Back Room Girl: By the author of Paul Temple. Francis Durbridge

the chance to make the same mistake again. We can’t afford to take the slightest risk.’

      ‘Who are “we” and why can’t “we” afford to take any chances? You really do make the most curiosity-rousing remarks and then you don’t satisfy it. What is this place, anyway – the smugglers’ lair or something?’

      ‘No,’ said the girl, ‘and I don’t propose to satisfy your curiosity either. I’ve nothing to do with the security aspect, only the scientific. You’ll have to wait until the Chief gets back and you’ll probably have another surprise when you see him. I hope it will be a pleasant one – for both of you.’

      ‘Security? Scientific? The Chief? I don’t get it. The war’s over – or is it?’

      ‘Not our part at any rate.’

      ‘And what is your part?’

      ‘It’s no good your going on asking me questions. You won’t get any more information out of me. I’m afraid I’ve said too much already, I don’t know why, and to a complete stranger.’

      ‘For one who’s a complete stranger to you, you seem to know a heck of a lot about me,’ retorted Roy, slowly and painfully raising himself to a sitting position. The effect made his head swim. ‘Are you a first-aid expert, too?’ he asked the girl, who, he thought, seemed to be eyeing him a little more sympathetically. From this position she was even better-looking than he had surmised earlier. He was sure he had seen her somewhere before, but he could not recall where.

      He looked around him. He appeared to be in some sort of a cave, but it was lit by electric light and the air, he noted, was warm, not cool and dank. The cave was sparsely furnished, if you could call it that. There was the camp bed on which he was now sitting, a table covered with papers and documents and a portable typewriter. There was a shelf fixed against one wall. It contained some massive books, probably scientific works, he guessed. Underneath it was a steel filing cabinet. Behind the door was a small mirror, the only touch of femininity. Apart from this and the square of coconut matting covering the floor, the cave was devoid of decoration.

      Roy’s eyes came back to the girl. She had been watching him curiously as if not quite sure how to treat him.

      ‘You still haven’t told me who you are and where I am,’ he remarked.

      She hesitated a little before replying. ‘I’m Karen Silvers, if that conveys anything to you,’ she said finally, ‘and we’re in the old tin mine, but I can’t say anything more about that. You have to—’

      ‘I know, I know,’ interposed Roy, ‘I’ll have to wait till the Chief gets back. I’ll wait, but that’s no reason, is it, why I shouldn’t go on trying to solve the Karen part of the mystery?’

      ‘I don’t know that there’s any mystery to solve about me,’ said Miss Silvers.

      ‘There is for me. I’ve heard your name before and I’m sure I’ve seen you, too, though I don’t think we’ve met.’ Roy repeated her name thoughtfully. ‘Sounds nice, anyway.’

      She laughed, and he looked at her, liking it, trying to remember. She returned his gaze steadily. Suddenly he slapped his knee and exclaimed: ‘Of course, that’s it – or, rather, you. You’re the girl scientific wonder who got the George Cross for that magnetic mine job. I remember seeing your photograph in the paper at the time. He frowned and added, ‘It didn’t flatter you.’

      Roy thought he saw the suspicion of a blush. He went on: ‘Brilliant career at Oxford, took all the degrees there were and a few others besides, didn’t you, or something like that? I remember Dick Thomas, one of our reporters who tried to interview you when the award was announced, coming back to the office disgusted because you wouldn’t talk. But he wrote a nice little piece about Britain’s prettiest blue-stocking.’

      ‘I remember it,’ nodded Miss Silvers grimly. ‘Typical of the popular Press. It annoyed me very much indeed.’

      ‘Why should it? He was right – as far as the “prettiest” part goes, anyway. Not having any degrees myself and darned little knowledge of science, I wouldn’t know about the blue-stocking part of it. But what on earth are you doing here now in an old tin mine, of all places?’

      ‘Still working for the Government.’

      ‘I see; one of the back room girls, eh?’

      ‘I suppose you would call it that. It’s what I should expect from the newspapers, I suppose.’ She said it as if she didn’t think much of newspapers – or newspapermen.

      ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer to be called one of the old tin mine girls,’ suggested Roy banteringly.

      ‘That would hardly be accurate, though, of course, I shouldn’t expect a journalist to bother much about accuracy. I’m the only woman here.’

      ‘Overlooking the outrageous slight on my profession, or ex-profession, you are telling me, bit by bit, what I want to know, but you’re still far from being really co-operative. I understand now why our Mr Thomas was so disappointed in you, in one respect at least.’

      ‘And are you disappointed in me, Major Benton?’

      ‘It couldn’t be, could it, that you’re fishing for compliments? No,’ Roy went on hastily, seeing her indignant reaction to his question. ‘No, of course not. By the way, please don’t call me Major. The name is Roy – but you probably know that as well – and I’m not disappointed – yet. Unlike Mr Thomas, you see, I haven’t to get a story out of you, at least not for publication in the papers.’

      ‘You’d better not try,’ said Karen Silvers, ‘or you’d get into very serious trouble.’

      ‘As hush-hush as that, is it? Hence all the security – and my poor head. What are you researching for now – a super atomic bomb to blow the world to bits?’

      Roy thought he saw her give a slight start, but she recovered quickly. ‘I’ve already told you,’ she said firmly, ‘that I can’t answer questions about my work.’

      ‘Nor why you do it in an abandoned Cornish tin mine?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But surely I’m entitled to some sort of explanation and apology after the brutal way I’ve been treated when I was out for a perfectly innocent walk?’

      ‘Was it so innocent? You couldn’t by any chance have been plain nosey-parkering?’

      ‘Really, Miss Silvers,’ exclaimed Roy in mock indignation, ‘how could you suspect me of such a thing?’

      ‘You were a crime reporter, weren’t you?’

      ‘Does that mean you’re engaged in something criminal? I was a crime reporter, but I’m a reformed character now. I don’t seem to have been able to conceal any of my past from you, do I?’

      ‘I told you we made it our business to know. We couldn’t have anyone living so close as you were who might possibly, for all your war record, be an enemy agent—’ She broke off, realizing that she had said more than she intended.

      Roy was quick to seize the point. ‘So that’s it,’ he said. ‘I wondered why it was necessary for the disembarkation to take place in the dead of night. What were your boy friends bringing ashore, anyway?’

      ‘That’s enough,’ retorted Miss Silvers determinedly. ‘You’ve pumped me too much already. I often wondered why people let themselves make such stupid statements in the papers. Now I know. You’d worm anything out of anyone, but you’ll get nothing more out of me. The sooner I hand you over to the Chief the better.’

      ‘Hand me over? I like that. You don’t really suppose you can keep me here, do you? Ever heard of habeas corpus? Why shouldn’t I get up and just walk out, I’d like to know?’

      Roy got up and took two or three determined steps towards the door. At least, he