She decided to keep ringing the theater and to wait another quarter of an hour and hope Miss Laburnum came home.
She did.
Polly didn’t give her a chance to tell her about the service. She said, “Will you be in this afternoon?” and, when Miss Laburnum said yes, ran upstairs to fetch her coat and hat.
She pulled her coat on, snatched up her hat and bag from the bureau, and turned to see Mike burst, panting, through the door. “Oh, thank goodness,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”
“Where’s Eileen?” he demanded.
“She took Theodore Willett to a pantomime.”
“I told you two to stay put.”
“She’d already gone when you phoned. I was just going to fetch her.”
“Which theater is she at? Can we call her and tell her to meet us?”
“I’ve tried. There’s no answer.”
“Then we’ll have to go get her. Come on.”
“What’s this all about, Mike? Did you think of someone who’s here?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you on the way. Which theater is it?”
“The Phoenix, but I don’t know if they’ll let us in after the play’s begun.”
“Which is when?”
“Half past two.”
“Then we have to get there before that. Come on.” He hustled her down the stairs.
Miss Laburnum was standing at the foot of them. “What was it you wished me to do, Miss Sebastian?” she asked.
“Nothing, never mind, goodbye,” Polly said, hurrying outside after Mike, who, in spite of his limp, was already several doors down.
“What’s the fastest way to the Phoenix?” he asked when she caught up to him.
“A taxi, if we can find one,” she said. “Otherwise, the Underground.”
“Where’s the best place to find a taxi?”
“Bayswater Road. Now, tell me where we’re going after we fetch Eileen.”
“To St. Paul’s,” he said without breaking stride, “to find John Bartholomew.”
“John Bartholomew!” Polly said, halting. “But he’s already gone back. In October.”
He stopped and faced her. “Who told you that?”
“Eileen. She said he went back immediately after he was injured in the bombing on October tenth.”
“Eileen knew about Bartholomew?” he said, grabbing Polly by the arms. “Why the hell didn’t she say something?”
“She wasn’t there when you and I discussed past historians who’d been here, and I didn’t find out about him till after you’d left for Bletchley Park. And since he was already gone—”
Mike shook his head. “He’s not gone. She got her dates wrong. And he wasn’t injured—another member of the fire watch was, and Bartholomew saved his life.
And it didn’t happen in October, it was tonight.” They’d reached the Bayswater Road. “Damn it,” he said, looking up and down the empty street. “What the hell’s happened to all the taxis?”
“It’ll have to be the tube,” Polly said.
They hurried into Notting Hill Gate and down to the Central Line. A train was just pulling in, and the car they got on was, thankfully, empty, so they could talk.
“You’re certain Bartholomew was here on the twenty-ninth?” she asked.
“Yeah, I heard him give a lecture on it. He told all about the incendiaries and the tide being out so they didn’t have any water to fight the fires and the Wren churches burning and the fire watch saving St. Paul’s. He was up there on the roofs with them. Damn it. He’s been here this whole time! If I’d only known—” He broke off. “Well, it can’t be helped now. I just hope we can get to him in time—”
“In time? But if you know he’s at St. Paul’s—”
“He’s there tonight, but that’s all. Eileen was right about that part of it. He went back to Oxford immediately after the raid. Which means he leaves tomorrow morning. We’ve only got a few hours. What time do the raids start tonight?”
“6:17, though that doesn’t mean the attack on St. Paul’s began then. It might have been later.”
“When did the sirens go?”
“I don’t know, but all the ones this month have gone at least twenty minutes before the planes arrived.”
“So we’ve got till at least 5:45.” He looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter to two now. That gives us four hours, which should be more than enough to find him.”
