"The bus driver," Martha said. "That was such a horrible crash!"
They went on looking at her without saying anything. A queer uneasiness overcame her. "Didn't you—hear it?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "We heard you scream. But we didn't hear any—crash."
"But—there was," Martha explained frowning. "The bus I jumped out of didn't have any lights and it was speeding and—I heard it crash!"
They were looking at her strangely now. As if they didn't believe a word she was saying. As if, Martha thought, they were patiently hearing out the imaginary story of a feverish child.
"What bus did you jump out of?" the woman asked, laying a cool hand against Martha's forehead.
"The midnight bus," Martha replied. "I was visiting a friend on Coverton Street. I got the last bus—the midnight bus—just after twelve."
The woman smiled gently. "The last bus on Coverton Street runs through at eleven. The midnight bus was discontinued a year ago. Nobody used it much and then after the crash—"
"What crash?" interrupted Martha with an eerie feeling that she knew what the answer would be.
"A year ago," the woman explained, "the driver of the Coverton Street midnight bus ran off the road into a wall and was instantly killed. Luckily, no passengers were on the bus. It happened not far from here. There were no witnesses to the crash, but someone claimed later that the bus had been seen speeding along Coverton Street through the fog without any lights—"