Maggie hastened to be helpful.

“Oh, yes, Miss Silver-it was Mr. Johnny.”

“Mr. Johnny Fabian?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Silver. So I’m sure there isn’t anything for you to worry about. He rang up and he said, ‘Johnny Fabian speaking.’ And Miss Mirrie said, ‘Oh, I can only just hear you. The line’s dreadful-you sound about a million miles away. And tell me,’ she said, ‘what about the garage?’ she said. ‘Is it what you want? And is there really a flat over it like you said? And will you be able to buy it? And, oh darling, I’m so excited!’ And Mr. Johnny said, ‘Now listen,’ he said. ‘This is very particular, and you’re to do just what I tell you, or there won’t be any garage or any flat, or any you and me for that matter. I’ve got to put down a deposit, and I must have the money tonight or he’ll close with somebody else. How much money can you raise?’ She said something about money in the bank and tomorrow, and he said that wouldn’t do, he’d got to have it tonight. So she said she’d got ten pounds in the house, but Miss Georgina might have some she could let her have. And Mr. Johnny said she wasn’t to say a word to Miss Georgina or to anyone, most particularly she wasn’t. It was a top secret between him and her, because if anyone else got to know about it, there would be a lot of talking and arguing, and there wasn’t time for that. It was all he could do just to pick up the money and get back, or he’d have missed his chance. He said she was to take the ten pounds and be out at the gate with it just before half-past-seven and he’d tell her all about it then. And she had better bring the pearl necklace she had on the night of the dance, because the man might take it as a pledge until they could raise the money-‘And mind, not a word to a soul!’ he said.” Maggie rattled it all off with obvious enjoyment.

“Seems funny to me,” she concluded, and as she heard her own voice saying the words there was a clouding of that pleased sense of being clever and helpful. There seemed to be a coldness in the room. Miss Silver said something very odd indeed.

“Miss Bell,” she said, “are you sure it was Mr. Johnny?”

Maggie felt as if someone had hit her. She really did. She said, “Oh!” And then, “That’s what he said, ‘Johnny Fabian speaking,’ and Miss Mirrie she couldn’t hardly hear him, the line was so bad.”

“Miss Bell, did you think it was Mr, Johnny’s voice?”

Now that she came to think about it, it might have been anyone’s voice. She had had to listen as hard as she could to do no more than pick up the words. No more than a whisper it was really. When she had told Miss Silver this there was a grave “Thank you, Miss Bell,” and the connection was broken. That was the part Maggie hated so much, when the line went dead and other people went away and did things but she had to stay on her sofa and remember the pain in her back.

Miss Silver came out of the study and saw Georgina and Anthony in the hall. They were not speaking to each other, they were waiting for her. But before she had time to say anything the front door opened and Johnny Fabian walked in. He looked from one to the other of them and said,

“What’s up?”

Johnny was quick-he had always been quick from a child. There was something he didn’t like, something about the way Miss Silver was looking. She said,

“Mr. Fabian, where is Mirrie Field?”

IT WAS JUST before half-past-seven when Mirrie slipped down the back stairs and let herself out by the side door. She was feeling clever and excited, and very, very pleased with herself and with Johnny. They were going to have their own darling flat, and she would be helping him to get it. And she had thought of everything. About not coming down the front stairs or through the hall in case of meeting anyone. She hadn’t lived all those years with Aunt Grace and Uncle Albert without knowing all about slipping out of the house without being seen or heard. She was wearing her pearl necklace and she had ten pounds in her pocket, and it was all most romantic and interesting. She went just outside the left-hand gate and stood there hugging herself in her warm tweed coat and waiting for Johnny to come. It was a dark evening without moon or stars, cloud overhead and a light wind blowing. It ruffled her curls and she put up a hand to them. She ought to have brought a scarf to tie over her head, but it was too late to go back for one now. The wind blew her hair about, and she hoped Johnny wouldn’t be long.

The car came up smooth and silent. It stopped beside her and the beam of a torch slid over her from her head to her feet. Then it went out with a click and the door swung open. She said, “Johnny!” and he said, “Quick!” Just the one word in a whisper and she was up on the running-board and an arm pulling her in and shutting the door. The engine hadn’t stopped. The car shot forward and they were away. The hand that had pulled her in came across her and shut the window. And in one horrid flash of time Mirrie knew that it wasn’t Johnny’s hand.

She didn’t say anything, because she couldn’t. She couldn’t make the smallest sound, but if she could have screamed it wouldn’t have made any difference. She leaned back in a dizzy silence and felt how fast the car was going. If she were to open the door and try to get out she might be killed, or she might be a cripple for life like Maggie Bell. She didn’t want to be killed, and she didn’t want to be a cripple. It was easier to sit quite still and wait for what was going to happen next. The car ran on for a time, then slackened speed and drew in to the side of the road and stopped. Sid Turner said,

“Did you bring the money?”

Of course she had known it would be Sid. If it wasn’t Johnny, there wasn’t anybody else it could possibly be. It was Sid who had told her to bring the ten pounds and the pearls. It wasn’t Johnny at all. If he had spoken louder, she would have known that it wasn’t Johnny, but he had just whispered, and you can’t tell who anyone is in a whisper. He had said he was Johnny, and it hadn’t come into her mind to think it might be anyone else. You don’t think about things like that -not until they have happened.

He took hold of her arm and shook her.

“You’ve got a tongue in your head, haven’t you? Did you bring the money?”

Two big frightened tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I did.”

“Hand it over!”

It was all in nice clean notes fresh from the bank. She took them out of her pocket and gave them to him.

“And the pearls!”

Frightened as she was, Mirrie was prepared to put up a fight for the pearls. Her breath caught on the words, but she got them out.

“I d-didn’t bring them.”

His voice went quiet and deadly.

“Do you think you can lie to me? I’ve known you too long for that, and you ought to know me!”

His hands came feeling about her neck. The pearls slid into one of them. The other came up and squeezed her throat. The pressure only lasted for a moment, but it put the fear of death into her.

“Try any games with me, and that’s what you’ll get-or worse! Remember me tickling you with my knife? You didn’t like it, did you? Now you and me have got to talk! If you do what you’re told you won’t come to any harm, but try just one trick and you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

He let go of her and she shrank there like a little wild creature that is caught and can’t get away. She didn’t dare to move, she hardly dared to breathe, obeying the age-old instinct that sends its message along the frightened nerves- “Keep still-make yourself small-melt into the earth-pretend that you are dead.”

Mirrie froze where she sat. Sid Turner was putting the pearls away in his wallet. When he had closed it he turned on her again.

“Where are we- I suppose you’ve been out driving with your fancy boy! What’s this place?”