“That was little Mary O’Shaughnessey. I saw her every day on my beat. I knew her folks. My dad would have whipped my butt if I hadn’t gone in after her. We look out for each other in South Boston,” I said rather proudly.

“What if you left here and came upon a burning building?”

“Call in the alarm, what else?”

“Go in and look for another little girl?”

“That’s a job for the London cops and firemen, isn’t it? Sir?”

“The London cops have quite a lot on their hands right now, Boyle. We’re here to help them, not to sit around while they do the heavy lifting.”

I’m no scholar, but even a dumb Mick like me knew this was a metaphor. Or a simile, I could never remember which was which. I also knew what the right thing to say was.

“Yes, sir.”

A rap on the door saved me from a further lecture on how we have to help our good pals the Brits.

“General Eisenhower is ready to see you now, Major Harding. And the lieutenant.” The beautiful voice belonged to a honey-haired young woman in a blue uniform. She spoke like an angel-an English, very upper-class angel.

I stood and introduced myself. “Billy Boyle, Miss…?”

“I know your name, Lieutenant.” Her disapproval hit me like a hammer. Harding came to the rescue, which meant her dislike of me must’ve been pretty apparent.

“This is Second Officer Daphne Seaton, Women’s Royal Naval Service, attached to U.S. headquarters. Daphne… Second Officer Seaton… holds a rank equivalent to yours. She’s my administrative assistant.”

“Pleased to meet you, Second Officer.” She nodded.

“We’ll be right there, Daphne. When we’re done, please take Lieutenant Boyle to his desk and show him around. He looks like he could use some chow.” I almost fell over when I heard Harding say that. He seemed almost human.