Thanks to all my reviewers. The events in the graveyard continue. For those who haven't read my very long story 'Next' the chapters referenced here are No's 15 and 20.

A quiver of anger was running up James. Harry sensing it, suspected that the latter was about to expostulate in terms that would be grossly inappropriate to his saintly calling. Given the circumstances Harry wouldn't condemn anyone for such a solecism, but before James could disgrace the dog collar Harry deemed it wise to leap into the breach. Antagonising the police in foul language was never a wise move, it might relieve the frustrations of the moment, but had a subsequent tendency to result in charges under the Public Order Act. Time to offer some diplomatic advice to the officer now waiting impatiently for them to come quietly. An imperative reinforced by the sight of one of the Constables standing three paces behind the Sergeant, almost gleefully jingling a pair of handcuffs. If the six representatives of the police force's finest were hoping to intimidate their designated captives they were about to suffer a disappointment as deep as the graves surrounding them when the elder half of their quarry, who'd remained obstinately unimpressed by these living symbols of law and order, helpfully suggested,

"I really don't think that is a very sensible action on your part."

Whether it was due to the accent in which the sage advice was delivered, redolent of public school superiority, or fury at this manifestation of defiance, it was now the Sergeant's turn to imitate a volcano in the early stages of eruption as he spat back with obvious fury.

"Oh you don't do you Sunny Jim – and why not?"

Harry, notorious throughout the corridors of Whitehall for his sunny amenable disposition, explained very carefully, as if to a mentally deficient child,

"Because I suspect your Chief Constable might be a little annoyed when my solicitor complains about the treatment afforded to two law abiding citizens. Especially citizens who at grave risk to themselves managed to prevent a crime from being committed."

While Harry was maintaining a well practiced poker face as he uttered this veiled threat he could only hope that James was presenting as similarly deadpan. He didn't dare risk a glance to check. Necessity dictated that the slightest hint of collusion was to be avoided, forcing him to operate on the working assumption that anyone who obliged to deal with Emma Winnick et al on a regular basis without wincing would, through sheer self preservation, be skilled in the black art of schooling his features to neutral.

Harry's argument was ignored, but any further action was delayed while the fuming Sergeant favoured the entire throng with his grievance against the village in general.

"Not another one. Everyone in this bloody place claims to be best mates with his mightiness."

It was an irate, potentially mysterious comment that, while producing instant wrinkles of perplexity across James forehead, explained much to Harry, who vividly recalled the incident of a few weeks ago when the CIA had come a visiting with the intention of grabbing Jane. Or to be strictly accurate what Harry was remembering was the description of its aftermath as reported by Laura Dixon, the aspiring spook. Even if Jane hadn't been involved that event would have stuck in his memory due to the astounding revelation of the seemingly colourless Laura's well hidden, utterly unexpected, talent for mimicry.

As dramatically recounted from Laura's Intel when Emma Winnick had been confronted by the police she'd unwisely insisted that she was on first name terms with the Chief Constable. Shortly afterwards Mabel had overheard the pompous Robin making a similar claim, which had gone down brilliantly with the hapless policemen he'd been abusing, in particular with the one who'd just been thumped in the face by the absconding CIA. As a direct result of having met Emma Winnick and Mabel in person earlier in the evening Harry had privately resolved to recommend Laura for further training in the techniques of working undercover. While Harry was surprised that James was seemingly in the dark concerning this unusual invasion of a peaceful village, further consideration told him that Robin was unlikely to have recounted events in which he had not exactly shone, while any sensible male would have automatically tuned his ear to block out the witterings of Emma and probably, much as Harry had liked her as a person, the perennially tongue clacking Mabel. The decision to harness Laura's extraordinary acting talents in defence of the realm, however desirable, could only be actioned when Harry returned to London, if he returned to London, which was unlikely should PC, oops no Sergeant, Plod prevail in his pig headed insistence that Harry and James were due a night's hospitality in the cells. Harry remained stubbornly unenamoured by that happy prospect: toilet paper that resembled barbed wire, no comfy pillow on which to lay his balding head, and the ultimate depravation, no soothingly expensive malt whisky: therefore NO WAY.

