“More travel guides?” he asked.

“No, rumor-mill duty, and this time we get to be Yanks. Do you think you can manage an American accent?”

Absolutely, he thought. “I believe so,” he said. “I mean, you bet, kiddo.”

“Oh, good show,” Cess said, and Ernest went back to typing, “Special Yank Movie Night at the Empire Theatre in Ashford Saturday. American servicemen admitted half price.”

Half an hour later, Cess reappeared with an American major’s dress uniform. “I thought you said we were on rumor-mill duty,” Ernest said. “Isn’t that a bit dressy for a pub?”

“We’re not going to a pub. We’re going to London. To the Savoy, no less.”

“Is it the Queen again?”

“No. Someone far more important,” Cess said. He draped the uniform over the typewriter. “Make certain you’ve a crease in your trousers and that your shoes are polished.”

“Lady Bracknell will have to find someone else. I haven’t any shoes that could pass as a major’s.”

“I’ll find you a pair.” He came back in a few minutes with a pair of Lady Bracknell’s.

“These are two sizes too small,” Ernest protested.

“Don’t you know there’s a war on?” Cess handed him a tin of shoe polish and a rag. “They need to be shined to a high gloss. He’s a stickler.”

“Who is?” Ernest asked, thinking, It can’t be the King. He’s in Dover with Churchill touring the “fleet.” He’d just written up the press release. “Is this reception for Eisenhower?”

“No,” Cess said. “He’s running the real invasion. We’re in charge of the phoney one, remember? And tonight’s star attraction is in charge of us,” he said mysteriously.

Who did he mean? Special Means was in charge of them, but they didn’t frequent the Savoy, and neither did Intelligence’s top brass. The whole idea was invisibility.

Prism came in, dressed as an American colonel. “Did you hear we’re going to dinner with Old Blood and Guts?”

“Who?”

“The Supreme Commander of the First United States Army Group.” He clicked his heels together and saluted. “General George S. Patton.”

“Patton?”

“Yes, now do hurry along,” Cess said. “We need to leave. The reception’s at eight.”

“We’re supposed to be Yanks,” Ernest said, trying on the shoes. “It’s not ‘Do hurry along.’ It’s ‘Hurry up, chum, or you’ll miss the bus.’ And ‘lieutenant’ is pronounced ‘lootenant,’ not ‘leftenant.’ ”

“Not to worry,” Cess said and pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit gum out of his jacket pocket. “All I need to do is chew this, and everyone will be convinced I’m a Yank.” He held out a stick to Ernest. “Want some gum, chum?”

“No, I want a pair of shoes that fit.”

But due to all the time spent in muddy fields and muddier estuaries, there wasn’t another decent pair in the whole unit. He didn’t change into Lady Bracknell’s shoes till London, but still, by the time they entered the lobby of the Savoy, he could scarcely walk. “You’d best not limp like that in front of General Patton,” Moncrieff said. “He’ll likely slap you for being a weakling.”