For sheer horror I very nearly pulled up. But people were hurrying to the crash from all directions, more than one police whistle was blowing, and Larry was plucking at my sleeve.
“There,” he said, “that’ll tache ’em a lesson to come murtherin’ honest citizens!”
But there was an awe in his voice none the less. For death had come very suddenly to the men behind us there.
We turned off into a side street presently, and so, driving slowly and cautiously, made our way home again. But Larry and I did not talk much on the way back.
I let him put the car away, while I went on to my rooms alone. To my amazement it was only ten-thirty, though I felt as though I had lived through a week at least since I left that afternoon. I was rather shaky. I had seen death many times in the war, but somehow the circumstances had been more natural and inevitable then.
When I reached my sitting-room I sat down in front of the table to rest a moment before telephoning my news to Moore. Larry had left a couple of letters where I could see them, and the sight of one of them set my thoughts leaping into another channel. I had never seen her handwriting before, but somehow I knew from whom that pale blue envelope, addressed in a dainty sloping hand, had come.
I opened it quickly. It was dated the same day and must have been written and mailed that morning.
“Dear Mr. Clayton,
“A promise is a promise, in spite of the conventions. Mrs. Fawcette is giving a luncheon party for me to-morrow (Friday), and has promised that Mr. Ivanovitch will be present. Better still, he is to supply something very wonderful in the way of a new drink, though whether it is to be some more of ‘that wonderful tea’ or not I do not know.
“If you would care to come to ordinary tea at my house, or, rather my aunt’s house, to-morrow afternoon, about four o’clock, I will tell you all about it, as I promised.
“Sincerely yours,
“Natalie Van Cleef.”
I pulled some paper toward me and wrote her a somewhat longer reply, accepting the invitation. I even took the risk of begging her in a more or less veiled way to be careful. When the letter was finished, I took it out and put it down the hall shute myself. Then I went back to look at my other letter. But from the events of the evening to the dainty missive that lay open on my desk was a gap that brought the former into lurid relief, while lending them also a touch of unreality. It did not seem possible, there in my quiet rooms, with that dainty letter before me, that I had just returned from a flight for my life that ended in death for some one.
Presently I glanced at the other letter. It was in a plain envelope and was typewritten.