It wasperhaps now the time to summon Dutch courage, and Martin felt for thesmall bottle that held an illicitly saved part of his rum ration -'sippers'...from his 'tot'. After that, he walked to the end of theGeorgian terrace looking for a door that was ajar, so he didn't have toknock, then back again, and again. As he passed No 21, the door openedand Martin was grabbed and pulled inside. Well, that decided which onehe'd enter: now what was he going to do next?He stood, behind the blackout curtain. "I'm MIKE HUNT," I said."You don't say," she retorted. "Can I help you?" she asked."I'm here about Eric. Wilma couldn't make it." Are you his father?" she asked."No, his uncle. They're divorced, the father lives in Oregon." I was answering questions I hadn't even been asked."Well, this is supposed to be for the parents or legal guardians," she said."I know," I replied, "but Wilma had a little car accident, nothing serious, and asked me to fill in. So here I am." I see," she said. She thought. More

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