“That’s true, but whoever’s on duty can blow a blast on a police-whistle and I’ll come running.”
As long as he lived, Digby would never forget the misery of that week-end. For one thing, it rained continuously, and with the rain came a warm enervating wind from the south-west. The four of them spent most of Sunday in the workshop, reading, playing a desultory game of poker, doing crossword puzzles and, at intervals, listening to the news bulletins. It seemed that the Sanderlake version of events was sweeping the world, and now not only Britain but half a dozen other countries, were preparing to mobilise. The spirit of confusion was abroad and with it went panic and a lot of loose talk about immediate atomic reprisals. The Sunday Messenger came out with a coloured supplement purporting to
