Now for the disguise. And here again, surely, she had been guided, for on the Friday afternoon, on the arid London pavements, she had never even thought about rain. What she was looking for was some garment which in shape and colour was entirely unlike anything she possessed, something which, should anyone by some ill chance catch a sight of her, would not call Miss Mayfield to mind. And it must be cheap, because one of her purchases had been very expensive indeed. It had taken all Mr Frisby’s loan and most of her own money as well.

She was walking along Oxford Street, and whereas every other woman window-shopping was searching for ‘something that looks like me’, she was looking for something that looked unlike herself when she found a window full of garments called Singing in the Rain. They were made of some plastic material, coats and hats to match, the coats very full, gathered into a yoke, the hats bonnet-shaped, with strings which could be tied in a bow under the chin. Some were in plain colours, yellow, scarlet, green and blue; some were in tartans of – surely – no recognized clan. But you could buy a whole outfit for only thirty shillings.

And for once, for the only time in her life, Miss Mayfield was prepared to buy something with no lasting potential. She went in and bought a Singing in the Rain – one of the tartans, green and tan and yellow.

She now pulled the tent-shaped coat over her black one, ripped off her dowdy hat and squashed it into the suitcase, and put the tartan bonnet on her head, tying the strings firmly. She then closed the suitcase and pushed it between the trunk of one of the fir trees and the wall. Shall I live to reclaim it? That is the kind of thought I must not indulge in!

She tucked the mackintosh bag under her left arm, took the torch in her right hand, opened the creaking gate and set off for Walwyk.

Within a few minutes she was conscious of a feeling of respectful gratitude to the designer of Singing in the Rain outfits. The rain which fell upon her shoulders ran into the pleats and gathers at the yoke and were shed at the hem, which at all points was at least eight inches from her legs. You could, in fact, have stood still in one of these garments and preserved a space the size of a small table upon which no rain could fall. In the same way, the out jutting brim of the bonnet kept the rain from getting into your eyes. In moderate comfort, considering the weather, she walked towards the bridge.