4

The lull which seemed to have fallen on the world continued through the winter. In the Western countries, schemes for rationing foods were drawn up, and in some cases applied. Cake disappeared in England, but bread was still available to all. The Press continued to oscillate between optimism and pessimism, but with less violent swings. The important question, most frequently canvassed, was the length of time that could be expected to ensue before, with the destruction of the virus, life might return to normal.

It was significant, John thought, that no one spoke yet of the reclamation of the lifeless lands of Asia. He mentioned this to Roger Buckley over luncheon, one day in late February. They were in Roger's club, the Treasury.

Roger said: 'No, we try not to think of them too much, don't we? It's as though we had managed to chop off the rest of the world, and left just Europe, Africa, Australasia and the Americas. I saw some pictures of Central China last week. Even up to a few months ago, they would have been in the Press. But they haven't been published, and they're not going to be published.'

'What were they like?'

'They were in colour. Tasteful compositions in browns and greys and yellows. All that bare earth and clay. Do you know - in its way, it was more frightening than the famine pictures used to be?'

The waiter padded up and gave them their lagers m slow and patient ritual. When he had gone, John queried:

'Frightening?'

'They frightened me. I hadn't understood properly before quite what a clean sweep the virus makes of a place. Automatically, you think of it as leaving some grass growing, if only a few tufts here and there. But it doesn't leave anything. It's only the grasses that have gone, of course, but it's surprising to realise what a large amount of territory is covered with grasses of one kind or another.'

'Any rumours of an answer to it?'

Roger waggled his head in an indeterminate gesture.

'Let's put it this way: the rumours in official circles are as vague as the ones in the Press, but they do have a note of confidence.'

John said: 'My brother is barricading himself in. Did I tell you?'

Roger leaned forward, curiously. 'The farmer? How do you mean - barricading himself in?'

'I've told you about his place - Blind Gill - surrounded by hills with just one narrow gap leading out.

He's having a fence put up to seal the gap.'

'Go on. I'm interested.'

'That's all there is to it, really. He's uneasy about what's going to happen in the next growing season -

I've never known him so uneasy. At any rate, he's given up all his wheat acreage to plant root crops. He even wanted us all to come and spend a year up there.'

'Until the crisis is over? He is worried.'

'And yet,' John said, 'I've been thinking about it off and on since then . . . Dave's always been more levelheaded than I, and when you get down to it, a countryman's premonitions are not to be taken lightly in this kind of business. In London, we don't know anything except what's spooned out to us.'

Roger looked at him, and smiled. 'Something in what you say, Johnny, but you must remember that I'm on the spooning side. Tell me - if I get you the inside warning of the crack-up in plenty of time, do you think you could make room for our little trio in your brother's bolt-hole?'

John said tensely: 'Do you think it's going to come to a crackup?'

'So far, there's not a sign of it. Those who should be in the know are radiating the same kind of optimism that you find in the papers. But I like the sound of Blind Gill, as an insurance policy. I'll keep my ear to the pipeline.

As soon as there's a little warning tinkle at the other end, we both take indefinite leave, and our families, and head for the north? How does it strike you? Would your brother have us?'

'Yes, of course.' John thought about the idea. 'How much warning do you think you would get?'

'Enough. I'll keep you informed. In a case like this, you can rest assured I shall err on the side of caution. I don't relish the idea of being caught in the London area in the middle of a famine.'

A trolley was pushed past them, laden with assorted cheeses. The air was instilled with the drowsy somnolence of midday in the dining-room of a London club.

The murmur of voices was an easy and untroubled one.

John waved an arm. 'It's difficult to imagine anything denting this.'

Roger surveyed the scene in turn, his eyes mild but acute.

'Quite undeniable, I agree. After all, as the Press has told us sufficiently often, we're not Asiatics. It's going to be interesting, watching us being British and stiff-lipped, while the storm-clouds gather. Undeniable. But what happens when we crack?'

Their waiter came with their chops. He was a garrulous little man, with less hauteur than most of the others here.

'No,' Roger said, 'interesting - but not interesting enough to make me want to stop and see it.'

Spring was late in coming; a period of dry, cold, cloudy weather lasted through March and into April. When, in the second week of April, it was succeeded by a warm, moist spell, it was a shock to see that the Chung-Li virus had lost none of its vigour. As the grass grew, in fields or gardens or highways, its blades were splotched with darker green - green that spread and turned into rotting brown. There was no escaping the evidence of these new inroads.

John got hold of Roger.

He asked him: 'What's the news at your end?*

'Oddly enough, very good.'

John said: 'My lawn's full of it. I started cutting-out operations but then I saw that all the grass in the district's got it.'

'Mine, too,' Roger said. 'A warm putrefying shade of brown. The penalties for failing to cut out infected grasses are being rescinded, by the way.'

'What's the good news, then? It looks grim enough to me.'

'The papers will be carrying it tomorrow. The Bureau UNESCO set up claim they've got the answer. They've bred a virus that feeds on Chung-Li - all phases.'

John said: 'It comes at what might otherwise have been a decidedly awkward moment. You don't think...?'

Roger smiled. 'It was the first thing I did think. But the bulletin announcing it has been signed by a gang of people, including some who wouldn't falsify the results of a minor experiment to save their aged parents from the stake. It's genuine, all right.'

'Saved by the bell,' John said slowly. 'I don't like to think what would have happened this summer otherwise.'

'I don't mind thinking about it,' Roger said. 'It was participation I was anxious to avoid.'

'I was wondering about sending the children back to school. I suppose it's all right now.'

