`I know which I’ll have!’

  Curtis smiled for the first time. `Thanks, Steve,’ he said simply.

  He looked at Duncan’s eye. `Here, let me have a go.’ He cut the tail off his shirt with his diver’s knife, and after drying it in the warm air he began to dab the grit from the inflamed eyeball.

  Every so often they watched the houses, waiting for some sign of what to expect.

  A woman in a bright red dress left. one of the nearer cottages and walked slowly towards the beach. The two officers stared at her curiously. She was short and fat, and her long black hair gleamed dully in the sunlight. She was a woman, nevertheless, and one of the potential enemy.

  `What a bird!’ Duncan blinked his eye and smiled happily. `I feel ready for anythin’ now. Even her!’

  Some men and women had gathered at the top of the track, and Duncan’s heart gave a leap as he saw the fishing nets that some of the men were dragging down the path. `They’re goin’ out, I guess.’

  `Good. There don’t seem too many of ‘em, do there?’

  Duncan hissed sharply, `Hold it, there’s a car or somethin’ comin’ !’

  Taylor groaned and suddenly appeared beside them, scratching his stomach absently.

  `Get down, George!’ Duncan snapped. `The big picture’s just startin’!’

  The villagers had nearly reached the sand spit, and they could hear their voices quite clearly as they chattered and laughed and stuffed their pockets with food which the women were carrying. They, too, were suddenly aware of the noise of the car engine. They all halted, and several more faces appeared at some of the doorways.

  Curtis frowned. `They’re not used to cars here either, apparently!’

  `Not surprised.’ Taylor was watching the people as if he had never seen any before. `What wiv them bleedin’ roads I’m surprised they see anythink!V

  ‘Nuts! I’ve driven over worse’n this,’ began Duncan, but Curtis’s frozen expression halted him.

  A small, sandy-coloured scout car came labouring around the side of the end houses, and with its fat tyres skidding over the dirt track, drove straight for the centre of the village.

  They gazed at the man who stepped from the back seat and stood tapping his boot impatiently until the villagers started to hurry towards him.

  Duncan dug his fingers into the sand. It was not quite as he had expected it would be, and the man, rather than he and his companions, seemed out of place.

  I’ve been fighting them for four years, he thought slowly, and this is the first proper German I’ve seen.

  He had seen plenty of prisoners, but they were quite different. Sullen, beaten, they bore no resemblance to the slim, impatient figure who leaned negligently against the side of the car. He could see the pistol at his belt, and the long-peaked Afrika Korps cap with its silver eagle.

  Curtis wasn’t looking at the man any more. He stared fixedly at the bright orange life jacket which the German officer had just pulled from the car and flung at the feet of the fishermen.

  ‘D’you see that, Ralph?’ Duncan whispered excitedly. `The bastard’s got Ian’s jacket! What d’you think it means?’

  Curtis shook his head, his eyes puzzled. `Ian might have slipped out of it and the thing’s been washed up somewhere, or,’ he added harshly, `Ian might have been in it when they found it.’

  Duncan seemed even more excited. `The wind, Ralph, don’t you remember? It was agin us! He wouldn’t have been washed up yet. He must have made it on his own!’

  Curtis appeared to Duncan to grow in stature. `Steve, you may be right!’ They both turned their eyes to the German. `But where the hell is he? I wish to God I could hear what that Jerry’s saying.’

  `They don’t seem to like what he’s said, anyway.’

  Duncan was right. The villagers bowed their heads, and some started to shout from the crowd in high, protesting voices. But the officer raised his hand so that his watch glittered in the sun, and at the same time tapped his holster.

  Then he turned his back and climbed into the car, and within seconds only a cloud of yellow dust remained to mark his visit.

  `Well, what d’you make of that?’ Duncan peered at the fishermen who were dispersing towards the boats.

  There was no shouting or laughter any more, and Curtis saw one elderly woman dabbing her eyes with her black skirt.

