There wasn't all that much of the bank left. The bomb had hit Mainwaring's office particularly hard. The far wall and the fireplace had gone, along with the wall around the door, and the window was broken. There was a heap of rubble and a huge hole in the roof. Mainwaring's nemeses at the ARP had provided a single sheet of dark green tarpaulin to keep the weather out. It had rained overnight and the tarp hung, flabby and wet, over Mainwaring's desk. Outside the office, there was just enough counter space for the work of the bank to continue, and a small card optimistically read: BUSINESS AS USUAL.

Mainwaring sat at the desk, a short, bald figure, stoic and impassive as ever as he waited for his chief clerk and sergeant to bring some papers. Wilson had his usual laid-back air as he stepped around, not through the door and entered. He brushed his silver hair back from his bronzed face.

"Well, sir. I think I've... I think I've brought all the papers you wanted to see."

"Oh yes, thank you." Mainwaring took them and sorted them. "I want to have a good look at these."

"Awfully wet in here, isn't it?" Wilson could have been talking about the weather for a garden party as he surveyed the office.

"Yes. Well, this tarpaulin's full of water from last night's rain."

"Ah I see, yeah –"

Mainwaring should have remembered what a fidget and a fiddler Wilson was. Only a few weeks earlier, his fingers had been all over a slab of cheese intended for Mrs Mainwaring. Now, Mainwaring was just too late as Wilson reached up a brown hand and, with incredible elegance, gave the tarp a poke. Mainwaring had been on camping trips in boyhood, while Wilson stayed with his family in hotels, and knew the dangers.

"Don't poke it – don't poke it! Only make it worse."

"Sorry, sir." Wilson withdrew his hand, leaving a steady, nasty drip onto the desk below.

"Why can't you leave things alone, Wilson? How can I work with – with water dripping all over the place? Oh..."

Wilson tried his best with a handkerchief, but the leak continued.

"Leave it alone! Leave it alone!"

"So sorry, sir. Beg your pardon."

Mainwaring felt a draught from the broken window. "And shut that window!"

"Right, sir." Wilson went and shut the window. "There you are sir, is that better?"

"No, it isn't!"

"Well, I don't know why you should put up with all this, sir. Why don't you go down to the stockroom? That hasn't been damaged at all."

"Go down to the stockroom?!"

"Yes, why not, sir?"

Mainwaring considered for a moment. After all, why not? All great military leaders had somewhere to retreat to. Even Churchill had his bunker. He'd read about it in the newspapers – what little the public was allowed to know. He could still lead from down there, during working hours. And the office was still available. The stockroom – or bank vault – had to be better than a chilly shell of an office, with a roof that was now dripping thanks to Wilson's meddling.

He got up.

"Very well, Wilson. For once, I'm going to take your advice. Bring the papers, and that telephone. And our Home Guard materials. And the rifles. We'll set up an emergency room down there."

Wilson was only too pleased. The tarp was producing some quite alarming drips, and he wanted to keep them away from his hair and his elegant suit.

He took up all he could carry, and followed Mainwaring through the door and down the steps to the vault.

The door was ajar. Mainwaring and Wilson carried everything inside.

It was a square, grey room, directly beneath the office. The year before, they had been trapped there side by side, an unexploded bomb on their knees. That had been the bank's first bomb. Perhaps Hitler knew where Mainwaring was, mused Wilson.

There was little of value down here now. They had taken the bank's money over to Eastgate following the bombing, and all that remained were long-forgotten box files and discarded furniture that had accumulated over the last forty years or so.

Wilson found two small, folding tables and set them up.

"Here we are, sir. One for you... and one for me."

"Here! You're taking a lot on yourself, aren't you? Which of us is the officer? And the manager?"

"You are, sir."

"Very well. I'll have this one, and you have that one."

"Yes, sir."

"And shut the door."

"Yes, sir." Wilson pulled it shut. "Now, sir..."

He set up Mainwaring's temporary desk and telephone with the air of a nursemaid laying out a small boy's toys. Fortunately, a telephone point had been installed in the previous decade, to assist with stocktaking. Wilson found two old wooden chairs.

"I'll ask Miss King to bring two coffees down, later."