'Better there, I should think,' Roger said. 'There are bound to be shortages, because they will hardly be able to get the new virus going on a large enough scale to do much about saving this year's harvest. London will feel the pinch more than most places, probably.'

The UNESCO report was given the fullest publicity, and the Government at the same time issued its own appraisal of the situation. The United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand all held grain stocks and were all prepared to impose rationing on their own populations with a view to making these stocks last over the immediate period of shortage. In Britain, a similar but more severe rationing of grain products and meat was introduced.

Once again the atmosphere lightened. The combination of news of an answer to the virus and news of the imposition of rationing produced an effect both bracing and hopeful. When a letter came from David, its tone appeared almost ludicrously out of key.

He wrote:

'There isn't a blade of grass left in the valley. I killed the last of the cows yesterday -I understand that someone in London had the sense to arrange for an extension of refrigerating space during last winter, but it won't be enough to cope with the beef that will be coming under the knife in the next few weeks. I'm salting mine. Even if things go right, it will be years before this country knows what meat is again - or milk, or cheese.

'And I wish I could believe that things are going to go right. It's not that I disbelieve this report - I know the reputation of the people who have signed it - but reports don't seem to mean very much when I can look out and see black instead of green.

'Don't forget you're welcome any time you decide to pack your things up and come. I'm not really bothered about the valley. We can live on root crops and pork I'm keeping the pigs going because they're the only animal I know that might thrive on a diet of potatoes.

We'll manage very well here. It's the land outside I'm worried about.'

John threw the letter across to Arm and went to look out of the window of the sitting-room. Arm frowned as she read it.

'He's still taking it all terribly seriously, isn't he?' she asked.

'Evidently.'

John looked out at what had been the lawn and was now a patch of brown earth speckled with occasional weeds. Already it had become familiar.

'You don't think,' Arm said, 'living up there with only the Hillens and the farm men . . . it's a pity he never married.'

'He's going off his rocker, you mean? He's not the only pessimist about the virus.'

'This bit at the end,' Arm said. She quoted:

'In a way, I think I feel it would be more right for the virus to win, anyway. For years now, we've treated the land as though it were a piggy-bank, to be raided. And the land, after all, is life itself.'

John said: 'We're cushioned - we never did see a great deal of grass, so not seeing any doesn't make much difference. It's bound to have a more striking effect in the country.'

'But it's almost as though he wants the virus to win.'

'The countryman always has disliked and mistrusted the townsman. He sees him as a gaping mouth on top of a lazy body. I suppose most farmers would be happy enough to see the urban dweller take a small tumble.

Only this tumble, if it were taken, would be anything but small. I don't think David wants Chung-Li to beat us, though. He's just got it on his mind.'

Arm was silent for a while. John looked round at her.

She was staring at the blank screen of the television set, with David's letter tightly held in one hand.

'It may be he's getting a bit of a worriter in his old age. Bachelor farmers often do.'

Arm said: This idea - of Roger warning us if things go wrong so that we can all travel north - is it still on?'

John said curiously: 'Yes, of course. Though it hardly seems pressing now.'

'Can we rely on him?'

'Don't you think so? Even if he were willing to take chances with our lives, do you think he would with his own - and with Olivia's, and Steve's?'

'I suppose not. It's just...'

'If there were going to be trouble, we shouldn't need Roger's warning, anyway. We should see it coming, a mile off.'

Arm said: 'I was thinking about the children.'

'They'll be all right. Davey even likes the tinned hamburger the Americans are sending us.'

Arm smiled. 'Yes, we've always got the tinned hamburger to fall back on, I suppose.'

They went down to the sea as usual with the Buckleys when the children came back for the summer half—

term holiday. It was a strange journey through a land showing only the desolate bareness of virus-choked ground, interspersed with fields where the abandoned grain crops had been replaced by roots. But the roads themselves were as thronged with traffic, and it was as difficult as ever to find a not too crowded patch of coast.

The weather was warm, but the air was dark with clouds that continually threatened rain. They did not go far from the caravan.

Their halting-place was on a spur of high ground, looking down to the shingle, and giving a wide view of the Channel. Davey and Steve showed great interest in the traffic on the sea; there was a fleet of small vessels a couple of miles off shore.

'Fishing smacks,' Roger explained. To make up for the meat we haven't got, because there isn't any grass for the cows.'

'And rationed from Monday,' Olivia said. 'Fancy fish rationed!'

'It was about time,' Arm commented. The prices were getting ridiculous.'

The smooth mechanism of the British national economy continues to mesh with silent efficiency,'

Roger said. They told us that we were different from the Asiatics, and by God they were right! The belt tightens notch by notch, and no one complains.'

There wouldn't be much point in complaining, would there?' Arm asked.

John said: 'It's rather different now that the ultimate prospects are fairly good. I don't know how calm and collected we should be if they weren't.'

Mary, who had been drying herself in the caravan after a bathe, looked out of the window at them.

The fishcakes at school always used to be a tin of anchovies to twenty pounds of potatoes - now it's more like a tin to two hundred pounds. What are the ultimate prospects of that, Daddy?'

'Potato-cakes,' John said, 'and the empty tin circulating along the tables for you all to have a sniff. Very nourishing, too.'

Davey said: 'Well, I don't see why they've rationed sweets. You don't get sweets out of grass, do you?'

Too many people had started to fill up on them,'

John told him. 'You included. Now you're confined to your own ration, and what Mary doesn't get off your mother's and mine. Contemplate your good fortune.

You might be an orphan.'

