"Above all, we must stay calm."

Hochstetter didn't seem particularly calm. He spoke softly, and half an octave lower than normal, as though he feared his usual strident tone might bring the crisis to a sudden and unfavourable conclusion.

Geisler, without taking his eyes off the grenade, swallowed convulsively. "Jawohl, Herr Major."

"We must take this - this thing to a place where it can be detonated safely," Hochstetter went on. "There is an abandoned quarry about a mile from the town where this can be done. We will need a staff car. Where is the telephone?"

"There, on the counter, Herr Major."

"I will call headquarters and have them send a car," said Hochstetter. "Hold this."

He thrust the grenade into Geisler's hand. Taken by surprise, the recipient fumbled the pass; tried desperately to juggle the thing back to safety, but succeeded only in catching the end of the pink ribbon securing the safety lever in place. The loosely tied bow came undone; the grenade flew across the shop, and without thinking, both men dived behind the counter.

Hochstetter held his breath, wondering if his heart would start beating again before the explosion. Ten seconds passed, then another ten. It should have gone off by now.

Cautiously, he inched his way out of cover to reconnoitre. The grenade lay where it had fallen, showing no signs of carrying out its deadly purpose.

"It seems to be faulty," whispered Geisler. "Do you think it is safe?"

"I don't know." Hochstetter cast a searching glance around the shop. "The broom, there in the corner. Get it."

"With respect, Herr Major, what good is it to sweep the floor, when we are about to be blown to pieces?"

"Dummkopf!" Hochstetter pushed the fool out of the way, and seized the broom himself. Almost on tiptoe, he crept towards the grenade, and extended the broom to give it a gentle nudge. Then he retreated again, fast. Geisler uttered a soft whimper, and put his hands over his ears.

The grenade rolled a little way, coming to a wobbly halt as the lever hit the floor.

"Has it exploded yet?" quavered Geisler, after a long pause.

Hochstetter ground his teeth. "No, it has not." He rose to peer over the top of the counter. "This is very strange. I wonder..."

Taken by a sudden suspicion, he approached the grenade, picked it up with great caution, and scrutinised it. "Even though the pin has been removed, the lever is still in the safe position," he announced. "This grenade is a fake."

"What do you think it means, Herr Major?" asked Geisler.

Hochstetter raised his head, and gazed out through the window, contemplating the watchmaker's shop with narrowed eyes. "No, it could not be," he murmured.

He turned on his subordinate. "Did anyone enter or leave the building across the street while the old woman was here?"

"I...I do not think so, Herr Major."

"You don't think so?" Hochstetter's voice took on a sharp cutting edge; he strode forward, slammed his fist on the counter, leaned forward and subjected the wretched Geisler to a fierce, interrogative glare.

"Uh...I mean, yes...no, I mean, no, Herr Major. I saw no activity of any kind," stammered Geisler. "Unless you saw anything, in which case..."

He broke off, as the jangle of the doorbell reminded him that the shop was still open for business. Hochstetter swung around, shoving the grenade into his pocket. Geisler stepped back, hastily pulled his blouse straight, and smoothed down his tangled artificial tresses.

Neither of them had noticed when the staff car drew up in the street outside, but Hochstetter recognised it at once; as he did the owner, who had entered the shop, speaking over his shoulder to another all-too-familiar officer.

"... I myself have little patience with sentimental nonsense. However, buying flowers for my wife once a year, on our wedding anniversary, is preferable to having her spend the next three hundred and sixty-four days reminding me of my thoughtlessness."

"Oh, you're right, General Burkhalter. And may I say, it's a very romantic gesture to choose the flowers yourself instead of having one of your aides take care of it. Especially with your hay fever."

"That is precisely the point, Klink. If I choose them myself, I can be sure they will not cause ...Ah." Burkhalter came to a halt, his eyebrows ascending. "Guten Tag, Major Hochstetter. I was not aware that you liked flowers."

