My voice suddenly seemed overloud.

We looked at each other. Silence had fallen, the earth was still. I felt almost dizzy with relief, my ears still ringing, my nerves still jangled, my teeth on edge.

"Oh, dear," Sister James said. "I have a feeling they'll be sending for us soon."

"Very likely. It shouldn't take long to put down what I saw. Could you make us a cup of tea meanwhile?"

But it proved unexpectedly difficult to compose that letter. I kept seeing Lieutenant Evanson's eyes peering through his heavy bandages, tenaciously holding on to hope even as time was running out for hope, trusting to his wife's love for him to help him survive and unaware that she would be dead before morning. And so I weighed each word, to make certain that I reported events accurately, uncolored by my own imagination.

After three tries, I was finally satisfied. I was just on the point of sealing the envelope when we could hear the first of the ambulances rumbling toward the wards, bringing in new casualties. I hastily finished my tea, put on a fresh uniform, and by the time Sister James and I were ready, there was a knock on the door and an orderly's voice summoning us to duty.

CHAPTER TWO

I expected that the police would thank me for my information. And that would be the end of it. I wrote to Mrs. Hennessey, asking her to save the London papers, in the event there was any more news.

What I was not prepared for was a summons through channels to speak to someone at the Yard, an Inspector Herbert. I was given leave to travel to London for that purpose and two days later I was sitting in a grim little office at Scotland Yard, having been escorted there by a constable with a limp and lines of pain in his face.

After several minutes, a harried, balding man stepped into the room, introduced himself, asked me how my journey from France had been, and then lifted a sheet of paper from his desk and frowned at it. I recognized it.