'Well, how long's the rationing going to go on?' 'A few years yet, so you'd better get used to it.'

'It's a swindle,' Davey said,' - rationing, without even the excitement of there being a war on.'

The children went back to school, and for the rest life continued as usual. At one time, soon after they had made their pact, John had made a point of telephoning Roger whenever two or three days went by without their meeting, but now he did not bother.

Food rationing tightened gradually, but there was enough food to stay the actual pangs of hunger. There was news that in some other countries similarly situated, food riots had taken place, notably in the countries bordering the Mediterranean. London reacted smugly to this, contrasting that indiscipline with its own patient and orderly queues for goods in short supply.

'Yet again,' a correspondent wrote to the Daily Telegraph, 'it falls to the British peoples to set an example to the world in the staunch and steadfast bearing of their misfortunes. Things may grow darker yet, but that patience and fortitude is something we know will not fail.'

John had gone down to the site of their new building, which was rising on the edge of the City. Trouble had developed on the tower-crane, and everything was held up as a result. His presence was not strictly required, but he had been responsible for the selection of a crane, which was of a type they had not used previously, and he wanted to be on the spot.

He was actually in the cabin of the crane, looking down into the building's foundations, when he saw Roger waving to him from the ground. He waved back, and Roger's gestures changed to a beckoning that even from that height could be recognised as imperative.

He turned to the mechanic who was working beside him. 'How's she coming now?'

'Bit better. Clear it this morning, I reckon.'

'I'll be back later on.'

Roger was waiting for him at the bottom of the ladder.

John said: 'Dropped in to see what kind of a nfess we were in?'

Roger did not smile. He glanced round the busy levels of the site.

'Anywhere we can talk privately?'

John shrugged. 'I could clear the manager out of his cubby-hole. But there's a little pub just across the road, which would be better.'

'Anywhere you like. But right away. O.K.?'

Roger's face was as mild and relaxed as ever, but his voice was sharp and urgent. They went across the road together. The Grapes' had a small private bar which was not much used and now, at eleven-thirty, was empty.

John got double whiskies for them both and brought them to the table, in the corner farthest from the bar, where Roger was sitting. He asked:

'Bad news?'

'We've got to move,' Roger said. He had a drink of whisky. The balloon's up.'

'How?'

The bastards!' Roger said. The bloody murdering bastards. We aren't like the Asiatics. We're true-blue Englishmen and we play cricket.'

His anger, bitter and savage, with nothing feigned in it, brought home to John the awareness of crisis. He said sharply:

'What is it? What's happening?'

Roger finished his drink. The barmaid passed through their section of the bar and he called for two more doubles. When he had got them, he said:

'First things first - game, set and match to Chung-Li.

We've lost.'

'What about the counter-virus?'

'Funny things, viruses,' Roger said. They stand in time's eye like principalities and powers, only on a shorter scale. All-conquering for a century, or for three or four months, and then - washed out. You don't often get a Rome, holding its power for half a millennium.'

•Well?'

The Chung-Li virus is a Rome. If the counter-virus had been even a France or a Spain it would have been all right. But it was only a Sweden. It still exists, but in the mild and modified form that viruses usually relapse into. It won't touch Chung-Li.'

'When did this happen?'

'God knows. Some time ago. They managed to keep it quiet while they were trying to re-breed the virulent strain.'

'They've not abandoned the attempt, surely?'

'I don't know. I suppose not. It doesn't matter.*

'Surely it matters.'

'For the last month,' Roger said, 'this country has been living on current supplies of food, with less than half a week's stocks behind us. In fact, we've been relying absolutely on the food ships from America and the Commonwealth. I knew this before, but I didn't think it important. The food had been pledged to us.'

The barmaid returned and began to polish the bar counter; she was whistling a popular song. Roger dropped his voice.

'My mistake was pardonable, I think. In normal circumstances the pledges would have been honoured. Too much of the world had vanished into barbarism already;

people were willing to make some sacrifices to save the rest.

'But charity still begins at home. That's why I said it doesn't matter whether they do succeed in getting the counter-virus back in shape. The fact is that the people who've got the food don't believe they will. And as a result, they want to make sure they aren't giving away stuff they will need themselves next winter. The last foodship from the other side of the Atlantic docked at Liverpool yesterday. There may be some still on the seas from Australasia, and they may or may not be recalled home before they reach us.'

John said: 'I see.' He looked at Roger. 'Is that what you meant about murdering bastards? But they do have to look after their own people. It's hard on us . ..'

'No, that wasn't what I meant. I told you I had a pipeline up to the top. It was Haggerty, the P.M.'s secretary. I did him a good turn a few years ago. He's done me a damn sight better turn in giving me the lowdown on what's happening.

'Everything's been at top-Governmental level. Our people knew what was going to happen a week ago.

They've been trying to get the food-suppliers to change their minds - and hoping for a miracle, I suppose. But all they did get was secrecy - an undertaking that they would not be embarrassed in any steps they thought necessary for internal control by the news being spread round the world. That suited everybody's book - the people across the ocean will have some measures of their own to take before the news breaks - not comparable with ours, of course, but best prepared undisturbed.'

'And our measures?' John asked. 'What are they?'

'The Government fell yesterday. Welling has taken over, but Lucas is still in the Cabinet. It's very much a palace revolution. Lucas doesn't want the blood on his hands - that's all.'

'Blood?'

'These islands hold about fifty-four million people.

About forty-five million of them live in England. If a third of that number could be supported on a diet of roots, we should be doing well. The only difficulty is how do you select the survivors?'

John said grimly: 'I should have thought it was obvious - they select themselves.'

