Hauling a suitcase in each hand—one containing his Johnny gun and the six magazines full of .30-06—Dick Canidy entered the Berkeley Square building of OSS London Station, cleared through security, and made his way upstairs to the office of Captain Helene Dancy, WAC.
Canidy looked through the doorway into her office, which was outside the doorway to that of her boss, David Bruce, the chief of station.
She was standing in front of a filing cabinet, impatiently flipping through folders. Canidy noticed that despite exuding her usual attractiveness, she did not presently have a look of overwhelming joy.
“My, don’t we appear happy,” Canidy said.
When she turned and looked at who had had the nerve to interrupt her with some sort of sarcasm, the flames in her eyes could have bored holes in cold steel.
But then she saw just who it was and her eyes softened, and a big smile showed her brilliant white teeth.
“Dick!” she said, slamming the cabinet shut.
“Bad morning?”
“The usual FUBARs. I’m just not in the mood to deal with them today.”
“Fouled up beyond all recognition? Or the other, worse F-word?”
“The other,” she said, absently wadding up a sheet of paper. “What brings you back?”
She looked at the suitcases.
“Are you moving in?”
“I take it that you really don’t know?”
She shook her head.
He bent his head toward Bruce’s office behind her.
“How about him?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Is he in?”
She shook her head.
“He’s not in the office?” Canidy pressed. “Or the country?”
“Both.”
“Great! I didn’t particularly want to see him, anyway.”
She shook her head and smiled. “You’re impossible.”
“How about Colonel Stevens? I was told to see him when I got in.”
“I can call, if you like.”
“Thanks, but I’ll just go down to his office. I wanted to stop here first—a courtesy to Colonel Bruce.”
“Something tells me there’s more to it than that.”
She said it with a knowing smile.
Canidy made a face of shock and put his hands up to his chest, palms out.