Dikon looked out to his left. The shoulder of the hill hid Harpoon and the harbour, but Simon’s rock was just visible, a shapeless spot down in the blue. ‘If you stand on the edge you can just see the other boulders leading out to it,’ said Simon.

‘Thanks, I’ll take your word for them.’

‘Gee, can’t you see the sand spit under the water clearly from up here? That’s what it’ll be like from the air. Coastal patrol work. Cripey, I wish they’d get on with it and pull me in.’

Simon stood on the lip of the shelf and Dikon looked at him. His chin was up. A light breeze whipped his hair back from his forehead. His shoulders were squared. Human beings gain prestige when they are seen at a great height against a simple background of sea and sky. Simon lost his uncouthness and became a significant figure. Dikon took off his glasses and wiped them. The young Simon was blurred.

‘I envy you,’ said Dikon.

‘Me? What for?’

‘You have the right of entry to danger. You’ll move out towards it. I’m one of the sort that sit pretty and wait. Blind as a bat, you know.’

‘Tough luck. Still, they reckon this is everyone’s war, don’t they?’

‘They do.’

‘Lend a hand to catch this joker Questing. There’s a job for you.’

‘Quite so,’ said Dikon, who already regretted his digression. ‘What have we decided? That Questing climbed up here on Thursday night, wearing hobnailed boots? That he signalled to a U-boat information about a ship loading at Harpoon and sailing the following night? By the way, can you visualize Questing in hobnailed boots?’

‘He’s been mucking about on the Peak for the last three months. He must have learnt sense.’

‘Perhaps they are hobnailed shoes. Was there moonlight on Thursday night?’

‘Not after the rain came up, but he was here by then. There was, before that.’

‘They’ll have to look at all his shoes. Should we perhaps try to make a sort of record of these prints? Glare at them until they leave an indelible impression on our minds and we can take oaths about them hereafter? Or shall I try to make a sketch of them?’

‘That’s an idea. If they knew their business they’d take casts. I’ve read about that.’

‘Who precisely are they?’ asked Dikon, taking out his notebook and beginning to sketch. ‘The police? The army? Have we got anything approaching a secret service in New Zealand? What’s the matter!’ he added angrily. Simon had uttered a loud exclamation and Dikon’s pencil skidded across his sketch.