The odor of hot steak pies assailed the warriors as they entered. A tall man of about seventy, with a thick white mustache that curled at the ends, immediately approached them. He introduced himself as Geoffrey Hall.

Carl Lyons did not introduce himself or the other two. He openly studied the man.

Hall was a shade taller than six feet, and slender. His bearing had the stamp of the British military. He wore a navy blue double-breasted blazer with a crest on the chest pocket, and gray flannel slacks. Strength radiated from the old man. His eyes impressed Lyons. They spoke of much life lived and more yet to come. They proclaimed it worthwhile to carry on, even in the valley of the shadow of death.

"You gentlemen will find the food here to be very good. May I recommend the shepherd's pie?" The elegant ex-soldier led the three specialists to a corner table that held a half-empty pint of very dark beer.

"I should caution you that our beer is much stronger than what you are used to in America," the old man added.

"I'll drink what you're drinking," Lyons said.

A barmaid took their order. Conversation of an inconsequential nature occupied the four men until food and drink arrived. As they ate, the specialists found out more about their host.

During World War II, Geoffrey Hall had served with the OSS as an agent behind enemy lines in occupied France. His mother was French, and he spoke the language like a native. He also had a supply sergeant's talent for organization and acquisition — a talent that was put to good use in setting up and equipping several units of the French Resistance. More than once he organized raids that equipped the freedom fighters with weapons from German arsenals.