Free Nothing Venture by Patricia Wentworth

church of St Tryphenius round the corner in Lasham Street chimed three times for a quarter to eight. Nan jumped up and went to the window. The entrance to the house was in Lasham Street, but her window looked into a narrow alley called Cutting’s Way. Taxis sometimes used it to avoid the corner where Lasham Street ran into the main road.
    A boy went past on a bicycle. Three or four foot-passengers followed him. A cart went slowly and noisily by.
    It was ten minutes to eight.
    Nan ran down into the hall. It was narrow and dark, and it smelt strongly of the kippers which the Warren family had been having for tea. She opened the door, went out on to the step, and stood looking up and down the street. Something was beginning to say horrible things to her in a whisper. The whisper came from deep down in her own consciousness. She couldn’t really hear what it was saying; she only knew that it was something horrible. She stood on the step in her grey coat and her grey dress; and suddenly they were grey, not silver any more, and a shadow which she could not see came over the face of the sky and darkened her heart. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. Everything in her darkened and shrank.
    She watched a dozen cars go by. Not one of them stopped. A girl and a man came out of No. 31 and walked away arm in arm. The thing that was whispering to Nan came nearer and spoke louder, “Jervis—they’ve got him. He wouldn’t take your warning. He wouldn’t believe you—they’ve got him.” It got louder and louder. The words rang in her ears, clanging and echoing back upon themselves. The clock of St. Tryphenius whirred, groaned, chimed four times for the hour, and began to strike eight.

XI
    The last stroke of eight died away and left Nan shivering. She couldn’t go on standing here on the doorstep. She must do something, but she didn’t know what.
    She moved, and just as if her movement had broken into a set pause, a car turned out of Cutting’s Way and drew up at the kerb. Jervis jumped out, and at the sight of him Nan knew how frightened she had been.
    â€œI’m so sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m frightfully late, but I had to go back—”
    She said something—she had no idea of what it was—and then they were in the taxi, and she was staring out of the window and trying to quiet the beating of her heart. Just for an instant she caught sight of the edge of a bandage where his left cuff slipped back. She was ready to swear that it had not been there this afternoon.
    She got herself quiet, and turned round on him.
    â€œWhat made you so late? I thought something had happened.”
    â€œWell, something did happen.” She took a breath. “My tie wouldn’t tie.”
    Nan looked at the tie. It had a very ordinary appearance. Her eyes, suddenly bright, gave him the lie.
    â€œWhat has been happening?”
    â€œHappening?” His eyes met hers with a hint of distance and a hint of mockery.
    â€œYes.”
    The distance went; the mockery remained.
    â€œFirst new bulletin, copyright reserved?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œBarometric pressure—” said Jervis.
    â€œIs your wrist broken?”
    â€œCertainly not. Why should it be?”
    â€œBarometric pressure,” suggested Nan.
    â€œNothing so original.”
    â€œPlease tell me.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to tell.”
    â€œHow did you hurt your wrist?”
    Jervis leaned back into his corner of the taxi.
    â€œYou might say I had bumped it up against a coincidence.”
    â€œWhat sort of coincidence?” said Nan in a whisper.
    She too leaned back. If she were too near him now, he might see or feel what she was feeling. She leaned back, but she could not take her eyes from his.
    â€œA very neat one,” said Jervis—“very neat and pat. You warn me against a villain in a taxi. I proceed to old Page’s by tube—not, I’m