.
    ‘All right, tovaritch 6 ’ Now you know what’s coming to you if you’re telling whoppers, don’t you? . . . Have you left anyone else down there or haven’t you?’
    The man shook his head, eyes bulging and Adam’s apple working frenziedly.
    ‘Let him go!’ snapped Lt. Ohlsen. ‘How many more times do I have to tell you two that I will not stand for this sort of thing? We’re supposed to be soldiers, for God’s sake, not Gestapo gangsters! He turned back to the prisoners. ‘All right, now let’s have the truth out of you. Is there, or is there not, anyone else left in the cellars?’
    A row of heads silently replied in the negative.
    ‘O.K. . . . Kalb, toss a couple of Molotovs down there!’
    The Legionnaire shrugged a shoulder and prepared to do so. Immediately, one of the women gave a harsh cry.
    ‘Njet, njet!’
    The Legionnaire cocked an eyebrow at her.
    ‘What’s up with you, old woman? Any objections to our blowing up an empty cellar?’
    Lt. Ohlsen walked forward to the trap.
    ‘All right, we know you’re down there . . . you might just as well come up in one piece as be blown to smithereens.’
    Two young men came slowly up the steps. The Legionnaire looked at them and nodded.
    ‘Another three seconds,’ he said, grimly. ‘That’s all it needed.’
    Heide and Barcelona ran their hands over the two men, searching for weapons, and Lt. Ohlsen looked sternly at the Russians.
    ‘I hope that really is the lot, this time?’
    It was the Legionnaire and I who went down into the cellar. We crouched for a moment behind some barrels, and hearing no sound we crept forward. We explored the cellar thoroughly. It was a vast place, running the whole width of the house, and there were many places where a man could hide, but we found no one. As we were about to turn back, a sudden noise made us spin round, our fingers twitching neurotically on the trigger.
    It was Tiny, beaming all over his large moronic face.
    ‘Come to see if there was any more birds down here,’ he explained, when the Legionnaire and I had run out of abuse. ‘Thought I’d help you look for ’em.’
    ‘Well, we don’t need your flaming help,’ hissed the Legionnaire. ‘And in any case, you’ve missed your chance, the place is empty.’
    Pushing Tiny before us up the steps, we rejoined the others. Porta had uncovered a fresh cache of bottles, and he was cautiously tasting the contents of each one in turn.
    ‘Vodka?’ he asked the Russians. ‘Nix