The pilot was on the ground now and trying to disentangle himself from the ropes of his parachute. He lifted his head as she drew closer, and she halted.

The German finally freed himself and pulled his flying helmet from his head. Then, to her utter relief, he dropped the helmet on the ground and raised his hands in obvious surrender.

Somewhat subdued, the crowd gathered around the green, encircling the man. Everyone looked at Elizabeth. Even Rita Crumm looked flustered, and she hung back as if waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

Elizabeth drew in a deep breath. Clearly the next move was up to her. As lady of the manor, she was responsible for the welfare of these people. She was in charge until the police arrived. “Someone send for the constables,” she said, keeping her voice calm so as not to alarm the German.

He looked very young and very unsure of himself. She could see his hands shaking as he held them in the air. She just hoped P.C. Dalrymple would arrive on the scene shortly. Already the women were beginning to mutter behind her. Heaven knows what would happen if Rita Crumm took it into her head to lead a charge of her housewives against the poor man.

Marlene arrived at her side at that moment. “He doesn’t look very dangerous,” she said, running her fingers through her impressive mane of red hair. “He’s rather good-looking, actually. I always did fancy blond men.”

“You wouldn’t think so if he was trying to stick a bayonet in your belly,” Jack Mitchem growled.

“Wonder what happened to the rest of his crew,” Harold muttered.

“They’re probably either dead and went down with the plane, or they bailed out earlier on.”

“Gawd, the whole village could be swarming with bloody Nazis.”

Jack raised his knife. “I say we cut those ropes off that parachute and tie him up till George gets here.”