'It's a wasteful method, and destructive of good order and discipline. We've taken our discipline fairly lightly in this country, but its roots run deep. It's always likely to rise in a crisis.'

'Welling -' John said, 'I've never cared for the sound of him.'

'The time throws up the man. I don't like the swine myself, but something like him was inevitable. Lucas could never make up his mind about anything.' Roger looked straight ahead. 'The Army is moving into position today on the outskirts of London and all other major population centres. The roads will be closed from dawn tomorrow.'

John said: 'If that's the best he can think of ... no army in the world would stop a city from bursting out under pressure of hunger. What does he think he's going to gain?'

'Time. Enough of that precious commodity to complete the preparations for his second line of action.'

'And that is?'

'Atom bombs for the small cities, hydrogen bombs for places like Liverpool, Birmingham, Glasgow, Leeds - and two or three of them for London. It doesn't matter about wasting them - they won't be needed in the foreseeable future.'

For a moment, John was silent. Then he said slowly:

'I can't believe that. No one could do that.'

'Lucas couldn't. Lucas always was the common man's Prime Minister - suburban constraints and suburban prejudices and emotions. But Lucas will stand by as a member of Welling's Cabinet, ostentatiously washing his hands while the plans go forward. What else do you expect of the common man?'

'They will never get people to man the planes.'

'We're in a new era,' Roger said. 'Or a very old one.

Wide loyalties are civilised luxuries. Loyalties are going to be narrow from now on, and the narrower the fiercer.

If it were the only way of saving Olivia and Steve, I'd man one of those planes myself.'

Revolted, John said: 'No!'

'When I spoke about murdering bastards,' Roger said, 'I spoke with admiration as well as disgust. From now on, I propose to be one where necessary, and I very much hope you are prepared to do the same.'

'But to drop hydrogen bombs on cities - of one's own people...'

'Yes, that's what Welling wants time for. I should think it will take at least twenty-four hours - perhaps as long as forty-eight. Don't be a fool, Johnny! It's not so long ago that one's own people were the people in the same village. As a matter of fact, he can put a good cloak of generosity over the act.'

'Generosity? Hydrogen bombs?'

They're going to die. In England, at least thirty million people are going to die before the rest can scrape a living. Which way's best - of starvation or being killed for your flesh - or by a hydrogen bomb? It's quick, after all. And you can keep the numbers down to thirty million that way and preserve the fields to grow the crops to support the rest. That's the theory of it.'

From another part of the public-house, light music came to them as the barmaid switched on a portable wireless. The ordinary world continued, untouched, untroubled.

'It can't work,' John said.

'I'm inclined to agree,' said Roger. 'I think the news will leak, and I think the cities will burst their seams before Welling has got his bomber fleet properly lined up. But I'm not under any illusion that things will be any better that way. At my guess, it means fifty million dying instead of thirty, and a far more barbarous and primitive existence for those that do survive. Who is going to have the power to protect the potato fields against the roaming mob? Who is going to save seed potatoes for next year? Welling's a swine, but a clear—

sighted swine. After his fashion, he's trying to save the country.'

'You think the news will get out?'

In his mind he visualised a panic-stricken London, with himself and Arm caught in it - unable to get to the children.

Roger grinned. 'Worrying, isn't it? It's a funny thing, but I have an idea we shall worry less about London's teeming millions once we're away from them. And the sooner we get away, the better.'

John said: 'The children...'

'Mary at Beckenham, and Davey at that place in Hertfordshire. I've thought about that. We can get Davey on the way north. Your job is to go and pick Mary up. Right away. I'll go and get word to Arm. She can pack essentials. Olivia and Steve and I will be at your place, with our car loaded. When you get there with Mary, we'll load your car and get moving. If possible, we should be clear of London well before nightfall.'

'I suppose we must,' John said.

Roger followed his gaze around the interior of the bar - flowers in a polished copper urn, a calendar blowing in a small breeze, floors still damp from scrubbing.

'Say goodbye to it,' he said. 'That's yesterday's world.

From now on, we're peasants, and lucky at that.'

Beckenham, Roger had told him, was included in the area to be sealed off. He was shown into the study of Miss Errington, the headmistress, and waited there for her. The room was neat, but still feminine. It was a combination, he remembered, that had impressed Arm, as Miss Errington herself had done. She was a very tall woman, with a gentle humorousness.

She bowed her head coming through the door, and said:

'Good afternoon, Mr Custance.' It was, John noted, just half an hour after noon. 'I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.'

'I hope I haven't brought you away from your luncheon?'

She smiled. 'It is no hardship these days, Mr Custance.

You've come about Mary?'

'Yes. I should like to take her back with me.'

Miss Errington said: 'Do have a seat.' She looked at him, calmly considerate. 'You want to take her away?

Why?'

This was the moment that made him feel the bitter weight of his secret knowledge. He must give no warning of what was to happen; Roger had insisted on that, and he agreed. It was as essential to their plans as to Welling's larger scheme of destruction that no news should get out.

And that necessity required that he should leave this tall, gentle woman, along with her charges, to die.

He said lamely: 'It's a family matter. A relative, passing through London. You understand...'

'You see, Mr Custance, we try to keep breaks of this kind to a minimum. You will appreciate that it's very unsettling. It's rather different at weekends.'

'Yes, I do see that. It's her - uncle, and he's going abroad by air this evening.'

'Really? For long?

More glibly, he continued: 'He may be gone for some years. He was very anxious to see Mary before he went.'

'You could have brought him here, of course.' Miss Errington hesitated. 'When would you be bringing her back?'

