“Be my guest, sir.”
Martineau picked up a pistol from the table. “Walther PPK, semiautomatic. Seven-round magazine goes in the butt, like so. Pull the slider back and you’re in business. It’s not too large. You wouldn’t notice it in your handbag, but it will do the job and that’s what matters. Now come down the range.”
“All right.”
They moved so close that the targets were no more than ten or twelve yards away. “If he’s close enough for you to hold it against him when you pull the trigger, do it that way, but you should never be farther away than you are now. Simply throw up your arm and point the gun at him. Keep both eyes open and fire very fast.”
She hit the target six times in the general area of the chest and belly. “Oh, my word,” she said, very excited. “That wasn’t bad, was it?”
As they walked back to the firing line he said, “Yes, but could you do it for real?”
“I’ll only know when the time comes, won’t I?” she said. “Anyway, what about you? I hear a lot of talk, but not much to justify it.”
There was another Walther on the table with a round cylinder of polished black steel screwed on to the end of the barrel. “This is what’s called a Carswell silencer,” Mar-tineau told her. “Specially developed for use by SOE agents.”
His arm swung up. He didn’t appear to take aim, firing twice, shooting out the heart of the target. The only sound had been two dull thuds, and the effect was quite terrifying.
He laid the gun down and turned, eyes blank in the white face. “I’ve got things to do. Dougal wants us in the library in half an hour. I’ll see you then.”
He walked out. There was an awkward silence. Sarah said, “He seemed angry.”
“The colonel gets like that, miss. I don’t think he likes what he sees in himself sometimes. Last November he killed the head of the Gestapo at Lyons. Man called Kaufman n. A real butcher. They brought him back from over there in a puddle of blood in a Lysander. Two bullets in his left lung for starters. He’s been different since then.”
“In what way?”
“I don’t know, miss.” Kelly frowned. “Here, don’t you go getting silly ideas about him. I know what you young girls can be like. IVe got a daughter your age on an antiaircraft battery in London. Just remember he’s got twenty-five years on you.”
“You mean he’s too old?” Sarah said. “Isn’t that like saying you can’t love someone because they’re Catholic or Jewish or American or something? What’s the difference?”
“Too clever for me, that kind of talk.” Kelly opened a drawer and took out a cloth bundle which he unwrapped. “A little present for you, miss, in spite of what the colonel says.” It was a small black automatic pistol, very light, almost swallowed up by her hand. “Belgian. Only.25, but it’ll do the trick when you need it and, at that size, very easy to hide.” He looked awkward. “IVe known ladies to tuck them in the top of their stocking, not intending to be disrespectful, miss.”
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. “I think you’re wonderful.”
“You can’t do that, miss, you being an officer. Against regulations.”
“But I’m not an officer, Sergeant.”
“I think you’ll find you are, miss. Probably one of the things the brigadier wants to tell you. I’d cut off and go to the library now if I were you.”
“All right and thank you.”
She went out and Kelly sighed and started to clear away the weapons.
Munro, Carter and Martineau were already in the library when she went in, sitting by the flre having afternoon tea. “Ah, there you are,” Munro said. “Do join us. The crumpets are delicious.”
Carter poured her a cup of tea. She said, “Sergeant Kelly said something about my being an officer now. What was he talking about?”
“Yes, well, we do prefer our women operatives to hold some sort of commissioned rank. In theory it’s supposed to help you if you fall into enemy hands,” Munro told her.