He noted her reaction. She knew Anne. He said, ‘I didn’t say her surname. There was some talk of her being married, but I don’t know if it was true. I must know.’

‘Anne Fancourt?’

‘Oh, you do know her?’

‘I know Anne Fancourt.’

All at once she was a little frightened. She remembered Janet, and what Janet would say about talking to a strange man whom she had met in the street. She coloured suddenly and vividly.

‘I-I don’t think I ought to go on talking about her. I-I don’t think she’d like it.’

‘Perhaps she wouldn’t. But then again, perhaps she would. I’ve been looking for her for a long time. Perhaps she’ll be very pleased to be found.’

‘Do you think she would?’

‘She might be. One can but try. Only-’ he hesitated. ‘Will you do something to help me?’

‘If I can.’

‘Well, don’t tell her you’ve seen me. I’d like it to be a surprise. The fact is we quarrelled, and if you say you’ve met me, she’ll go all hard and stiff and say she won’t see me. You know how girls are. If she wasn’t expecting me it would be different. She wouldn’t have time to remember our quarrel or to stiffen herself up against me. You know how it is?’

Lizabet nodded. She knew just how it was. She felt wise and benevolent. She would bring Anne and this young man together, and then Anne would go away with him, and she and Janet could go back comfortably to their own way of life. Everything had been all right before Anne came. Everything would be all right when she had gone away. This young man knew who she was and he would take her away. Nothing could be simpler. She spoke quickly. ‘Oh, yes-I’d like to help! What shall I do?’

Ross Cranston considered. He said, ‘Wait a minute-’ And then, ‘Could you-do you think you could get her to come out of the house to post a letter or something of that kind?’

‘Oh, yes, I think I could. I could try.’

‘You see, if I came to the house, she might say she wouldn’t see me. I can’t risk that. But if she goes out to post a letter and I come up just as she’s got to the pillar-box, it would give me a chance, wouldn’t it? You see, I must know whether she’s married or not. If she is, I’ll go away, but if she isn’t-’

‘Oh, yes!’

Lizabet’s eyes were dancing. This was a lovely plan. She would be rid of Anne, and she wouldn’t be doing anyone any harm. Nobody could say there was a scrap of harm in it. She would be restoring Anne to her friends and relations, and she would be getting rid of her. It was a lovely plan. She beamed at Ross Cranston, and when he said, “Then it’s a bargain,‘ and held out his hand she put hers into it and felt very pleased with herself.

It wasn’t really as difficult as it might have been. She got home, and then she sat down and wrote a letter. It didn’t really matter to whom. Nanna would do… yes, Nanna would do very well. And then she only had to act a little, and she quite enjoyed that.

The first thing to do was to let Janet go off to bed, and fortunately Janet was more than ready for bed. After that she played about with her letter, pretending to hide it until she thought that Anne would be thoroughly intrigued. In the end, after she had carefully set the scene, she took the letter in her hand and sidled to the door. Anne was finishing the seam on one of her nightdresses. It was pale blue with little bunches of flowers on it. Lizabet thought it was very pretty. She stopped just short of the door and said so.

‘That’s pretty stuff. You sew nicely’

Anne looked up with a smile.

‘Do I?’

‘Mmm-you do. I say, you wouldn’t like to come out with me to the post, would you? Janet doesn’t like my going by myself so late as this.’

Anne ran her needle in and out of the blue stuff and put it on one side.

‘Yes, I’ll come, of course. It’s time we went to bed anyhow.’

It had been too easy. Lizabet felt all puffed up and pleased.

She said in a whisper. ‘I don’t want Janet to know. She’s a fuss. And she can’t say anything really-not if we’re together, can she? Do you want a coat?’

‘Well, perhaps. I expect it’s cold outside.’

‘I don’t want one-I’ll be perfectly warm. But I’ll get yours.’

She was out of the door like a streak, up the stairs, and down again with Anne’s coat on her arm. Janet was safe in the bathroom. How cleverly she was managing it all. And it was fun. She whispered, ‘Tiptoe down,’ and took Anne by the arm. She had it all planned out. She had been very clever about it-very clever indeed.

She opened the front door and felt the keen edge of the night’s wind. It had turned much colder. As they came out on the steps, the clock of St James and St Mary in the next street began to strike eleven. Lizabet giggled and swung round.

‘Oh, I’d forgotten,’ she said. ‘Don’t wait for me.’

‘What have you forgotten?’ Anne’s voice was not vexed. It sounded as if she was amused.

‘My other letter. Go on-I’ll catch you up.’

‘Oh, I’ll wait.’

‘No-no-don’t. Don’t wait. Go on.’ The last syllable died away.

Anne had the letter ready to post in her hand. She began to walk slowly in the direction of the pillar-box. There was a car standing just short of it. As she came level with the car, a man came round it and another man got out. Before she knew that anything was going to happen it had happened. The man who had come round the car had slipped his arm about her neck. He was holding a pad of something down upon her face. She couldn’t breathe. The other man caught her hands and held them in one of his. The door of the car opened and she was lifted in. She couldn’t breathe. There was a ringing sound in her ears. The sound dwindled and went away.

‘She’s off,’ said the man who had come from behind the car.

Lizabet stood half-way to the corner and caught her breath to listen. There was no sound. There was no sound at all. She saw three figures together on the pavement, and then there weren’t any figures. It was as sudden and as quick as that. There was no cry, no struggle. One minute there was Anne with only a little way to go to the pillar-box, and the next it had all happened. It gave her a queer excited feeling and the beginning of something that wasn’t comfortable. She tossed her head, turned, and ran back to the house. She had left the door ajar. She pushed it open, took a step inside, and pushed it shut again. It was done. Anne had gone. And she wouldn’t come back again.

Bewilderingly there swept over her a sense of irretrievable loss. What had she done? And quick on that something that resisted. She hadn’t done anything-nothing at all. If Anne had gone with that man, she had gone of her own free will, hadn’t she? She had. She had.

She went slowly up the stairs and heard Janet call from the bathroom.

‘Is that you, Anne?’

‘No, it’s me. Anne’s gone up. Do you want her?’

‘No-not really-it will do in the morning.’

She went on up the flight of stairs which led to her bedroom and Anne’s. When she was half way up she called down to Janet in the bathroom. ‘Good-night! I’m awfully sleepy.’ Then she ran the rest of the way and came into her room with a sense of escape.

She locked the door and sat down on the bed in the dark.

She didn’t want the light. And then after a few minutes she did want it and she got up and turned it on. She undressed, put the light out, and got into bed. But she couldn’t sleep. Her thoughts were racing. She had been very clever, very clever indeed. There was nothing to feel uncomfortable about. What had she done?

What had she done? ‘I haven’t done anything.’ Anne had lost her memory. She didn’t know who she was, or where she was, or where she had come from. It was only kindness to give her back to her own people.

‘It was the basest betrayal in the world.’

Lizabet started on her elbow. Who had said that? Someone had said it. She was in her own room, locked in. She had been comfortable and nearly asleep, and someone had said that.