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who were determined to protect their property at all costs。 Fires raged unchecked。
Wednesday； 3。30 a。m。 Canverdale received an offer from the Kremlin。 Fleets of airliners would be sent in the following day to evacuate as many people as possible。 Soviet troops would repel rioters at every airfield。 Canverdale rejected this offer with dignity； but was curtly advised that the rescue bid would still take place。 It was not a promise； but a threat…and； under present circumstances； it would be difficult to interpret as an act of war。 The cunning of the Soviet bear knew no limits。
The Prime Minister consulted three of his leading ministers immediately by telephone； and then called Washington。 It took him less than ten minutes to locate the President of the United States。
At 7。30 a。m。 the White House contacted the Kremlin； tactfully at first； voluntarily offering to take over the rescue bid。 The offer was abruptly refused。 America then sternly warned the USSR to desist from their scheme。 At lO。a。m。 the President of the USA telephoned Canverdale。
The Prime Minister's hands were visibly shaking as he addressed the crisis Cabinet Meeting half an hour later。
'Gentlemen；' he began； his voice disclosing the weariness now threatening to engulf him。 'We have another Cuba situation on our hands； and we are absolutely powerless to intervene in any way。 We are the meat in the sandwich for a Third World War。 I can offer neither suggestions nor a solution。 One way or another； Britain is finished。 Perhaps it would be best； after all； if Section Eight exploded！'
In his hotel bedroom； Kent listened to Canverdale's broadcast on the transistor radio。 Eventually he switched off； intending to retire to bed。 Then he had a change of mind which surprised even himself。 Instead of donning his pyjamas； he put on his three…quarter…length sheepskin coat； walked downstairs and outside to his parked Mercedes。
Every action was slow； with none of his usual decisiveness； even the way he drove； almost as though he was unsure of himself； even of his destination…a man who had finally lost hope and run out of ideas。
The streets were crowded； and twice he had to pull up to avoid a bunch of pedestrians idling in the middle of the road。 Gatherings； some small； some large； some quiet； others noisy。 Everybody had heard the broadcast。 Perhaps； like himself； they were trying to reach a decision； desperately seeking a way to escape death。
As the Mercedes nosed its way through the Square he slowed momentarily； taking in the scene before him。 Several hundred townspeople packed the cobbled area。 A man had climbed on to the pedestal of Burns's statue to address them。 He was a volatile speaker； fists clenched； gesticulating wildly； frequently pointing back towards the north end of the valley。 Constant cheers drowned his words。 A continual oration…an incitement！ Kent knew only too well that before long this ugly throng； joined by countless others； would be marching on the nuclear station。 David versus Goliath； only this time no well…aimed stone would win the battle。 It was lost before it had even begun。
He took the left…hand road； accelerating once he was clear of the crowds； the sound of their voices growing fainter。 Now the side…streets were deserted。 Once again indecision caused him to ease up on the throttle。 It would be so much simpler to turn around and head back to the hotel。 But there are times when even a loner needs pany。 So he kept on driving。
He saw Coyle's house at the end of the road…an ordinary semi…detached suburban dwelling。 He slowed to a crawl； almost prepared to pass it by and carry on elsewhere； maybe for a drink in a bar。 The garage doors were wide open； and there was no sign of the Avenger。 But a light showed in one of the front downstairs rooms。
A last moment of hesitation； then he pulled the Mercedes into the drive； switching off the engine and lights。 Previous doubts were now replaced by an unaccustomed nervousness。 Of what？ After all； he only sought pany。 He had been a man alone too long。 He had half expected to find Coyle at home； particularly after today's events。 But evidently the Herald's proprietor had gone to visit Anne。
Kent pulled the pipe from his pocket。 Its bowl was still full of half…smoked tobacco。 He lit it and drew deeply； savouring the flavour of the tobacco in his lungs。 At last he rang the bell。