His little piggy eyes, turning from the flustered Hochstetter to the dishevelled blonde behind the counter, glittered with malicious amusement. Colonel Klink, standing just behind him, tittered. Hochstetter clenched his jaw until the muscles felt ready to snap.

"General," he said tightly; then, modulating to a low growl, "Kommandant." He looked at Geisler. "Fräulein, I believe our business is done for now. Thank you for your assistance. Auf Wiedersehen."

"My dear Hochstetter, do not leave on my account," said Burkhalter in his most affable tone. "I don't wish to intrude upon your...business."

"Neither do I," added Klink, butting in as usual. "Please, Major, go ahead. We don't mind at all."

The gleeful insinuation put the finishing touch to Hochstetter's fury. "I am obliged to you, as always, Klink," he snapped. "But I have some urgent matters awaiting my attention. Heil Hitler."

He strode out of the shop, and crossed the street without any regard for oncoming traffic. The seed of doubt, sown by the old woman with her hand grenade, had germinated, taken root in his mind, and found favourable growing conditions. Neither he nor Geisler had seen anything suspicious; this in itself was grounds for suspicion.

The watchmaker's appeared to be closed. He paused briefly, peering through the window, but he couldn't see anything; the interior was too dark, and the glass too dingy. So he walked on, heading for Gestapo headquarters; and he had already decided what orders he would issue when he got there.

He'd suffered enough indignity in the course of this ridiculous operation. It was time to bring it to an end.

"You know what we could do, once we've finished the spring cleaning?" said LeBeau, as he swept the cobwebs from the edge of the barracks roof.

"No idea." Newkirk gave his end of the blanket a vigorous tug, yanking the opposite corners from Carter's grasp.

"We could start a vegetable garden. Just think about it. We dig it over now..."

"Yeah, 'cause Klink just loves to see us digging, so he won't mind a bit," snickered Carter, as he retrieved his end of the blanket and shook the dust out of it.

LeBeau was not deterred. "...and put in some beans and cabbages, maybe some onions, and then in a few months when they're ready..."

"...they'll all disappear overnight, and the next day the mess hall will be serving vegetable stew," concluded Hogan, who was leaning against the door frame. "Nice idea, LeBeau, but I doubt any of the men are going to be willing to do the work, just to provide extra food for the Krauts."

"We could set trip wires," suggested LeBeau, by no means prepared to give up the idea. But he broke off, as Kinch came out of the barracks, tilting his face towards the warmth of the morning sunshine.

"Message from the sub, Colonel," he said. "Freischütz and Spiegelmann made the rendezvous, they're on their way to England."

"Did Spiegelmann have any trouble getting aboard?" asked Hogan.

"They didn't say, but I guess he managed all right."

"You don't need to worry about Spiegelmann, Colonel," observed Newkirk. "He got up and down our ladders here without any fuss at all. Mind you, I nearly had a heart attack first time I saw him, but he wasn't worried in the least."

Carter folded his end of the blanket. "Boy, was it ever lucky we got them out of there when we did. Another couple of hours, and they'd still have been there when Hochstetter and his men broke down the door."

"Maybe." Hogan glanced at Newkirk, and grinned. "On the other hand, if Frau Newkirkberger and her hand grenade hadn't gotten him all hot and bothered, maybe he'd have waited a few more days before sending his goons in. He had no reason to think Freischütz was already there. But I doubt he'd have waited for long."

"Anyway, it's all sorted now," said Newkirk. "And very nice it is, too, having that job over and done with."

"And the spring cleaning's about done, too," added Kinch. "All but getting rid of all the old junk we found down below. I was thinking, Colonel, there's an old well shaft about a mile from camp where we can dump the stuff, if we can figure out how to get it there."

Hogan considered, then smiled, and shook his head. "You know what, Kinch? Let's not be in a hurry."

His men stared at him. "Hang about, Colonel," Newkirk broke out. "We spent a week clearing all that rubbish out of the tunnels, and now you want to keep it?"

The familiar gleam in Hogan's eye was answer enough, even before he spoke: "Why not? After all, you never know when you're going to need a fake hand grenade."