Knowing that it was MI5 in the person of Laura who'd called the police to distract the CIA, while she and Jane had made their escape, in theory Harry owed the police one, particularly since he was now apparently eyeball to eyeball with someone who had been injured in the resulting collateral damage. Tough. In Harry's world violence and fraudulent claims of friends in high places was an occupational hazard. They were most certainly not a reason to sympathise with police officers who were wantonly ignoring the basic fact that Harry and James were not criminals. Or rather - mildly infected by the miasma of religion that pervaded his present surroundings - Harry amended that mental assertion to the somewhat more accurate one that he was not a culprit on this occasion, or not a major malefactor. Privately, in general terms, Harry accepted that he could hardly lay claim to much in the way of innocence. After the events of the past hour or so he wasn't entirely certain about James' moral standing either. That however was not his chief concern. It was a safe assumption that, if the James judged that he had seriously erred, he could almost certainly would be on the blower to God, squaring his conscience as soon as he was afforded a private moment to converse with the deity.

While Harry was calmly waiting - no hurry, other the fact that they were all beginning to shiver with teeth that were threatening to double as castanets -the Sergeant had finally returned his attention to the more immediate matter of Harry's opening salvo. Recovering slightly the uninformed, uniformed one added sarcastically "You'll be telling me next that the Chief has to obey your orders." A sally responsible for sending a slight ripple of amusement through his brown nosed subordinates.

The response to that supposed clincher was responsible for several satisfactorily dropped jaws, James' included,

"Well yes actually he does."

His sparring partner remained openly sceptical. "Think you're God almighty do you?"

"Not exactly. I remain to be convinced of his existence – sorry James – whereas I am definitely sure of mine. Could I suggest that you permit me to show you my identity card?"

Not actually awaiting the permission of someone who was stunned by Harry's adamant refusal to roll over and die - a gun would be needed for that and mercifully the only one handy had been disabled by Harry himself – Harry reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted his official identity card which he proffered without moving from the spot he was still standing in. Forced to approach his obstreperous opponent, having walked forward and virtually snatched it from Harry's hand, the effect on the Sergeant, as he read and digested its meaning, was instantaneous.

Crest lowered as he returned the card its triumphant owner, the man who was in nominally in charge gave way, "Ah I see. My apologies Sir Harry obviously I made an error." Still determined to avoid a total rout and working on the erroneous theory that Harry was only concerned with preserving his own skin he insisted, "But I still need to take in Reverend Endersley."

Harry's tact and patience, never his more obvious attributes, had finally worn out, with the consequence that the frost in his voice made the crisp freezing air seem warm and balmy by comparison as he gave an initial pretence of agreement.

"Indeed, do so if you wish to make the constabulary a laughing stock." Descending to seriousness he firmly but authoritatively confirmed his obstructive stance,

"Arrest a vicar just before Christmas when he was trying to defend himself and preserve part of the nation's heritage from foreign thugs. Especially when he'd requested police help earlier and had it refused!" While the law enforcing audience spluttered he added the clincher, the dreaded prospect of trial by media. "Do that and the 'Daily Mail' will be stuffing you like a turkey, although it will probably fall to your Chief to do the roasting."

Reluctant to give up, but staggering under Harry's verbal pounding the reply was a stuttered, "I, er."

Pressing his advantage Harry responded with "Quite so. Now can I suggest that I take Mr Endersley back to the Vicarage and if he needs medical attention we'll ask the local doctor to examine him. I understand that he only lives a few houses up the lane. If you remove these individuals and do whatever is necessary here you could take a statement from Mrs Townsend and then come to the Vicarage for ours."

While the Sergeant was still fighting to come to terms with having the entire operation smoothly removed from his control leaving him thrashing for a fig leaf of credibility, an emotion that several other victims of futile attempts to best Harry would have empathised with, Harry offered a verbal olive branch, handing over another card as he said, "My work contact details. If you are minded to forward any information about these three I'll authorise a check against various databases you don't have access to. It could be your lucky night if you can lay claim to collaring a dangerous set of individuals."

With that he nodded to James and the pair made their unimpeded way back down the gravelled path before Harry, having reached the comparative safety of the gateway, turned to throw out his parting rebuke.

"Incidentally Sergeant when you address a clergy man of the Church of England unless he happens to be a Canon the correct mode is Mr, save the Reverend for envelopes."

As they disappeared into the night, leaving the Sergeant still dumbstruck at the mere suggestion that he might have got lucky, a brave constable falteringly asked, "Er, Sir what do you want us to do now?"

Recognising that he was beaten on all points the Sergeant instructed, "What Sir Harry said I suppose. Adding with feeling, "I hate this sodding village, the last time I came here I got assaulted."

Thanks for reading. If you have a moment a review would be appreciated.