"You know, Wilson." Mainwaring took a seat. "You're becoming quite resourceful."

Wilson laughed. " Really, sir?"

"Must be my influence, of course."

"Oh... oh yes, sir."

They sat down, side by side again, and started work. There was little space between the desks and chairs. They found themselves working very closely together. Mainwaring suspected Wilson put scent on after shaving. Wilson was smiling a little.

"Rather like the back row of the pictures, isn't it, sir?"

"Wilson! We don't want any of that sort of talk."

They had five blissful minutes' peace, before they heard the distant sound of an air-raid siren. Mainwaring groaned.

"Can't the Hun leave us alone for one morning? Come on, Wilson. Plan B for the staff, the Novelty Rock Emporium for us."

"Yes, sir." Wilson was first to the door. He tried it. "That is..."

"Come on, Wilson!"

"It's stuck, sir."

"What?"

"It's like your office door. It's... it's stuck!"

"Well, put some beef into it!"

"I am, sir..."

"Oh, here!" Mainwaring charged the door like a miniature and tubby bull. "Oh... oh...!"

"Are you all right, sir?"

Mainwaring hid his pain. He fiddled with the door. "It's stuck."

"Yes, sir."

"We'd better get Pike down here. If he pushes from his side..." Mainwaring picked up the phone. "Hello... hello... why can't I get an answer?"

"Possibly because this is the only telephone in the building, sir?"

"What?"

"You see, we moved it from your office..."

"Oh...!" Mainwaring listened to the phone again. "There's a dialling tone. We'll make an outgoing call."

"The staff will all be in the shelter now, sir. There's no telephone there."

"We'll try Jones." Mainwaring had seen him in the bank earlier, paying in what looked to be a very large sum of money. He hoped the bank wasn't robbed while they were stuck downstairs. This would not look good with Head Office. "Operator? Walmington 230, please."

The phone rang, but there was no reply. Mainwaring realised everyone in the High Street was now either on duty, or taking shelter. Everyone was so well-practised by this time that every shop would be deserted, along with the bank.

Finally the phone was answered.

"Hello? Jack Jones, the butcher? Families waited on daily? Sorry, no offal. Sausages one per book. If you want something for the weekend..."

"Jones! Jones!"

"Mr Mainwaring! Young Pike's looking for you! I was just getting me tin hat on and me bayonet sharpened. Are you at the command post, sir?"

"No, we're in the stockroom."

"The sockroom, sir? I thought Private Godfrey usually dealt with uniform..."

"No, the stockroom! The bank vault. The door's jammed."

"Just a minute, sir! There's no need to panic, madam! The Home Guard has everything under... blast! The sausages are burning! I was preparing them for tonight..."

"Jones, listen to me!"

The line went dead. Mainwaring groaned again. Then he heard a familiar, bullish voice.

"Is that you, Napoleon? Why aren't you in your command post? Young Frank's been looking everywhere! We thought you'd changed sides and gorn off to Berlin!" There was a filthy, smoker's laugh. Mainwaring's lips took on their familiar 'hot potato' look.

"I don't have to justify myself to you, Hodges! We're in the stockroom."

"Oh, hiding away in the basement, eh? While the bombs are falling! That's very nice."

"The door's stuck, you fool! Like the door to my office. I thought your people patched things up after that night?"

"Well, we thought of installing a fur rug and a cocktail cabinet, just for you, but ARP HQ felt we had other priorities. In other words..." There was a loud raspberry, and the receiver was dropped back onto the cradle.

Wilson looked innocently at Mainwaring. "Is someone coming to help, sir?"

Mainwaring was fuming. He realised he should have been politer to that awful common fellow Hodges. He might have sent someone to set them free.

Wilson was looking positively relaxed. "It's all right, sir, it's all right. We'll just have to sit it out. We're probably in the safest place in the entire town."

"But the staff! The platoon! There's an air-raid on. Who's going to take charge?"

"Well, I suppose... there's Jones, at the Novelty Rock Emporium... and Frank, for the staff..."

"Oh...!" Mainwaring tried another call. "Hello, Walker?"

"'Ello, Mr Mainwaring, we're all looking for you. Miss King keep you busy with a fascinating figure, did she?"

