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Woods in that; he knew Douglas hated being called ‘Archer of the Yard’ and Douglas guessed that Harry had spoken over the phone and said the dead man was an ‘expert in girls’ before incredulously denying it on the read-back.
    It was raining as Douglas left the ‘Red Lion’. As he looked across the road, at the oncoming traffic, he saw Sylvia, his secretary. She’d obviously been waiting for him. Douglas let a couple of buses pass and then hurried across the road. He waited again for two staff cars flying C-in-C pennants. They hit the ruts left by bomb damage and sprayed water over him. Douglas cursed but that only made it rain harder.
    ‘Darling,’ said Sylvia. There was not much passion in the word but then with Sylvia there never had been. Douglas put an arm round her and she held her cold face up to be kissed.
    ‘I’ve been worried all morning. The letter said you were going away.’
    ‘You must forgive me, darling,’ said Sylvia. ‘I’ve despised myself ever since sending the damned letter. Say you forgive me.’
    ‘You’re pregnant?’
    ‘I’m not absolutely sure.’
    ‘Damn it, Sylvia – you sent the letter and said…’
    ‘Don’t shout in the street, darling.’ She held a hand up to his mouth. The hand was very cold. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come here?’
    ‘After three days I had to report your absence. The tea lady asked where you were. It was impossible to cover for you.’
    ‘I didn’t want you to take any risks, darling.’
    ‘I phoned your aunt in Streatham but she said she’d not seen you for months.’
    ‘Yes, I must go and see her.’
    ‘Will you listen to what I’m saying, Sylvia.’
    ‘Let go of my arm, you’re hurting me. I
am
listening.’
    ‘You’re not listening properly.’
    ‘I’m listening the same as I always listen to you.’
    ‘You’ve still got your SIPO pass.’
    ‘What pass?’
    ‘Your Scotland Yard pass – have you been drinking or something?’
    ‘Of course I haven’t been drinking. Well, what about it? You think I’m going to go down Petticoat Lane and sell the bloody pass to the highest bidder? Who the hell wants to go into that hideous building unless they are paid for it?’
    ‘Let’s walk,’ said Douglas. ‘Don’t you know that Whitehall has regular Gendarmerie patrols?’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ She smiled. ‘Give me a proper kiss. Aren’t you glad to see me?’
    He kissed her hurriedly. ‘Of course I am. We’ll walk up towards Trafalgar Square, all right?’
    ‘Suits me.’
    They walked up Whitehall, past the armed sentries who stood immobile outside the newly occupied offices. They were almost as far as the Whitehall Theatre when they saw the soldiers doing the spot-check. Parked across the roadway there were three Bedford lorries, newly painted with German Army Group L (London District) HQ markings: a crude Tower Bridge surmounting a Gothic L. The soldiers were in battle-smocks with machine pistols slung on their shoulders. They moved quickly, expanding the spiked barrier – designed to pierce tyres – so that only one lane of traffic could pass through in each direction. The check-point command car was parked against the foot of Charles the First’s statue. The Germans learned quickly thought Douglas, for that was the place the Metropolitan Police always used for central London crowd-control work. More soldiers made a barrier behind them.
    Sylvia showed no sign of apprehension but she suggested that it would be quicker if they turned off at Whitehall Place and went towards the Embankment. ‘No,’ said Douglas. ‘They always block the side roads first!’
    ‘I’ll show my pass,’ said Sylvia.
    ‘Have you gone completely out of your mind?’ said Douglas. ‘The Scotland Yard building houses the SD and the Gestapo and all the rest of it. You might not think much of it, but the Germans think that pass is just about the most valuable piece of paper any foreigner can be given. You’ve stayed away