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different way – all have been known to work a treat.’ He stopped talking and surveyed the room. ‘Good, I think you are all keeping up with me. To summarize, be clever and quick thinking. Use your imagination. Use whatever is to hand.’
    ‘Like what?’ I asked.
    ‘Well, maybe you could seize a bicycle and push it along the pavement, or ride off on it. If a dog is tied up outside a shop, perhaps you could take it for a walk. Offer to carry an old lady’s shopping for her. Talk to her like she’s your grandmother. Confuse the enemy. Such techniques might save your skin. Be confident.
Be daring!
’
    I scribbled a few notes. Meanwhile, Briggs turned and scratched the words
Body language
onto the blackboard. I wrote them down as well.
    ‘We’re all creatures of habit,’ he continued. ‘And the enemy knows it. They are trained to spot things, little details. For example, think about how you carry a newspaper – folded under your arm, or in your hand? Which arm or hand? Left or right? Set out to confuse the enemy . Be prepared to change the way you do it at a moment’s notice.’
    While Jacques got Briggs to repeat most of what he’d just said for Amélie’s benefit – she looked completely lost – I wrote down
paper
and then added
slouching
and
hands in pockets
. I had a habit of keeping my hands stuffed in my pockets. It might make a difference, I supposed.
    Briggs continued, ‘Now let’s examine the way we walk. You might be surprised to learn that we all do it differently. It can give you away, so try changing the way you swing your arms, or the way you throw each foot forward.’ He demonstrated for us. ‘Maybe hunch your shoulders a little.’ He stopped, put down his chalk and rubbed his hands together. ‘A very convincing limp can be achieved by placing a small stone in one’s shoe. Try it out.’ He leaned on his desk and peered at us. ‘Practise, practise, practise, practise, practise,’ he said, to each of us in turn. ‘And when you’re tired of it, practise some more. Make such things second nature, natural looking. But be careful not to exaggerate. They must be convincing yet not draw attention to you.’
    We spent half an hour practising our different walks and nervous tics, and trying to do everything with the wrong hand. Briggs’s enthusiasm proved infectious. He seemed to know an awful lot about his subject. By the time he called us to order and got us sat back down I was beginning to wonder whether there was rather more to Stanley Briggs than met the eye. Was he simply a professional actor, or was he an experienced member of the secret services as well?
    ‘Of course, there may be a few situations where more drastic measures are needed,’ Briggs added. ‘Maybe you’re on a mission and a proper disguise is essential.’ He reached into his bag and took out some small sponges. He placed them in his mouth, pushing them into his cheeks. ‘See the difference? So much the better if you can get hold of some iodine. It can be used to discolour your teeth. You can also try darkening your hair with charcoal or lightening it with talcum powder or hair bleach.’ He walked to where Loki was sitting. ‘You, Mr Larson, have a pronounced chin cleft. That could be disguised with melted wax.’ Loki pulled a face, and then ran a finger along his chin. Briggs returned to the front of the class. ‘If you have wrinkles, accentuate them using the lead from soft black pencils. In minutes you’ll look five, maybe ten years older.’
    There was a snort of derision from the back of the room. I turned and saw Amélie shaking her head. ‘Something wrong,
mademoiselle
?’ Briggs enquired, tutting and looking to the heavens as if her request for clarification or repetition were a wearisome inevitability.
    She spoke slowly, stumbling slightly, but managed to get her point across. ‘If you get stopped, you have to give your papers to soldiers – yes? Big problem. You don’t look like your photograph.