“I must go back for her. She’s rather rattled.”
I cannot say whether my recovery was the natural result of time or whether I was infected by O’Rane’s unruffled calm. His companionship meant much; his air of authority more; and, if I was still frightened, I hope at least that I did not shew it. A very few steps, moreover, brought us into comparative quiet; and I could forget the red-hot pain in my head.
“The fog is lifting,” I told O’Rane.
“The deuce it is!” He stopped suddenly and lowered his burden to the ground. “You must take Daniel as well, while I go back. Sonia wouldn’t face the fire-escape; and I must carry her down. There’s no time to lose, because these fellows have been filling up on neat spirit; and I came across a dud incendiary-bomb . . . which doesn’t look like clean fighting. You’re in Smith Square now. Feel your way round the church railings, then straight ahead, then to the left as far as you can go. Knock up any of the Abbey people and say these children must be taken in. Give them your address and beat it for home. We shall join you as soon as we can. Go carefully,” he added in a whisper. “There’s some one coming. Oh, it’s only a woman. She won’t hurt you.”
As he turned back to The Sanctuary, I gave Daniel my undamaged hand while I hoisted little David half on to my shoulder. I had heard no footsteps, but somewhere in this bewildering darkness I heard a woman’s light cough. Then a voice said:
“Don’t look round! I’ll take the baby as soon as we’re safe, but I want to keep my hands free just in case . . .”
Then we came into a narrow circle of lamp-light and I saw Barbara in tweed jacket and trousers. She had tidied her hair away under one of my hats; and the fingers of her right hand gripped a service revolver.
“When you didn’t come . . .” she began.
“You’ve no right to be here,” I exclaimed in horror.
“Just as much right as you, darling. I drove the car here in case any one was . . . hurt. It’s in that street by the Church House.”