He was polite, deferential, but insistent. The woman who answered the door could see several more air raid wardens in the street outside. One was knocking at the next house. She went to find Crowley. ‘We’re hopeful it won’t take long,’ the warden said. ‘Just got to make sure the thing’s safe.’ ‘We’ve not had a raid here for months,’ Crowley pointed out. The Blitz was over, and air raids on London were sporadic and infrequent now. ‘God knows when it was dropped. But it’s a big one.’ The warden shrugged. ‘Could take out most of the street, so the UXB lads reckon anyway.’ There was a steady stream of people coming out of the other houses on Jermyn Street now. The warden glanced back over his shoulder at them. ‘We’ve told people if they wait in the pub in the next street, we’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.’ ‘And do you have any idea when that might be?’ ‘A few hours at least. But before morning, I’m sure. Good excuse for a couple of pints, if you ask me.’ ‘And if we don’t feel like a couple of pints?’ ‘Then it’s your funeral.
