you had the personality to put a thing over. One could at any rate go down fighting.
She drew herself up, gently freeing herself from Peters' support.
'Oh, no. I must see Tom,' she said. 'I must go to him – now – at once – please.'
The big man was hearty about it. Sympathetic. (Though the cold eyes were still pale and watchful.)
'Of course, of course, Mrs. Betterton. I quite understand how you are feeling. Ah, here's Miss Jennsen.'
A thin spectacled girl had joined them.
'Miss Jennsen, meet Mrs. Betterton, Fraulein Needheim. Dr. Barron, Mr. Peters, Dr. Ericsson. Show them into the Registry, will you? Give them a drink. I'll be with you in a few minutes. Just take Mrs. Betterton along to her husband. I'll be with you again shortly.'
He turned to Hilary again, saying:
'Follow me, Mrs. Betterton.'
He strode forward, she followed. At a bend in the passage, she gave a last look over her shoulder. Andy Peters was still watching her. He had a faintly puzzled unhappy look – she thought for a moment he was going to come with her. He must have realised, she thought, that there's something wrong, realised it from me, but he doesn't know what it is.
And she thought, with a slight shiver: 'It's the last time, perhaps, that I'll ever see him…'
And so, as she turned the corner after her guide, she raised a hand and waved a goodbye…
The big man was talking cheerfully.
'This way, Mrs. Betterton. I'm afraid you'll find our buildings rather confusing at first, so many corridors, and all rather alike.'
Like a dream. Hilary thought, a dream of hygienic white corridors along which you pass forever, turning, going on, never finding your way out…
She said:
'I didn't realise it would be a – a hospital.'
'No, no, of course. You couldn't realise anything, could you?'
There was a faint sadistic note of amusement in his voice.
'You've had, as they say, to 'fly blind.' My name's Van Heidem, by the way. Paul Van Heidem.'
'It's all a little strange – and rather terrifying,' said Hilary. 'The lepers…'
'Yes, yes, of course. Picturesque – and usually so very unexpected. It does upset newcomers. But you'll get used to them – oh yes, you'll get used to them in time.'
He gave a slight chuckle.
'A very good joke, I always think myself.'
He paused suddenly.
'Up one flight of stairs – now don't hurry. Take it easy. Nearly there now.'
Nearly there – nearly there… so many steps to death… up – up – deep steps, deeper than European steps. And now another of the hygienic passages and Van Heidem was stopping by a door. He tapped, waited, and then opened it.
'Ah, Betterton – here we are at last. Your wife!'
He stood aside with a slight flourish.
Hilary walked into the room. No holding back. No shrinking. Chin up. Forward to doom.
A man stood half turned from the window, an almost startlingly good-looking man. She noted that, recognising his fair handsomeness with a feeling almost of surprise. He wasn't, somehow, her idea of Tom Betterton. Surely, the photograph of him that she had been shown wasn't in the least -
It was that confused feeling of surprise that decided her. She would go all out for her first desperate expedient.
She made a quick movement forward, then drew back. Her voice rang out, startled, dismayed…
'But – that isn't Tom. That isn't my husband…'
It was well done, she felt it herself. Dramatic, but not overdramatic: Her eyes met Van Heidem's in bewildered questioning.
And then Tom Betterton laughed: A quiet, amused, almost triumphant laugh.
'Pretty good, eh, Van Heidem?' he said, 'if even my own wife doesn't know me!'
With four quick steps he had crossed to her and gathered her tightly into his arms.
'Olive, darling. Of course you know me. I'm Tom all right even if I haven't got quite the same face as I used to have.'
His face pressed against hers, his lips by her ear, she caught the faint whispered addition.
'Play up. For God's sake. Danger.'
He released her for a moment, caught her to him again.
'Darling! It's seemed years – years and years. But you're here at last!'
She could feel the warning pressure of his fingers below her shoulder blades, admonishing her, giving their urgent message.
Only after a moment or two did he release her, push her a little from him and look into her face.
'I still can't quite believe it,' he said with an excited little laugh. 'Still, you know it's me now, don't you?'
His eyes, burning into hers, still held that message of warning.
She didn't understand it – couldn't understand it. But it was a miracle from heaven and she rallied to play her part.
'Tom!' she said, and there was a catch in her voice that her listening ears approved. 'Oh, Tom – but what -'
'Plastic surgery! Hertz of Vienna is here. And he's a living marvel. Don't say you regret my old crushed nose.'
He kissed her again, lightly, easily, this time, then turned to the watching Van Heidem with a slight apologetic laugh.
'Forgive the transports, Van,' he said.
'But naturally, naturally -' the Dutchman smiled benevolently.
'It's been so long,' said Hilary, 'and I -' she swayed a little, 'I – please, can I sit down.'
Hurriedly Tom Betterton eased her into a chair.
'Of course, darling. You're all in. That frightful journey. And the plane accident. My God, what an escape!'
(So there was full communication. They knew all about the plane crash.)
'It's left me terribly woolly-headed,' said Hilary, with an apologetic little laugh. 'I forget things and get muddled up, and have awful headaches. And then, finding you looking like a total stranger, I'm a bit of a mess, darling. I hope I won't be a bother to you!'
'You a bother? Never. You'll just have to take it easy for a bit, that's all. There's all the time in the world here.'
Van Heidem moved gently towards the door.
'I will leave you now,' he said. 'After a little you will bring your wife to the Registry, Betterton? For the moment you will like to be alone.'
He went out, shutting the door behind him.
Immediately Betterton dropped on his knees by Hilary and buried his face on her shoulder.
'Darling, darling,' he said.
And once again she felt that warning pressure of the fingers. The whisper, so faint as hardly to be heard, was urgent and insistent.
'Keep it up. There might be a microphone – one never knows.'
That was it, of course. One never knew… Fear – uneasiness – uncertainty – danger – always danger – she could feel it in the atmosphere.
Tom Betterton sat back on his haunches.
'It's so wonderful to see you,' he said softly. 'And yet, you know, it's like a dream – not quite real. Do you feel like that, too?'
'Yes, that's just it – a dream – being here – with you – at last. It doesn't seem real, Tom.'
She had placed both hands on his shoulders. She was looking at him, a faint smile on her lips. (There might