'I could bring her back this evening.'

'Well, in that case . . . I'll go and ask someone to get her.' She walked over to the door, and opened it. She called into the corridor: 'Helena? Would you ask Mary Custance to come along here, please? Her father has come to see her.' To John, she said: 'If it's only for the afternoon, she won't want her things, will she?'

'No,' he said, 'it doesn't matter about them.'

Miss Errington sat down again. 'I should tell you I'm very pleased with your daughter, Mr Custance. At her age, girls divide out - one sees something of what they are going to turn into. Mary has been coming along very well lately. I believe she might have a very fine academic future, if she wished.'

Academic future, John thought - helping to hold a tiny oasis against a desert world.

He said: 'That's very gratifying.'

Miss Errington smiled. 'Although, probably, the point is itself academic. One doubts if the young men of her acquaintance will permit her to settle into so barren a life.'

'I see nothing barren in it, Miss Errington. Your own must be very full.'

She laughed. 'It has turned out better than I thought it would! I'm beginning to look forward to my retirement.'

Mary came in, curtseyed briefly to Miss Errington, and ran over to John.

'Daddy! What's happened?'

Miss Errington said: 'Your father wishes to take you away for a few hours. Your uncle is passing through London, on his way abroad, and would like to see you.'

'Uncle David? Abroad?'

John said quickly: 'It's quite unexpected. I'll explain everything to you on the way. Are you ready to come as you are?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Then I shan't keep you,' Miss Errington said. 'Can you have her back for eight o'clock, Mr Custance?'

'I shall try my best.'

She held her long delicate hand out. 'Goodbye.'

John hesitated; his mind rebelled against taking her hand and leaving her with no inkling of what lay ahead.

And yet he dared not tell her; nor, he thought, would she believe him if he did.

He said: 'If I do fail to bring Mary back by eight, it will be because I have learned that the whole of London is to be swallowed up in an earthquake. So if we don't come back, I advise you to round up the girls and take them out into the country. At whatever inconvenience.'

Miss Errington looked at him with mild astonishment that he should descend into such absurd and tasteless clowning. Mary also was watching him in surprise.

The headmistress said: 'Well, yes, but of course you will be back by eight.'

He said, miserably: 'Yes, of course.'

As the car pulled out of the school grounds, Mary said:

'It isn't Uncle David, is it?'

'No.'

'What is it, then, Daddy?'

'I can't tell you yet. But we're leaving London.'

'Today? Then I shan't go back to school tonight?'

He made no answer. 'Is it something dreadful?'

'Dreadful enough. We're going to live in the valley.

Will you like that?'

She smiled. 'I wouldn't call it dreadful.'

'The dreadful part,' he said slowly, 'will be for other people.'

They reached home soon after two. As they walked up the garden path, Arm opened the door for them. She looked tense and unhappy. John put an arm round her.

'Stage one completed without mishap. Everything's going well, darling. Nothing to worry about. Roger and the others not here?'

'It's his car. Cylinder block cracked, or something.

He's round at the garage, hurrying them up. They're all coming over as soon as possible.'

'Has he any idea how long?' John asked sharply.

'Shouldn't be more than an hour.'

Mary asked: 'Are the Buckleys coming with us?

What's happening?'

Arm said: 'Run up to your room, darling. I've packed your things for you, but I've left just a little space for anything which I've left out which you think is specially important. But you will have to be very discriminating.

It's only a very little space.'

'How long are we going for?' Arm said: 'A long time, perhaps. In fact, you might as well act as though we were never coming back.'

Mary looked at them for a moment. Then she said gravely:

'What about Davey's things? Shall I look through those as well?'

'Yes, darling,' Arm said. 'See if there's anything important I've missed.'

When Mary had gone upstairs, Arm clung to her husband.

'John, it can't be true!'

'Roger told you the whole story?'

'Yes. But they couldn't do it. They couldn't possibly.*

'Couldn't they? I've just told Miss Errington I shall be bringing Mary back this evening. Knowing what I know, is there very much difference?'

Arm was silent. Then she said:

'Before all this is over . . . are we going to hate ourselves?

Or are we just going to get used to things, so that we don't realise what we're turning into?'

John said: 'I don't know. I don't know anything, except that we've got to save ourselves and save the children.'

'Save them for what?' I 'We can work that out later. Things seem brutal now - leaving without saying a word to all the others who don't know what's going to happen - but we can't help it. When we get to the valley, it will be different.

We shall have a chance of living decently again.'

'Decently?'

Things will be hard, but it may not be a bad life. It will be up to us what we make of it. At least, we shall be our own masters. It will no longer be a matter of living on the sufferance of a State that cheats and bullies and swindles its citizens and, at last, when they become a burden, murders them.'

'No, I suppose not.'

'Bastards!' Roger said. 'I paid them double for a rush job, and then had to hang around for three-quarters of an hour while they looked for their tools.'

It was four o'clock. Arm said:

'Have we time for a cup of tea? I was just going to put the kettle on.'

'Theoretically,' Roger said, 'we've got all the time in the world. All the same, I think we'll skip the tea.

There's an atmosphere about - uneasiness. There must have been some other leaks, and I wonder just how many. Anyway, I shall feel a lot happier when we're clear of London.'

Arm nodded. 'All right.' She walked through to the kitchen. John called after her:

'Anything I can get for you?'

Arm looked back. 'I left the kettle full of water. I was just going to put it away.'

'That's our hope,' Roger said. 'The feminine stabiliser.

