It disgusted him to have to fly in such a plane but he had no option. The cotton wool handed out to passengers by the stewardess did little to lessen the noise of the engines which made reading tiring. He had bought a copy of Dashiell Hammett’s The Thin Man at the aerodrome’s bookstall in an effort to look like a tourist but somehow he found he wasn’t in the mood for American high jinks. He refused the proffered luncheon basket, preferring the sandwiches Fenton had prepared for him. He shivered slightly despite his coat and gloves and wondered if he was coming down with a cold. He hoped Fenton had packed his Beecham powders. Liddell had not been helpful or encouraging. He had grudgingly acknowledged that Georg’s information about the work being carried out in Germany on developing an atomic bomb might be of interest to government scientists but seemed to imply that Edward should have done more to keep him alive, at least until he, Liddell, had had a chance to interview him. He asked how far he had got ingratiating himself with Putzi and Edward had to confess that he had not got very far.
