Cromwell turned to fire on someone else. “Lock up those Jerries in the limekilns—I’m told that’s a good, secure prison. The harbor master keeps the keys. Make sure they’ve got camp beds and blankets—oh, and paraffin heaters, it’s a bit damp. Send four lads to keep an eye on ’em—no, make that six, two for each, and make sure they’re armed.”

He paused to catch his breath. Then he lit his own cigarette and had a go at me again. “You take the old lady and the girl back to their lodgings. Tell Mrs. Campbell what’s going on. See that the Limehouse is closed to the public so we can use the place as a meeting room. Then get back here to collect the rest of us. I’ll question those Jerries myself, and I want Pimms there too.”

Jamie:

I rode to the Limehouse in the Tilly along with Cromwell, Chip, Silver, and Phyllis. By the time we got there, the public bar already looked like a medieval courtroom. A fire roared in the hearth, winking orange light off the coins in the black oak beams. The long table was pulled out to the middle of the floor, with three chairs set up on one side of it, facing toward the door. The other furniture was shoved out of the way.

The Old Roundhead walked in as if he owned the place and sat in the middle chair. He spread one of the new maps across the table.

“Over here, Pennyworth.”

Phyllis sat down obediently and got out her cardboard notebook.

“Now you, Flying Officer Silvermont. Show me how that Ju-88 came in.”

Silver pointed and scribbled with a china pencil. Chip and I hadn’t been told to do anything, so we stood stiffly at attention in front of the table.

Nancy Campbell had been told to clear off. She wasn’t allowed to hear what was going on. Ellen wouldn’t get a look-in, either. But after a minute Louisa nipped into the room and pressed herself against the wall next to the hall door, waiting for an appropriate gap to get Cromwell’s attention.

A few seconds later, the vestibule filled with the noise of thumping boots and slamming doors, and the three German airmen came trooping in. They’d been allowed to have their hands free, but they were escorted by guards with pistols. Behind the guards and their prisoners came the rest of Pimms Section. I don’t think I’d ever seen my lads so smart and polished, in smoke-blue RAF service dress uniforms, everybody’s face freshly washed and shaved and everybody’s hair slicked down with Brylcreem, even Dougie’s.

They lined up alongside Chip and me in front of Cromwell, with Pimms at one end and the German prisoners at the other. Harry Morrow’s head nearly brushed the low ceiling.