She's leaving her home for ever, but she puts the kettle away. A man would be more likely to kick it round the floor, and then set fire to the house.'

They pulled away from the Custance's house with John's car leading, and drove to the north. They were to follow the Great North Road to a point beyond Welwyn and then branch west in the direction of Davey's school.

As they were passing through East Finchley, they heard the sound of Roger's horn, and a moment later he accelerated past them and drew up just ahead. As they went past, Olivia, leaning out of the window, called:

'Radio!'

John switched on.

'... emphasised too strongly that there is no basis to any of the rumours that have been circulating. The entire situation is under control, and the country has ample stocks of food.'

The others walked back and stood by the car. Roger said:

'Someone's worried.'

'Virus-free grain is being planted,' the voice continued, 'in several parts of England, Wales and Scotland, and there is every expectation of a late-autumn crop.'

'Planting in July!' John exclaimed.

'Stroke of genius,' Roger said. 'When there's rumour of bad news, say that Fairy Godmother is on her way down the chimney. Plausibility doesn't matter at a time like that.'

The announcer's voice changed slightly:

'It is the Government's view that danger could only arise from panic in the population at large. As a measure towards preventing this, various temporary regulations have been promulgated, and come into force immediately.

The first of these deals with restrictions on movements.

Travel between cities is temporarily forbidden.

It is hoped that a system of priorities for essential movements will be ready by tomorrow, but the preliminary ban is absolute...'

Roger said. 'They've jumped the gun! Come on - let's try and crash through. They may not be ready for us yet.'

The two cars drove north again, across the North Circular Road, and through North Finchley and Barnet.

The steady reassuring voice on the radio continued to drone out regulations, and then was followed by the music of a cinema organ. The streets showed their usual traffic, with people shopping or simply walking about.

There was no evidence of panic here in the outer suburbs. Trouble, if there were any, would have started in Central London.

They met the road block just beyond Wrotham Park.Barriers had been set up in the road; there were khaki—

clad figures on the other side. The two cars halted. John and Roger went over to the road block. Already there were half a dozen motorists there, arguing with the officer in charge. Others, having abandoned the argument, were preparing to turn their cars and drive back.

Ten bloody minutes!' Roger said. 'We can't have missed it by more; there would have been a much bigger pileup.'

The officer was a pleasant, rather wide-eyed young fellow, clearly enjoying what he saw as an unusual kind of exercise.

'I'm very sorry,' he was saying, 'but we're simply carrying out orders. No travel out of JCondon is permitted.'

The man who was at the front of the objectors, about fifty, heavily built and darkly Jewish in appearance, said:

'But my business is in Sheffield! I only drove down to London yesterday.'

'You'll have to listen to the news on the wireless,' the officer said. 'They're going to have some kind of arrangements for people like you.'

Roger said quietly: 'This is no go, Johnny. We couldn't even bribe him with a mob like this around.'

The officer went on: 'Don't treat this as official, but I've been told the whole thing's only a manoeuvre.

They're trying out panic precautions, just to be on the safe side. It will probably be called off in the morning.'

The heavily built man said: 'If it's only a manoeuvre, you can let us few get through. It doesn't matter, does it?'

The young officer grinned. 'Sorry. It's as easy to land a general court-martial for dereliction of duty on'

manoeuvres as it is when there's a war on! I advise you to go back to town and try tomorrow.'

Roger jerked his head, and he and John began to walk back to the cars. Roger said:

'Very cleverly carried out. Unofficially, only a manoeuvre.

That gets over the scruples of the troops. I wonder if they are going to be left to burn with the rest?

I suppose so.'

'Worth trying to tell them what's really happening?'

'Wouldn't get anywhere. And they might very well run us in for spreading false rumours. That's one of the new regulations - did you hear it?'

They reached the cars. John said:

'Then what do we do? Ditch the cars, and try it on foot, through the fields?'

Arm said: 'What's happening? They won't let us through?'

'They'll have the fields patrolled,' Roger said. 'Probably with tanks. We wouldn't have a chance on foot.'

In an edged voice, Arm said: 'Then what can we do?'

Roger looked at her, laughing. 'Easy, Annie! Everything's under control.'

John was grateful for the strength and confidence in the laugh. They lightened his own spirits.

Roger said: 'The first thing to do is get away from here, before we land ourselves in a traffic jam.' Cars were beginning to pile up behind them in the road.

'Back towards Chipping Barnet, and there's a sharp fork to the right. We'll go first. See you there.'

It was a quiet road: urbs in rure. The two cars pulled up in a secluded part of it. There were modern detached houses on the other side, but here the road fringed a small plantation.

The Buckleys left their car, and Olivia and Steve got in the back with Arm.

Roger said: 'Point one - this road bypasses A. I and will take us to Hatfield. But I don't think it's worth trying it just yet. There's bound to be a road-block on it, and we would be no more likely to get through it this evening than we should have been on A. I.'

A Vanguard swept past them along the road, closely followed by an Austin which John recognised as having been at the road-block. Roger nodded after them.

'Quite a few will try it, but they wont get anywhere.'

Steve said: 'Couldn't we crash one of the barriers, Dad? I've seen them on the pictures.'

'This isn't the pictures,' Roger said. 'Quite a few people will be trying to get through the blocks this evening.

It will be quieter at night, and better in other ways, too. We'll keep your car here. I'm taking ours back into Town - and there's something I think I ought to pick up.'

Arm said: 'You're not going back in there!'

'It's necessary. I hope I shan't be more than a couple of hours at the outside.'

John understood Roger too well to think that when he spoke of picking something up he could be referring to an oversight in his original plans. This was a new factor.

