Mr. Jeppers’s bicycle stood outside it. Ernest had been lying to Cess about being able to make it to Croydon before the Call closed. He hadn’t expected the office to be open this late, but the printing press must have jammed again. Which meant he really might be able to get his articles in this week’s paper.

“I’ll drop you at the pub,” he told Cess, stopping in front of it, “and I’ll go deliver my articles. It may take some time. Mr. Jeppers likes to talk. Order for me,” he said, and drove back to the phone booth.

The operator put him through immediately, and the same young woman answered. “This is Lieutenant Davies,” Ernest said. “General Dunworthy’s aide. I telephoned earlier this afternoon, but we were cut off.”

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“I need to speak with Major Atherton.”

“Oh, dear, he came back, but he’s gone out again.”

Damn.

“Is it a medical emergency? This is his nurse. If it’s an emergency, I can try to contact Dr. Atherton.”

Dr. Atherton. He was a doctor. Which meant he wasn’t Denys. Historians posed as lots of things, but there were no subliminals for medicine. Even Polly’s driving an ambulance had been unusual, and all she’d had was emergency first-aid training. Which she’d done here. There was no way Atherton could have got a medical degree here since February.

“Sir?” she said. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. I think I may have the wrong Major Atherton. I’m trying to contact Major Denys Atherton.”

“Yes, sir. That’s Major Atherton’s name.”

“Tall man, dark curly hair, mid-twenties?”

“Oh, no, sir. Major Atherton’s fifty and has scarcely any hair at all. Is your Major Atherton an Army surgeon, too?”

No, he thought grimly. He’s an historian, and he’s not here under his own name. Dunworthy would have insisted Research run a check on the names of everyone involved in the invasion buildup. Two soldiers with the same name would automatically attract attention, and historians were supposed to blend in, to avoid being noticed.

There’s no way you’ll be able to find him if he’s here under another name, Ernest thought. He’d always known it was a long shot, but the knowledge still hit him with the force of a punch to the gut. He hung up the receiver and then just stood there.

I should go take the messages to Mr. Jeppers, he thought. It’s even more important now that I get them into the Call. But he continued to stand there, staring blindly at the telephone.

Cess was knocking on the phone-booth door.

Oh, Christ, he hadn’t just messed up rescuing Polly and Eileen, he’d been caught by Cess. He’d demand to know who he was phoning and why he’d lied about delivering the articles. He’d tell Lady Bracknell, and Bracknell would tell Tensing, and they’d have to cancel Fortitude South. They couldn’t take a chance that a German agent had infiltrated Special Means. And Eisenhower would postpone the invasion and try to come up with a new plan. And they’d lose the war.