  `I imagine that Jerry has made some sort of threat.’ Curtis spoke musingly. `After the dock blowing up, and then finding a British life jacket, they’ve come to the conclusion that there’s a saboteur of some sort hiding in the vicinity. He must have warned ‘em to keep their eyes peeled-or else! That makes it even more important that we should find Ian before someone else does.’

  `I’ll go,’ said Duncan woodenly.

  `We’ll both go, separately,’ said Curtis. `George must stay here, just in case Ian shows up later on.’

  Taylor screwed his face into a grimace. ‘Wot, leave me all on me jack? Can’t I come too?’

  `No. Don’t talk so wet.’ Duncan eyed him cheerfully. `You must keep the welcome mat down for us!’

  They settled down to wait, watching the boats being warped down the white sand and into the calm water. There were a few waves and only a few shouts, and then the boats were moving slowly away, their tan-coloured sails hanging limp and the ancient diesel engines thumping noisily on the clean air.

  The women and a few old men watched the boats depart, and then they moved back to the village and stood in small huddled groups, their hands and arms jerking expressively as they loitered together, apparently unwilling to be left alone.

  Taylor produced a watertight packet of chocolate, and they ate it in quick, hungry gulps. They were all feeling the pains of thirst very badly, and when Duncan saw an old villager carrying a long-necked bottle into a cottage he ground his teeth angrily.

  `Jesus! Just look at that joker! I’ll go down an’ have some of that if he waves it about any more!’

  Curtis looked down at the empty beach. Empty but for a torn fishing net and a few nodding gulls. The boats were well clear now, small coloured smudges on the green sea.

  ‘I‘11 work down along the beach, Steve, and try to get beyond the cove, where you found me last night,’ he added with a thin smile. `I think your best bet is to skirt the houses and try to find where the road leads. No tricks, and no risks. Got it?’

  Duncan saluted with a coarse gesture and grinned, his teeth white against the stubble of his chin. `Right! How long shall we all be?’

  ‘Not too long. ‘Bout an hour at the most.’

  ‘Blimey! An hour?’ Taylor scrambled up protestingly. `What am I supposed to do then?’

  Duncan forced him down again. `Steady, George. Just sit tight and keep yer eyes peeled!’

  Taylor huddled miserably under a bush and watched the two figures disappear round the side of the hill. It was bloody to be left alone. His eye fell on the sand-covered grenade which Curtis had left behind. The mechanic’s brain took over from his fears, and with quick, deft movements he began to dismantle and clean the bomb, his face set in concentration.

  Once down the hill and across the open sand spit, Curtis realized just how inadequate his plans were. He felt completely naked and unprotected as he pressed himself against the rocks and stones at the foot of the small cliff and stared wildly about him, as if he was already being hunted.

  He had repeatedly put off thinking about the actual method and time of escape, and the admission of his failure to make some definite plan worried him. The thought of Jervis made him leave the cover of the rocks and hurry further along the side of the cove. It reminded him of Cornwall, with its deserted beach and impressive silence. But the suspense and the constant fear of discovery made him concentrate on each piece of cover in advance and stop to listen at every few steps.

  Once he looked back for the hill, but it had vanished from his vision. That made him feel even more alone, and he had to force himself to move forward again until he reached the end of the cove where the hills and the beach met, and the only way forward was to climb. He studied the hills carefully and slowly. Sparse green grass, yellowed by the heat and the salt air, and some small clumps of trees. Here and there were a few haphazard plots or gardens’ cut into the hillside, as if the villagers had half-heartedly tried to cultivate the land and had given it up as a bad job.

  Suppose I had come ashore at this point? he thought. Where would I go? The hill for the rendezvous was invisible, and with the sea at my back there was only the open sand of the cove or this range of hills.

  He thrust his hands into his pockets. They were dry and stiff, and his fingers felt the familiar shape of his pipe. He had neither his pouch nor any matches, but the feel of the pipe gave him confidence. It was like an old friend, and he stuck it between his teeth, the salt taste reminding him of his thirst.

