Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,

Schmeisser would tear him in half before he could cover the distance. But he would try. He must try. It was the least he owed to Andrea. Skoda reached the back of the table, opened a drawer and lifted out a gun. An automatic, Mallory noted with detachmenta little, blue-metal, snub-nosed toybut a murderous toy, the kind of gun he would have expected Skoda to have. Unhurriedly Skoda pressed the release button, checked the magazine, snapped it home with the palm of his hand, ificked off the safety catch and looked up at Mallory. The eyes hadn't altered in the slightestthey were cold, dark and empty as ever. Mallory ificked a glance at Andrea and tensed himself for one convulsive fling backwards. Here it comes, he thought savagely, this is how bloody fools like Keith Mallory dieand then all of a sudden, and unknowingly, he relaxed, for his eyes were still on Andrea and he had seen Andrea doing the same, the huge hand slipping down unconcernedly from the neck, empty of any sign of knife. There was a scuffle at the table and Mallory was just in time to see Turzig pin Skoda's gun-hand to the tabletop. "Not that, sir!" Turzig begged. "For God's sake, not that way!" "Take your hands away," Skoda whispered. The staring, empty eyes never left Mallory's face. "Take your hands away, I sayunless you -want to go the same way as Captain Mallory." "You can't kill him, sir!" Turzig persisted doggedly. "You just can't. Herr Kommandant's orders were very clear, Hauptmann Skoda. The leader must be brought to him alive." "He was shot while trying to escape," Skoda said thickly. "It's no good." Turzig shook his head. "We can't kill them alland the other prisoners would talk." He released his grip on Skoda's hands. "Alive, Herr Kommandant said, but he didn't say how much alive." He lowered his voice confidentially. "Perhaps we may have some difficulty in making Captain Mallory talk," he suggested. "What? What did you say?" Abruptly the death's head smile flashed once more, and Skoda was completely on balance again. "You are over-zealous, Lieutenant Remind me to speak to you about it some time. You underestimate me: that was exactly what I was trying to dofrighten Mallory into talking. And now you've spoilt it all." The smile was still on his face, the voice light, almost bantering, but Mallory was under no fflusions. He owed his life to the young W.G.B. lieutenanthow easily one could respect, form a friendship with a man like Turzig if it weren't for this damned, refurbished mark canon camera digital crazy war. . . . Skoda was standing in front of him again: he had left his gun on the table. "But enough of this fooling, eh, Captain Mallory?" The German's teeth fairly gleamed in the bright light from the naked lamps overhead. "We haven't all night, have we?" Mallory looked at him, then turned away in silence. It was warm enough, stuffy almost, in that little guardroom, but he was conscious of a sudden, nameless chili; he knew all at once, without knowing why, but with complete certainty, that this little man before him was utterly evil. 'Well, well, well, we are not quite so talkative now, are we, my friend?" He hummed a little to himself, looked up abruptly, the smile broader than ever. "Where are the explosives, Captain Mallory?" "Explosives?" Mallory lifted an interrogatory eyebrow. "I don't know what you are talking about." "You don't remember, eh?" "I don't know what you are talking about." "So." Skoda hummed to himself again and walked over in front of Miller. "And what about you, my Mend?" "Sure I remember," Miller said easily. "The captain's got it all wrong." "A sensible man!" Skoda purredbut Mallory could have sworn to an undertone of disappointment in the voice. "Proceed, my friend." "Captain Mallory has no eye for detail," Miller drawled. "I was with him that day. He is malignin' a noble bird. It was a vulture, not a buzzard." Just for a second Skoda's smile slipped, then it was back again, as rigidly fixed and lifeless as if it had beeii painted on. "Very, very witty men, don't you think, Turzig? What the British would call music-hall comedians. Let them laugh while they may, until the hangman's noose begins to tighten. . . ." He looked at Casey Brown. "Perhaps you" "Why don't you go and take a running jump to yourself?" Brown growled. "A running jump? The idiom escapes me, but I fear it is hardly complimentary." Skoda selected a cigarette from a thin case, tapped it thoughtfully on a thumb nail. "Hmm. Not just what one might call too co-operative, Lieutenant Turzig." "You won't get these men to talk, sir." There was quiet finality in Turzig's voice. "Possibly not, possibly not." Skoda was quite unruffled. "Nevertheless, I shall have the information I want, and within five