He said: 'Not likely to be any trouble in a spot like this is there?' Roger shook his head. 'In that case, I'll come back with you. Two will be safer than one if you're going south.'

Roger thought about this for a moment. He said:

Yes. O.K.'

'But you don't know what it's going to be like in London!' Arm said. 'There may be rioting. Surely there can't be anything important enough to make you take risks like that?'

'From now on,' Roger said, 'if we're going to survive we shall have to take risks. If you want to know, I'm going back for firearms. Things are breaking up faster than I thought they would. But there's no danger back there this evening.'

Arm said: 'I want you to stay, John.*

'Now, Arm...' John began. Roger broke in. 'If we want to kill ourselves, wasting time in wrangling is as good a way as any. This party's got to have a leader, and his word has got to be acted on as soon as it's spoken. Toss you for it, Johnny.'

'No. It's yours.'

Roger took a half-crown from his pocket. He spun it up.

'Call!'

They watched the twinkling nickel-silver. 'Heads,*

John said. The coin hit the metalled road and rolled into the gutter. Roger bent down to look at it.

'All yours,'he said.'Well?'

John kissed Arm, and then got out of the car. 'We'll be back as soon as possible,' he said.

Arm commented bitterly: 'Are we chattels again already?'

Roger laughed. 'The world's great age,' he said, 'begins anew, the golden years return.'

'We can just make it,' Roger said. 'He doesn't put up the shutters until six. Only a little business - one man and a boy - but he's got some useful stock.'

They were driving now through the chaos of rush—

hour in Central London. On that chaos, the usual rough-and-ready pattern was imposed by traffic lights and white-armed policemen. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. As the lights turned green in front of their car, the familiar breaker of jaywalkers swelled across the road.

'Sheep,' John said bitterly, 'for the slaughter.'

Roger glanced at him. 'Let's hope they stay that way.

See it clearly and see it whole. Quite a few millions have got to die. Our concern is to avoid joining them.'

Just past the lights, he pulled off the main street into a narrow side-street. It was five minutes to six.

'Will he serve us?' John asked.

Roger pulled in to the kerb, opposite a little shop dis-playing sporting guns. He put the car in neutral, but left the engine running.

'He will,' he said, 'one way or another.'

There was no one in the shop except the proprietor, a small hunched man, with a deferential salesman's face and incongruously watchful eyes. He looked about sixty.

Roger said: 'Evening, Mr Pirrie. Just caught you?'

Mr Pirrie's hands rested on the counter. 'Well - Mr Buckley, isn't it? Yes, I was just closing. Anything I can get you?'

Roger said: 'Well, let me see. Couple of revolvers, couple of good rifles with telescopic sights; and the ammo of course. And do you stock automatics?'

Pirrie smiled gently. 'Licence?'

Roger had advanced until he was standing on the other side of the counter from the old man. 'Do you think it's worth bothering about that?' he asked. 'You know I'm not a gunman. I want the stuff in a hurry, and I'll give you more than fair price for it.'

Pirrie's head shook slightly; his eyes did not leave Roger's face.

'I don't do that kind of business.*

'Well, what about that little .22 rifle over there?'

Roger pointed. Pirrie's eyes looked in the same direction, and as they did so, Roger leapt for his throat. John thought at first that the little man had caved in under the attack, but a moment later he saw him clear of Roger and standing back. His right hand held a revolver.

He said: 'Stand still, Mr Buckley. And your friend.

The trouble with raiding a gunsmith's is that you are likely to encounter a man who has some small skill in handling weapons. Please don't interrupt me while I telephone.'

He had backed away until his free hand was near the telephone.Roger said sharply: 'Wait a minute. I've got something to offer you.'

'I don't think so.'

'Your life?'

Pirrie's hand held the telephone handpiece, but had not yet lifted it. He smiled. 'Surely not.'

'Why do you think I tried to knock you out? You can't imagine I would do it if I weren't desperate.'

'I'm inclined to agree with you on that,' Pirrie said politely. 'I should not have let anyone else come so close to overpowering me, but one does not expect desperation in a Senior Civil Servant. Not so violent a desperation, at least.'

Roger said: 'We have left our families in a car just off the Great North Road. There's room for another if you care to join us.'

'I understand,' Pirrie said, 'that travel out of London is temporarily forbidden.'

Roger nodded. 'That's one reason we wanted the arms. We're getting out tonight.'

'You didn't get the arms.'

'Your credit, not my discredit,' Roger said, 'and damn well you know it.'

Pirrie removed his hand from the telephone. 'Perhaps you would care to give me a brief explanation of your urgent need for arms and for getting out of London.'

He listened, without interrupting, while Roger talked.

At the end, he said softly:

'A farm, you say, in a valley? A valley that can be defended?'

'By half a dozen,' John put in, 'against an army.'

Pirrie lowered the revolver he held. 'I had a telephone call this afternoon,' he said, 'from the local Superintendent of Police. He asked me if I wanted a guard here.

He seemed very concerned for my safety, and the only explanation he offered was that there were some silly rumours about, which might lead to trouble.'

'He didn't insist on a guard?' Roger aslced.

'No. I suppose there would have been the disadvantage that a police guard becomes conspicuous.' He nodded politely to Roger. 'You will understand how I chanced to be so well prepared for you.'

'And now?' John pressed him. 'Do you believe us?'

Pirrie sighed. 'I believe that you believe it. Apart from that, I have been wondering myself if there were any reasonable way of getting out of London. Even without fully crediting your tale, I do not care to be compulsorily held here. And your tale does not strain my credulity as much, perhaps, as it ought. Living with guns, as I have done, one loses the habit of looking for gentleness in men.'

