FIRST BLOODAshcroft whistled. "You haven't heard of him so lately, have you?"
His friend shrugged his shoulders. "We're always coming across his traces. Wherever John Bull's in trouble his agents are never very far away. 'The Fox' has cost me the lives of three of my men during the past eighteen months."
He stood up and went to the window. The curtains had not been drawn: outside the fog clung to the panes. There were even wisps of it in the room, a faint haze lurking in the shadows above the chandelier. "Back in the war when I first went into this job," he went on, staring sombrely into the outer greyness, "there were at least certain rules, a sort of unwritten code that both sides honoured. But with international morality at its present low level how can you expect anyone to play the g
