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They will arrest you. Then they will take you away. In truck. You’ll never be seen again.’ She drew a finger across her throat. ‘
Mort et enterré!
’
    We looked at Jacques. ‘She means you’ll be
dead and buried
,’ he said. ‘Amélie, you must try and stick to English. I know it’s hard but you really must try.’
    ‘Yes, well …’ Briggs balked uncomfortably. It was the first time I’d seen him look anything other than supremely confident. ‘You must choose your disguises carefully. And if at all possible, have false papers made,
including new photographs
.’ He glanced sharply at Amélie. ‘The art of evading capture is like a game of cat-and-mouse. What I’m teaching you may just give you the edge. But to be blunt, you are the mouse and sometimes the mouse gets caught!’
    A bewildered Amélie leaned across to her brother and muttered, ‘
Chat et souris?
Did he say cat and mouse? Is he crazy?’ Jacques explained in French what Briggs had just said. ‘Oh!’ She nodded and pulled a face. ‘You are right!’
    It was Jacques’ turn to speak up. Rocking back in his chair, he observed, ‘You’re both right, surely. If you can, it’s better to lie low. Don’t take risks unless you have no choice. If you can’t hide, if you have to escape, or think you’re being followed, head for somewhere crowded. Try to lose yourself. Move back and forth. Go in one door and leave by another. Walk quickly but calmly. Don’t keep looking over your shoulder. It is a real giveaway. Use your eyes. Use the reflections in shop windows.’
    Loki pulled a face. He was probably thinking the same as I was. Our French colleagues had clearly already gained practical experience.
    ‘Yes, yes, good advice,’ said Briggs. ‘Thank you, Mr Lefebvre.’
    Loki twisted round and said to Jacques, ‘And what if there isn’t a crowd?’
    ‘Run like hell!’

Chapter Five
Night of Broken Glass
    AFTER BRIGGS HAD packed up and left, Loki and I wandered out through the front door of Mulberry House for a little fresh air, and spotted Jacques, sleeves rolled up, peering under the opened bonnet of a car. The soldier who’d driven us from the station the previous night was standing next to him, hands on hips, looking rather impatient. Seeing him in the daylight, I realized just how short he was and, although not exactly skinny, he struck me as quite wiry in a tough sort of way. He was also as ugly as sin, his nose bent from a break at some time in the past. It gave him a curiously unbalanced, lopsided appearance.
    ‘Hand me a screwdriver, Smithy,’ said Jacques, holding out a hand while still leaning over the engine.
    Smithy obliged and then, seeing Loki and me, called out, ‘All right, lads? Jacques here’s a bloody marvel. He can fix anything with a motor in it.’
    Jacques emerged from beneath the bonnet. ‘There is damp in the distributor,’ he announced. He held up the distributor cap as proof. ‘See! That’s why she wasn’t running properly.’ Jacques took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the inside of the cap, then the small rotor under the bonnet. ‘There. Perfect. Now try her again.’
    The engine started first time.
    ‘What did I tell you? He’s a bloody marvel,’ Smithy said, beaming.
    ‘Where did you learn about engines, Jacques?’ I asked.
    ‘I’ve always been interested in them,’ he replied, cleaning his hands with his hanky. ‘And I’d just started studying engineering at university when France was invaded.’
    ‘Corporal Smith! You still here?’ We turned and saw Sergeant Walker leaning out of a window. ‘Stop yakking and go and fetch those supplies. This isn’t a ruddy holiday camp!’
    Smithy lazily stiffened to attention and saluted, though it was more of a wave than a salute. ‘Yes, Sarge. Right away, Sarge. I’ll be there and back in a jiffy. Have those detonators for you by tea time.’
    ‘And tidy yourself up, man. I thought I told you to get your hair cut. You look a ruddy