  Suppose I meet someone? What do I do? Shoot him, or her, and just walk on? He felt the pistol suddenly heavy at his hip.

  This is madness. I must think of something. He found that he had started to climb the smooth side of the hill.

  He froze as a dog barked shrilly in the distance, and he wondered how Duncan was getting on. Duncan would be better at this sort of thing, he thought bitterly. He was good at everything. If he had been in command none of this would have happened.

  He looked back at the open sea. It was no longer hostile. It was home and refuge all in one. He was, as Jervis had said, out of place ashore. The sea shimmered and seemed to mock him.

  A dark shape moved in the corner of his eye, and even as he turned, he saw the forepart of a ship begin to move slowly round the headland. For a moment panic gripped him. It was as if the ship was looking for him and had already moved round to trap him from behind. He calmed slightly when he considered that he must be invisible as he stood on the grassy slope, and as the ship slowly took shape the very idea of pursuit seemed ridiculous.

  She was an old coastal schooner, and had once been very beautiful. Her slim hull still bore traces of white paint, and her long raked bowsprit and two lofty masts added to her appearance of past craftsmanship. Her dirty sails were furled, the canvas hanging from the yards in uneven, careless bundles. A blue cloud of exhaust gas hovered around her high counter, and he could clearly hear the rasping cough of an old engine.

  There were plenty of similar craft plying their trade up and down the Adriatic, and the Germans had made full use of them for carrying supplies and troops, and thereby relieve the overworked railways and roads. A few figures were on her littered deck, but only one man appeared to be in uniform. The sun flashed on a white cap and drill tunic as a tall figure strode from one side of the poop to the other.

  Instead of going about and making for the open sea, she altered course towards the cove, and he saw a group of figures gathering in the bows around the anchor.

  Must know the water pretty well, thought. Curtis, as he watched the ship feeling her way between the dark patches of the shallows. He remembered well enough how little depth there was outside the cove, and wondered if the little schooner was permanently based here.

  He watched narrowly as a dinghy was lowered over the ship’s side and bobbed reluctantly against the hull, while the vessel continued to move slowly towards the shore.

  He heard a faint shout, and saw the splash under the bowsprit as the anchor plummeted down.

  A moment later the little schooner swung lazily at her hawser, and the engine, after a few rasping coughs, fell silent.

  Curtis sat in the grass, biting on the stem of his pipe and feeling the warmth of the forenoon sun coursing through his whole body. A tiny sea-breeze fanned his face, and he jerked back his head to shake away his dry, salt-caked hair.

  He found that he was able to concentrate more fully and his mind had stopped jumping from one possibility to another. Somehow, he knew that this schooner was the answer to his prayer, the avenue of escape.

  Thinking of the others brought his mind back to Jervis. They had to find him before they could do anything else, before they could contemplate any movement at all.

  Then there was the problem of finding out about the Allied invasion. Suppose it had been called off? That would mean a complete alteration of plans.

  He leaned forward as the dinghy shoved off from the schooner’s side. Two roughly dressed seamen pulled at the oars, while two other men sat in the stern.

  Curtis snuggled down deep in the grass and made a small opening to watch the boat’s leisurely approach.

  One of the passengers was a short fat Italian in a faded red shirt, and a greasy peaked cap tilted over his eyes. Flabby and middle-aged, he had only the cap to show his authority. Must be the captain, thought Curtis. Yet the other man, who sat stiffly on the thwart, was obviously no mere seaman.

  The boat grated ashore and the fat Italian stood up and stepped easily over the gunwale on to the firm sand. As he stepped clear of the dinghy he revealed his slightly-built companion, whose white drill jacket and well-creased trousers clashed with the rough appearance of the other men. Curtis’s heart quickened as the second passenger stepped carelessly on to the beach and, after a brief word with the Italian, started to walk up the cove, practically on the same track which Curtis had just taken. As he walked he swung his uniform cap in his hand, his fair hair tilted to the sun and tanned skin dark against the white drill.

