After a while, she whispered: “Bill!”
There was no response.
The silence began to get on her nerves; perhaps Bill had not been able to come, after all; perhaps the police had caught him. Or—
She picked up the bag, and took a few steps into the darkness.
There was no answer.
She held her watch close to her eyes, but could only just make out the faint whiteness of the dial. It had been a quarter to ten when she had left the taxi, and couldn’t be much past ten now. Bill might easily be delayed; she was worrying about nothing; how could he possibly be sure of arriving on time?
She stepped forward, restlessly, then heard someone moving.
She stood stock still.
Yes, someone was moving not far away—she was sure of it; a man was coming. “Bill!” she called, cautiously. There was no answer, but the rustling sound seemed to draw nearer. Why didn’t Bill answer? Panic-stricken, she stared toward the sound, and moving forward, she stumbled over the bag.
Perhaps she had imagined those other sounds
No, there they were.
It might be a dog or a cat. Not a cat, she hoped, she hated cats. It mustn’t be a cat! She clasped her hands together, her whole body rigid. Not a cat; no, not a cat!
“Bill!” Her voice was loud now.
The rustling sound was much nearer; it seemed to be all round her, but she could see nothing moving. A car went over the bridge, shedding a bright light above her; if only she had stayed nearer the road; if only
A hand clutched her throat!
She screamed.
The cry was cut short as fingers pressed against her windpipe. An arm was flung round her, and she was pressed tightly against her assailant. She could not breathe; she began to struggle against that powerful grip, but when she tried to kick out she lost her balance, made the situation worse.
A great darkness was descending on her with that terrible pressure at her throat. They were going to kill her. She was being murdered.
No, no, no!
The pressure relaxed.
She was a shuddering mass of nerves, and would have fallen but for the support of her assailant. She gasped and panted as the air reached her lungs again. She wanted to scream for help, but little sound came.
A voice whispered close to her ear. She caught only the last two words: “Don’t worry.” She turned and, as she did so,-a cloth was dropped over her head and shoulders; she could feel it on her cheeks and chin, piling terror upon terror. She tried to struggle, but it was drawn tightly about her neck. Then she was lifted clear of the ground, and carried off.
Her assailant carried her for what seemed a long distance. She was able to breathe inside the cloth, but swayed on her feet when at last the man set her down. He still held her, and this time she caught his words clearly.
“If you behave yourself, you’ll be all right. Don’t talk above a whisper.” He had a curiously expressionless voice.
“I won’t, I won’t,” she promised, but the cloth seemed to muffle the words.
The cord at her neck was loosened, and the cloth taken off. It was very dark. In the distance were the lights of the main road, just visible between the trees; so she was still on the Common.
“Go straight ahead,” the man said, pushing her forward. “Go on, they won’t hurt you.”
Something clutched at her clothes; she felt her stocking rip and a sharp pain in her leg. She was being pushed through a gap between some bushes. Then the twigs and thorns stopped tugging at her, and she stood free of them with darkness all round her—alone with the man who had nearly throttled her. If only she could scream!
The man said: “I sent that message, your husband didn’t. Get that clear. Now answer my questions, and keep your voice low. Understand?”
“Ye—yes.”
“You’d better.” A hand gripped her arm tightly enough to make her wince.
“Did the police come to see you today?”
“I—”she faltered.
“Did they?” The grip tightened, painfully.
“Yes.”
“What did they want?”
