The Megstone Plot [antikvár]

J It all began with a chance encounter on a murky evening in November, 1954.1 had just left the oflSce and had stopped in Whitehall to buy a paper. As I turned away from the stand I felt a detaining hand on my arm and a man said, "Surely it's Clive Easton?" I knew his face, but for a second I couldn't place liim. "Dunoonl" he said—and then it all came back. His name was Walter Cowley. He'd had a job during the war advising on low-temperature equipment for the Navy, and I'd run into him on the Clyde when the H95 was being fitted out for an Arctic mission. It had been a brief and superficial acquaintance, but as I remembered it he'd been a tolerable drinking companion in a lean week, and I wasn't too appalled at seeing him again. It was cold for standing about, so I suggested we should pop into the Red Lion and have a chat. He obviously wanted to talk, but he said his wife was expecting him and wouldn't I go along and have a drink with them at 1