“Wait,” Chasuble said. “Isn’t it a bit late in the year for a harvest fête? And why is it on a Wednesday?”

“The fête had to be delayed when a V-2 hit the Women’s Institute,” Cess said. He started out again and then leaned back in. “Oh, I nearly forgot,” he said to Chasuble. “Lady Bracknell wants to see you.”

“What about? You don’t think he’s found out about the Austin, do you?”

“I do hope not,” Cess said. “You’re no use to me dead.” And the two of them finally departed.

And hopefully whatever it was Lady Bracknell wanted, it would take at least half an hour, Cess would be curious enough to listen at the door the entire time, and he’d have time to finish his article. “The Christmas crackers are made of pasteboard tubes and wrapping paper donated by Townsend Brothers Department Store and contain tissue-paper crowns. As for the traditional pop of a cracker, Miss O’Reilly, known to her friends as Polly, said, ‘No, our soldiers have had enough “bangs” for the year and should like peace and quiet for the holidays.’ ”

Not that they’d get it. Christmas week was the Battle of the Bulge. Another event I’ll never be able to observe, he thought, remembering the attack on Pearl Harbor, which he’d spent decoding intercepts. And during the Battle of the Bulge, I’ll be typing articles about Christmas on the home front and sending V-1s and V-2s down on innocent people’s heads.

“The Christmas crackers will also contain a sweet,” he typed, “and a handwritten motto, such as ‘A stitch in time saves nine,’ and ‘Seek and you shall find.’ ”

Chasuble stomped in. “Well, that’s that,” he said disgustedly.

Cess leaned in the door. “What happened?”

Damn it, Ernest thought, stopping typing. At this rate, Christmas would be over before he finished the story.

“The boiler at St. Anselm’s in Cricklewood blew up,” Chasuble said angrily.

“Cricklewood?” Ernest said, frowning. “I thought you were taking the girls to Goddards Green.”

“Not now. I’m not taking them anywhere. It seems the bell tower is still standing.”

“What?”

“It’s Norman. And famous. Bracknell wants photographs, captions, and accompanying stories delivered to all the London papers for the evening-edition deadline.”

Oh, now he understood. The damage from the boiler explosion looked like that from a V-2 attack, and the famous Norman tower would have been in travel guides, which would make the identification of the church by the German Abwehr not only possible but likely. And it was northwest of London, where they were trying to convince the Germans their V-1s and V-2s were landing.

“It’s not fair,” Chasuble said dejectedly. “I’ll never get another chance at Daphne.”

“You’re quite right,” Cess said. “You go to Goddards Green with the girls, and I’ll go to Cricklewood.”

“No, I will,” Ernest said. And deliver my pieces to the village weeklies on the way back.

“You will?”

“Yes. But before you go, get me the time of the V-2 we’re going to say this is. And I’ll need directions to St. Anselm’s. Oh, and ring up the Herald and tell them not to print anything about St. Anselm’s till we say so.”