And when they resumed their walk, her sullen, fear-clouded face showed plainly that he'd given himself away.
But to kill her now, before learning how she planned to cross the supposedly impassable bridge, seemed as purposeless and impulsive as Ida herself. Roddie didn't think, in any case, that her death would satisfy the soldiers. With new and useful information to offer, he might join them as an equal at last. But if his dalliance with this enemy seemed pointless, not even Molly's knitting needles could protect him.
He was sure the soldiers must be tracking the mysterious emanations of his watch dial, and had trouble to keep from glancing over his shoulder at every step. But arrival at the bridge approach ended the need for this self-restraint. Here, difficult going demanded full attention.
He'd never gone as far as the bridge before, not having wanted to look as if he might be leaving the city. The approach was a jungle of concrete with an underbrush of reinforcing-steel that reached for the unwary with rusted spines. Frequently they had to balance on cracked girders, and inch over roadless spots high off the ground.
Here Ida took the lead. When they got to where three approach roads made a clover-leaf, she led him down a side road and into a forest.
Roddie stopped, and seized her arm.
"What are you trying to do?" he demanded.
"I'm taking you with me," Ida said firmly. "Taking you where you belong!"
"No!" he blurted, drawing his hammer. "I can't go, nor let you go. I belong here!"