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Robin was in a disused compartment of the pigeon cote. It was not used for any purpose; even Colin's sacks of meal had lain neglected for two months since he had been ‘removed’ – what Roland had learned was the ‘pacification’. Robin insisted Roland should not attempt to join him till dark. It was obvious that Robin's safety was not to be prejudiced in favour of Roland's. The unwelcome thought would not have been entertained even one day before.
After dark Roland joined Robin, who questioned him closely, in whispers, over and again – was he sure, quite sure, that no one had seen him at any time on his way to Munden? Why had he come? His old friend was not pleased to see him. On the other hand he did not want him to go. ‘After all, they might see you going.’ Roland was affronted. ‘I don't know how I'm to get food for you; you haven't brought your own I suppose?’ ‘I say, old man, don't bother! I can scrounge for myself – you know I can. You remember, with the Boche …’ The idea filled Robin with terror. ‘The Boche! My dear man, where have you been? These people aren't the Boche!’ ‘Oh, I'm sorry’ – Roland was angry and sarcastic – ‘I thought they had declared war again.’ ‘Forget it. The Nazis were kind and good. A bit sentimental and damnably incompetent, but this lot – you've got something to learn. Do you know what happened in that last battle? Well, it was the last. There's no army; there's no nation. Do you know …’ They were interrupted. Stealthy steps were coming upstairs. They stopped outside the door which was ajar. It was pushed open by a dark, stocky man. Roland found himself looking down the long barrel of an automatic. Robin held his hands as high above his head as he could get them. The movement was instantaneous and distracted the man's attention from Roland. Roland, surprised into action, leaped
at the man who fired – too late. Whether he was stunned by the fall, Roland did not know, for he was bashing his skull in with the man's rifle in a paroxysm of fea