Roger said: 'Right. Which guns do we take?'

Pirrie turned slightly, and this time picked up the telephone. Automatically, Roger moved towards him.

Pirrie looked at the gun in his hand, and tossed it to Roger.

'I am telephoning to my wife,' he said. 'We live in St John's Wood. I imagine that if you can get two cars out, you can get three? The extra vehicle may come in useful.'

He was dialling the number. Roger said wamingly:

'Careful what you say over that.'

Pirrie said into the mouthpiece: 'Hello, my dear. I'm just preparing to leave. I thought it might be nice to pay a visit to the Rosenblums this evening - yes, the Rosenblums.

Get things ready, would you? I shall be right along.'

He replaced the receiver. 'The Rosenblums,' he explained, 'live in Leeds. Millicent is very quick to perceive things.'

Roger looked at him with respect. 'My God, she must be! I can see that both you and Millicent are going to be very useful members of the group. By the way, we had previously decided that this kind of party needs a leader.'

Pirrie nodded.'You?'

'No. John Custance here.'

Pirrie surveyed John briefly. 'Very well. Now, the weapons. I will set them out, and you can start carrying them to your car.'

They were taking out the last of the ammunition when a police constable strolled towards them. He looked with some interest at the little boxes.

'Evening, Mr Pirrie,' he said. 'Transferring stock?'

"This is for your people,' Pirrie said. 'They asked for it. Keep an eye on the shop, will you? We'll be back for some more later on.'

'Do what I can, sir,' the policeman said doubtfully, 'but I've got a beat to cover, you know.'

Pirrie finished padlocking the front door. 'My little joke,' he said, 'but your people start the rumours.'

As they pulled away, John said: 'Lucky he didn't ask what your two helpers were up to.'

'The genus Constable,' Pirrie said, 'is very inquisitive once its curiosity is aroused. Providing you can avoid that, you have no cause to worry. Just off St John's Wood High Street. I'll direct you particularly from there.'

On Pirrie's direction, they drew up behind an ancient Ford. Pirrie called: 'Millicent!' in a clear, loud voice, and a woman got out of the car and came back to them.

She was a good twenty years younger than Pirrie, about his height, with features dark and attractive, if somewhat sharp.

'Have you packed?' Pirrie asked her. 'We aren't coming back.'

She accepted this casually. She said, in a slightly Cockney voice: 'Everything we'll need, I think. What's it all about? I've asked Hilda to look after the cat.''Poor pussy,' said Pirrie. 'But I fear we must abandon her. I'll explain things on the way.' He turned to the other two. 'I will join Millicent from this point.'

Roger was staring at the antique car in front of them. 'I don't want to seem rude,' he said, 'but mightn't it be better if you piled your stuff in with ours? We could manage it quite easily.'

Pirrie smiled as he got out of the car. 'A left fork just short of Wrotham Park?' he queried. 'We'll find you there, shall we?'

Roger shrugged. Pirrie escorted his wife to the car ahead. Roger started up his own car and cruised slowly past them. He and John were startled, a moment later, when the Ford ripped past with an altogether improbable degree of acceleration, checked at the intersection, and then slid away on to the main road. Roger started after it, but by the time he had got into the stream of traffic it was lost to sight.

They did not see it again until they reached the Great North Road. Pirrie's Ford was waiting for them, and thereafter followed demurely.

They had their suppers separately in their individual cars. Once they were out of London, they would eat communally, but a picnic here might attract attention.

They had parked at discreet distances also.

Roger had explained his plan to John, and he had approved it. By eleven o'clock the road they were in was deserted; London's outer suburbs were at rest. But they did not move until midnight. It was a moonless night, but there was light from the widely spaced lamp standards.

The children slept in the rear seats of the cars. Arm sat beside John in the front.

She shivered. 'Surely there's another way of getting out?'

He stared ahead into the dim shadowy road. 'I can't think of one.'

She looked at him. 'You aren't the same person, are you? The idea of quite calmly planning murder . . . it's more grotesque than horrible.'

'Arm,' he said, 'Davey is thirty miles away, but he might as well be thirty million if we let ourselves be persuaded into remaining in this trap.' He nodded his head towards the rear seat, where Mary lay bundled up.

'And it isn't only ourselves.'

'But the odds are so terribly against you.'

He laughed. 'Does that affect the morality of it? As a matter of fact, without Pirrie the odds would have been steep. I think they're quite reasonable now. A

Bisley shot was just what we needed.'

'Must you shoot to kill?'

He began to say: 'It's a matter of safety . . . ' He felt the car creak over; Roger had come up quietly and was leaning on the open window.

'O.K.?' Roger asked. 'We've got Olivia and Steve in withMillicent.'

John got out of the car. He said to Arm:

'Remember - you and Millicent bring these cars up as soon as you hear the horn. You can feel your way forward a little if you like, but it will carry well enough at this time of night.'

Arm stared up to him. 'Good luck.'

'Nothing in it,' he said.

They went back to Roger's car, where Pirrie was already waiting. Then Roger drove slowly forward, past John's parked car, along the deserted road. It had already been reconnoitred earlier in the evening, and they knew where the last bend before the roadblock was. They stopped there, and John and Pirrie slipped out and disappeared into the night. Five minutes later, Roger re-started the engine and accelerated noisily towards the roadblock.

Reconnaissance had shown the block to be held by a corporal and two soldiers. Two of these could be pre76