Mainwaring had no time for Walker's innuendoes. "Walker, we're trapped in the vault of the bank. Can you get two men down here, to set us free? Hello? Hello?" He shook the receiver. "What's the matter with this thing?"

"Could be the raid, sir. There's been a lot of interference on the telephone lines. I read about it in the Eastbourne Gazette."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Mainwaring rattled at the telephone. "Hello, operator? I've been cut off..." He remembered the operator, from that disastrous night with Jones's section at the lighthouse. His hopes weren't high.

"Sorry, sir. There's an air-raid on... Essential calls only."

"This is an essential call! I'm the local Home Guard commander, and I'm trapped below ground."

"Which ground?"

Mainwaring took a very deep breath. "Can you reconnect me to Walmington 235?"

"Tell her it's Walker, sir."

"What?"

"She knows him."

"It's the business address of Private Joseph Walker."

"Ooh!" There was a squeal of delight. "Okey-dokey, then!"

The phone rang. But it was a gruff Scots voice that answered.

"Hello?"

"Frazer! What are you doing there?"

"I was picking up mah coffin handles when the siren sounded." Frazer sounded even sterner than Hodges. "We're all looking for you, sir. That auld fool Jones is losing the war for us single-handed, down at the Novelty Rock Emporium."

"Frazer, listen to me. We're trapped in the bank vault. Get Pike. Get – us – out!"

There was a loud sniff. "Just a minute, sir."

"No – don't put the phone...!"

The line went dead again. Mainwaring gave up. He went back and sat beside Wilson, at their makeshift desks. Wilson gave a sympathetic smile.

"Never mind sir, it'll all be over soon. Would you care for an acid drop?"

So disheartened was Mainwaring that he took one. They sat, sharing Wilson's sweet ration until they heard the all-clear sounding above. Mainwaring hoped no bombs had fallen. He hated to miss a single minute of the war.

Finally, they heard a chirpy young voice.

"Mr Mainwaring? Uncle Arthur?"

"Pike!" Mainwaring got up and almost ran to the door. "Now... listen, boy, listen! We're trapped behind this door! It's jammed. It's going to take considerable force to... oh! OH!"

He gave a yell, and clutched his ear and his side, as the door slammed open against him. Wilson hid another smile.

Pike stood innocently in the stairwell.

"What are you both doing down here, sir?"

"How did you open it?" Mainwaring stared at Pike, who held up a large key.

"With the master key, sir. I got it from your desk..." Pike looked puzzled. "Well...it's the auto-lock system, sir. Don't you remember? Once the door's shut, it needs both locks activated from outside to get it open. I saw something like it in a film with Will Hay... did one of you slam the door?"

Mainwaring glared at Wilson. Wilson had a look of innocence, oddly similar to that of Pike.

"You did tell me to shut the door, sir..."

Mainwaring rudely barged past both of them and up the stairs.

"I've had enough of this! I'm going back to my office, leak or no leak, and no red-necked, beer-swilling foreigner's going to throw me out of it..."

He entered the office. His desk looked neat and tidy. Pike must have straightened things.

To his surprise, the tarp was no longer leaking.

"What's happened here?"

"Oh..." Pike looked at it, his blue eyes wide and childlike. For a second, even Mainwaring saw why Mrs Pike found him so adorable. "It was leaking, like a tent... we learned all about it in the Scouts... all you do is, you run your finger to the edge and make a sort of path for the water... it takes the drip away. All the staff are back at work, sir, I got them to the shelter and back. Plan B..."

Mainwaring sat at his desk. He was suddenly in a good mood.

"I always knew there were hidden depths to you, Pike. Haven't I always said so, Wilson?"

"Well, sir..."

"Yes, well, never mind."

Wilson looked at the tarp. "I certainly shan't be touching that again. And you stopped it... just with your finger, Frank?"

"Oh, yes, that's right, Uncle Sergeant Mr Wilson." Pike snickered. "Just like Hercules in that film. With one finger. There."

Mainwaring blinked. "Well, don't poke it!"

"Oh..."

Another drip fell onto the desk, then another. Pike blenched. Wilson kept a straight face. He had nothing to say. But Mainwaring had.

"You stupid boy!"