It was about 1:00 a.m. and we were bullshitting across the width of the road when Swinger asked me if I had ever done the "Groaning Act." Mystified, I told him that I had never heard of it.

"Aw shit, it's great fun," he said, "come on over and I'll show you what it's all about."

Now, going off your beat for anything other than a murder was verboten and I expressed my concern, as the sergeant we had was a stickler for correctness.

"Stuff' im," Swinger snorted. "if he catches us I'll tell him you were helping me track down some suspicious looking guy on my beat."

More or less satisfied, I crossed the Great Divide and went over to Swinger's patch. We were stood on the sidewalk outside a fur shop with a deep arcade-type entrance with a L-bend in it.

'C'mon in 'ere," Swinger said, "we won't have long to wait."

We went right into the doorway, past the display windows and stood with our back to the shop door. In the deep shadow, wearing our black uniforms with night badges and buttons of black metal, we were nearly invisible.

"Now, the restaurant up the road will be tossing out its late customers in a minute and we'll have our prey," Swinger explained. "See, if you look in that display case over there, you get a reflection of the view right up the street, and we can see the customers coming out. What you do is wait until there's just one couple and then, when they're almost here we go into Groaning Mode."

Still a bit thick, I asked him, "Well, what does that do."

"Wait and see, my son," came the all-knowing reply.

Time ticked by and eventually a well-dressed young couple exited the restaurant and came our way, arm-in-arm and obviously deeply in lust.

"Just the bloody ticket," whispered Swinger, "these will perform like trained seals."

When they were about thirty feet away, Swinger let out a groan that would have brought tears to the eyes of the Virgin Mary, fraught as it was with pathos and pain.

"What was that," exclaimed a girlish voice.

"I didn't hear a thing," came the shaky reply from her escort.

Swinger let another rip, this one edged with despair.

"There it is again," she said, "I think it's coming from that doorway, we'll have to see what it is.

“Nonsense dear, there's no need for us to get involved," came the querulous voice of the he-man.

Just then a groan that ended with a sob welled from Swinger's throat. t was Just about doubled over with suppressed laughter.

Now she got indignant. "Anthony, if you don't see what happening tn that doorway, shan't be able to respect you ever again."

"Yes, dear." came the reply and I knew that his future wag doomed as one of the pussy-whipped of the world, and, let's face it, there are a helluva lot of us!

Their tentative footsteps clattered the marble floor and they crept closer and closer until they were almost face to face with us.

Then Swinger switched on his flashlight, held under his chin to provide 'horror lighting', and in a deep booming voice he exclaimed, "What's going on here then. Come in here for a bit of hanky-panky have yer, can't wait until you get home, then!"

The startled pair jumped back and the guy stammered and stuttered, trytng to tell us that he wanted to help the poor person who was dying In the doorway.

Swinger was now on the offensive. "There've been a lot of break-ins around this area and I'm not too convinced of your story, let's see some form of identification from you."

Despite protestations, he pressed on with his interrogation of the now tearful, duped suspects and tore a strip off them before sending them on their way with a stern warning to improve their public behaviour.

"There you are, my son. The Groaning Act as performed by The Master." Swinger stuck out his chest with justifiable pride.