Recalling that the French windows of her room opened out on a court, she sprang to the nearest one. Then she was out and away.
A weird light from a flare sent down by the enemy illuminated the street. Once on that street she began to run. In all her fright and confusion she had a vague plan. Dave was spending the night with his uncle. She knew the address. Was it far? She did not know. All she knew was that somehow she must get there.
She had gone but a block when she ran squarely into the arms of a six-foot policeman.
“Here now, Miss! What’s this?” His voice had a kindly rumble.
“The house!” she cried. “Lady Perkins’ house! It’s gone!”
“Yes,” he agreed. “It was a terrible bomb. The firemen are just there now. Thank God Lady Perkins and all were away.”
“No!” Cherry whispered. “I was there.”
“You?” The Bobby looked her over. “You were there? And who now might you be?”
“I—I’m Cherry.”
“What? The Singin’ Angel?” He looked her in the face. “Bless me heart it is now! What do you know about that! Bless the Lord you are safe.”