Meanwhile, down in Antarctica in the middle of World War II, Sir Paladin MacFarlane, Doughty Doubleday, Martin Elginbrod KC and Hamish MacDonald (otherwise AKA Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering), had escaped from The Brig, the Hut in which they were being held until they could be sent back by ship to the United Kingdom; where or how they had obtained weapons was not known, but when Lance Corporal Dougal MacDougal was found beaten senseless just inside the door of The Brig, the hue and cry ensued and their trail through the snow was followed to a little rocky cove where it ended; the quartet had either perished in the sea or had been picked up by a German submarine; a party was sent overland to the German Naval Base, but there was no sign of any enemy presence or activity, no indication of a landing, nothing to offer a clue as to what had happened; when MacDougal regained consciousness, he told Commander Abernathy and Captain Buccleuch that when he had unlocked to door to The Brig, instead of finding the prisoners shackled, they had attacked and overpowered him: "they hud fork handles, sur, and hut me aboot the heid and boady, sur!" at which Abernathy remarked to Buccleuch: "it's quite remarkable that they subdued him, armed only with four candles! he's a strong and fit young man, what do you make of it, Captain?" and the Captain, managing with difficulty to keep a straight face, said: "not four candles, sir, Fork Handles, Handles for Forks, the ones we use for digging," and Abernathy slapped his own head, "of course, yes, just testing you Captain, but how could they have laid hands on them?" and Buccleuch rubbed his chin: "it's possible we may have an enemy agent in our midst, sir, and if they were in contact with an enemy vessel, that would mean a radio – I'll conduct a routine search of all the Huts and see what we turn up; there aren't that many hiding places in the Huts, and a radio is quite a bulky thing to hide, sir; perhaps we could use one of the huskies, they've got a good sense of smell and if we let one sniff one of our own transmitters, it's possible it may find one hidden; I'll give it a go, anyway," and Abernathy nodded: "very good, Captain, and meanwhile I'll interview all the personnel myself – can you fetch me the files on every man here, well, aside from the three Glaswegians of course, but I can't see Cohen or the Loch Brothers having anything to do with it, relations between them and the escapees are hardly cordial, pretty strained in fact – if those four had been dead, of course, I would immediately suspect the other three of being implicated in some way; but let's see what my questioning of the rest of the crew throws up – it really does seem to be, what do they call it? an inside job; oh and the Duty Sheets as well, let's see where everyone was – or should have been – between the last check on the prisoners, and finding poor MacDougal," so Captain Buccleuch saluted and left the Commander to look around The Brig for any clues; but this felt like an exercise in omphaloskepsis, there being nothing out of order in the place, nowhere to secrete more than a pencil, let alone a radio transmitter or, what were they? fork handles! and the Commander reflected that his first thought in any other context would be cherchez la femme, but apart from young Able Seaman Nelson from Wimborne, in the occasional concert parties, the only muliebrity that graced Operation Tabarin's shores was in the chanchada musicals occasionally delivered from Brazil and projected in the Mess Hut, nicknamed The Shard, poised as it is on the edge of an ice-sheet, and the largest of the buildings here and the only one which can accommodate the entire company of HMS Penguin – their unofficial name for the Base!