A long wait。 Perhaps there was nobody there。 Then he could go back to his hotel； satisfied that it was not he who had backed down。 It was stupid； but he just needed somebody to talk to。 About what？ Anything except 。 。 。 Nervousness again。 He couldn't even pretend that he was looking for Coyle。 The absence of the Avenger made it clear that Coyle was not at home。 Another thing； it was no time to call upon a bereaved family 。 。 。
Then he heard footsteps in the hall； the click of the lock； and Jane stood there； looking at him。 Surprise filtered through her grief。 One hand rested on the door handle； the other sought the support of the lintel。
'I'm sorry。' Kent thought that his voice sounded distant； like a trans…Atlantic telephone call； barely audible。 'I 。 。 。 '
'e in。' She held the door wide； indicating him to enter the living…room。 'Slip your coat off。 I was just about to make some coffee。'
Half an hour passed。 Two empty cups。 Two people who needed pany； but spoke little。 Kent still had not told her why he had e。 Nor had she asked。
'Sarah's in bed。' It was as though she suddenly felt the need to talk； had forced herself to break the barrier of silence。 'I called the doctor。 It didn't really hit her until later 。。。 a terrible experience for any girl。' No mention of Coyle。
They lapsed into an uneasy silence。 There was so much they did not want to discuss。 Kent realised just how poor he was as a conversationalist。 A man of many words in print； but when it came to situations like this 。。。 He was paying the penalty for being a loner…unsociable by nature。
He glanced up at the clock on the mantle shelf。 God； he'd been here an hour already； and so much remained unsaid。 What was there to say？
At last it was Jane who broke the lingering silence； the uneasy tension which existed between them。 It was she who put into words everything he had thought about since leaving the hotel。
'What's it like being alone； Kent？' She smiled faintly； a hint of sadness in her eyes that was noticeably distinct from her previous smouldering grief。 'I mean； really alone。 No ties。 Nobody depending on you 。 。 。 '
'It has its advantages；' he spoke slowly； staring at the glowing electric bars； then raising his eyes to meet hers。 'But sometimes it can be hell。 You brood over things； bottle problems up inside 。 。 。 '
'That's why you came here tonight。'
He nodded slowly。 Partially the truth； maybe。 Even he was not sure now why he had e。
'Kent。' She hesitated； as though struggling to choose her words carefully； maybe fearful of offending him。 'Do 。 。 。 do you ever miss not having a woman？ I mean； a regular woman。'
He gave a deep sigh。 She had asked the question he most wanted her to ask。 Also the one he feared。 Kent of Fleet Street； the man who interviewed politicians； personalities； and tricked them into revealing facts they desperately sought to withhold。 Now everything was in reverse。 He knew now how it felt to be on the receiving end。
'It's hell sometimes。' A confessional mood was on him now。 'I know a lot of women in London。 I can always have one when I need one。 Not prostitutes。 Women who just need a man the same way I need them。 Call it lust if you like。 Something just physical。 But afterwards you feel a thousand times worse。 Loneliness is made so much more apparent to you。 So you work it off； work like hell。 Try and forget it。 But sooner or later you have to go in search of another woman。 Sex is like a curse then。 You wish you could do without it； but you can't； and you know it。'
'I know。' She leaned back in her chair and the movement brought a faint stirring in his loins。 He wanted to fight it off。 Hell； her husband was his best friend。 She had just lost a son。 Her daughter was asleep upstairs under sedation。
'Kent。' Her voice was more decisive now； her eyes meeting his。 'I know precisely how you feel。 That's exactly the position I'm in now。'
'But you have a husband 。 。 。 ' He felt he had to make some kind of token resistance。
'I don't have a husband 。 。 。 ' She sat up again； leaning towards him。 'He's gone。 He won't e back。 He's hi love with that girl。 I can only supply him with his physical needs。 As you just said； it isn't enough。 Tonight； after I'd given Sarah her sleeping tablets； I sat with the pill bottle in my hand for a long time。 The way out would have been so easy。 Richard's gone。 So is Bob。 It was only the thought of Sarah that prevented me from taking all those tablets myself。 She needs me。 I'd only just made the decision to carry on with life； see it through to the end 。 。 。 Then you arrived。 God； I was glad to see you！'