  The sun also reflected on the glittering shoulder straps of his tunic. As he drew nearer Curtis realized what he had first feared, that the man was a German naval officer, the two bright bars of gold lace proclaiming him to be a lieutenant.

  Must be in command of the schooner, he thought. It was common practice for the Germans to put their own officers in charge of the normal Italian crews.

  The German was practically below him, and Curtis caught his breath as he stopped to examine the deep footmarks in the sand. Curtis’s own footprints. But after a cursory glance round, the lieutenant carried on his way towards the end of the cove.

  Curtis lost sight of him for a few minutes, and then saw that the German was climbing up the hill by a small narrow path, his legs moving in long rhythmical strides and his head thrown back like an athlete.

  He waited until the other man had passed over the rim of the hill, and then, very slowly, his mouth dry, and not only from thirst, Curtis started to follow him.

  The house which confronted him on the other side of the ridge was a surprise in itself. Two-storied and spacious, it stood in the middle of a vast, diamond-shaped flower garden. Small stone walls separated the various colourful sections from the wide circular drive which surrounded the house, and several large ornamental ponds, with gentle fountains playing on the dark water, were placed at intervals around the gardens.

  The house, white-painted and cool, seemed to be all windows, and as he watched he saw the German run lightly up the steps to the deep, sun-shadowed porch and disappear into the house.

  In the drive stood three cars-two large Fiats, and the dusty scout car which Curtis had seen earlier.

  He licked his cracked lips as the sound of the hissing fountains penetrated his racing thoughts. He cursed himself for his weakness, and tried to peer round the small wall nearest him to see the other corner of the building. Probably a German officers’ mess of some sort, he decided. Although a more un-military place would be hard to imagine. He glanced at his watch. Ought to be getting back soon. Taylor will wonder what the devil’s happened to me.

  There was a sudden grinding of gears and the sound of a labouring engine beyond the line of trees which framed the house, and then a long-muzzled armoured car, the black crosses clearly painted on the turret, drove into view and parked beside the scout car. After a few moments three soldiers in field-grey uniforms tumbled out of their vehicle and sat on the grass under one of the trees. He could hear their laughter, and watched enviously as one man, a corporal’s chevron on his sleeve, held a chianti bottle high over his head and tried to catch the liquid with his open mouth as it splashed redly across the front of his tunic.

  Curtis tore his eyes away and began to retrace his steps. Once clear of the ridge he started to run down the hill towards the beach, conscious of the need to get under cover and discuss his discoveries with the others.

  He paused wearily at the foot of the small cliff and mopped his streaming face with his sleeve. As he lowered his arm he froze, and stared fixedly at the horse and rider which were cantering slowly.and easily towards him.

  At any other time the girl and her chestnut horse would have been a sight to make any man stand and gasp, but at that moment, as she turned easily in the saddle and shaded her eyes to watch the anchored schooner, Curtis was rooted to the spot with the sudden danger and menace which she represented. She was clad in a bright green shirt and well-cut jodphurs, and her hair, which was woven into a long single plait, hung across her slim shoulders like a blue-black snake that rippled and shone each time her body jerked to the horse’s motion.

  A sudden desperate idea came to Curtis as he watched her drawing nearer and nearer to his position. The schooner was

  obviously a regular visitor to the cove, as was the German officer, so why shouldn’t this girl take him for a German from the ship?

  He already had his battledress trousers tucked into the top of his leather sea-boots, and with his fair, sun-bleached hair and blue eyes he looked more like the popular conception of the typical Aryan than did either of the officers Curtis had already seen.

  The horse saw him and stopped, its huge liquid eyes watching him anxiously, while the front hooves pawed the sand in quick, agitated movements.

  The girl swung round in the saddle, a look of brief annoyance flitting across her dark face. Then she saw Curtis, and her full red mouth tilted at the corners in surprise, and for a moment Curtis thought she would speak.