Days of Your Fathers by Geoffrey Household Read Free Book Online Page A

activity. She herself knew very well what a lot of evidence could be extracted from it. Tail a suspect who was walking, tail for an hour, and one could almost tell character, income, the working of digestion and the rising fears.
    Her fears. God, it was difficult not to show any! Death was the least. Death was a companion just as present in her personal war as in any public one. What appalled her was the certainty that when at last she died she wouldn’t be recognisable to herself in body or mind. Well, she had always accepted that. Why? The answer was something neutral for half her brain to think about while she kept walking. Patriotism? Democracy? More words! No one ever risked death for anything that couldn’t be expressed in two syllables. Hatred. That was it.
    Hardest of all was not to look round. If she did, they might arrest her at once. Her only chance of delaying theend was to show herself cleanly, absolutely unconscious that she was followed.
    Having been trained herself in the secret police, she could imagine the messages going back to headquarters by walkie-talkie – or by telephone perhaps, if there were a third person who could leave the hunt to use it.
    â€˜We have got her,’ they would say, ‘but it’s worthwhile finding out her name and where she is going. No, sir, no danger of losing her. She doesn’t know. Couldn’t know.’
    Yes, they had to make certain that she was not merely returning to an office nor on any daily routine such as shopping or visiting a café. She very slightly quickened her pace, settling down, so far as pavement and people allowed, to a steady five-and-a-half kilometres an hour. She might be hurrying home, but, if she was, why not take her usual public transport instead of wearing out smart town shoes? So long as they were kept guessing, so long as they could not jump to any conclusion, they would follow.
    Direction had been decided for her on leaving the post box. She must not change it too abruptly; she had to appear intent on something. Well, her present course would do. It led straight to the inner suburbs on the east of the city. After twenty minutes she thought it wise to offer them a little diversion. A taxi was approaching. She hesitated as if about to stop it. When the driver began to pull in, she shook her head and walked on. That would give them some conjectures to think about if they were still behind. Were they? She dared not find out. One single suggestion that she was suspicious, and they would no longer take the risk of losing her.
    She wondered if they could tell that she was armed. That was not an urgent matter yet, nor likely to be. Still, it was worth a thought. Certainly they could be sure, after such long, detailed observation, if the gun had been in a shoulder holster or a pocket. She doubted, however, if an automatic nestling across the navel could be spotted from behind. They might reasonably assume that someone who might be searched would not be such a fool as to carry one. They would be on their guard of course, but not keeping thequestion continually in the forefront of consciousness. That might be important.
    They had been following for six kilometres now, tiring and inclined to say to hell with the contact to whom she might be leading them. Their keen sense of duty, their strong instinct against running her in at once, ought to be revived. She decided to show more caution as if she were nearing her destination. It would be the first quick glance over her shoulder that they had seen, and therefore important. It would no longer be connected with the post box, left so far behind.
    She looked round. She could not spot any followers at all. Had the walk and the discipline been all for nothing? Careful! That could not be assumed yet. She reminded her agonised feet of what was going to happen to them if she allowed herself to be too confident.
    She chose a long residential street. There were very few pedestrians. If the