'All right. I'll go straight away.'
'Oi!' she called after him, 'chuck us the piper, lovey.'
He picked it up and glanced quickly through it. 'My hat! It's down to four pages now; that's bad.'
'Anything in it?'
'No, nothing new that matters; martial law declared last night… Train derailed at Peterborough… Further trouble at the London docks, and lots about a new scheme for rationing all commodities, but it's all fill up; bound to be now that the Press is muzzled by the Government censorship. Well, I'll be off; see you at lunch if not before.'
Although it was only just past eight a considerable number of people were about. Little groups of servants, from the big houses and blocks of flats which were still occupied, stood talking together. As Kenyon passed the Dorchester he noticed that some wag had chalked up the words: 'To Let Furnished' in large letters on the wall, but the big commissionaire still stood impassive and important at the front entrance. The Park displayed a bustle of activity. Troops, Special Police and long lines of lorries moved up and down between the food dumps, and sentries were posted on the gates. At Hyde Park Corner Kenyon saw half a dozen khaki figures, and some black blodges which he knew to be machine guns, high up on the great arch that spans Constitution Hill; an admirable strategic position commanding three main thoroughfares one side of Buckingham Palace, and the two Parks. In Knightsbridge there was quite a crowd, yet the streets looked empty, and after a moment he realised that it was because there was not a single bus in sight. The crowd thinned again, and he sped down Cromwell Road.
Mr. Rudd received him on the doorstep. 'Sorry, sir, Miss Croome ain't in not likely to be for that matter.'
'Why?' demanded Kenyon, with a sudden sinking feeling. 'Did she sleep here last night?'
'Yes, sir, same as usual; but she asks to be called at six when she come in lars' night. In a rare state she was too, that dirty! an' a temper! Well, I ain't never seen 'er like it before. Then she ups an' packs this mornin'; give me me money, an' 'ops it, rahnd abart a quarter of an hour ago.'
'Where to? do you know?'
' Liverpool Street I 'eard 'er tell the taxi. Don't know fer sure but I think she's got relations down Suffolk way.'
'Right. Thanks!'
'You're welcome, sir.'
Kenyon was already back in his car. Liverpool Street was the other end of London so he ought to be able to beat her to it if she only had a quarter of an hour's start. He was determined to see her again before she left.
Knightsbridge was more crowded now. Still no buses on the streets, but many cars loaded with luggage and streaming westward out of London. He raced up Piccadilly, wondering at his swift progress, then he saw the explanation. The traffic signals were not working, but farther on he paid the price; at the Circus there was a solid jam which took him twenty minutes to get through. In Trafalgar Square a crowd was collecting, but the police moved steadily through them, breaking up the groups. When he reached the Thames Embankment he was able to put on speed again, but had to pull up momentarily for a full battery of Field Artillery horses, guns, and limbers which was reversing preparatory to parking along the roadway under the windows of the Savoy. Blackfriars was almost deserted, and as he entered the City by Queen Victoria Street, he was reminded of a Sunday when he had attended a special service at St. Paul 's. The place was dead, empty, desolate. Long rows of closed offices and shuttered shops without a pedestrian in a hundred yards, and this was Friday.
Within a quarter of a mile of Liverpool Street he was brought to a halt. A long line of taxis and private cars, all heading for the station, barred his way; several thousand people, like Ann, were making for the Eastern Counties.
Kenyon fumed and fretted. He dared not leave the car in case it was stolen. Then he had an inspiration. If he took a side turning he could work his way round to the Bishops gate entrance; it was a risk, for Bishopsgate borders on the East End, but there would be nothing like the traffic, and after a few moments of twisting in and out through narrow streets he reached the eastern entrance of the station.
There was no sign of any crowd hostile to car owners such as he had feared, and a loafer in a battered hat stood nearby on the pavement. Kenyon beckoned him over.
'Can you drive a car?' he asked
'Not me, Guv'nor no such luck.'
'All right,' said Kenyon… 'Come and sit in this one. I may be half an hour or so but there's a quid for you when I get back.'
'Strite?'
'Yes, I mean it.'
'Orlright, Guv'nor,' grinned the loafer.
Kenyon hurried into the station. From the top of the staircase he could see the wide platform spread beneath him. It was one black seething mass of humanity; it seemed utterly hopeless to try and find Ann in such a crush, but he went down and shouldered his way in amongst them.
After a few moments he reached the footbridge and crossed it, knowing that the departure platforms were on the other side. The space there was even more densely crowded, but he managed at least to edge his way through the crush to the gates, beyond which lay the trains. There were a number in the sidings but to his surprise all that he could see were empty, and not one showed any sign of imminent departure. A tired looking porter who sucked at an unlit cigarette leaned over the barrier, and the nearest members of the crowd were bombarding him with questions. He only shook his head.
'It's no use blamin' me,' he kept on saying. 'There won't be no more trains till further orders.'
Kenyon questioned the people who stood around him and learned that the provincial towns had become very alarmed at the influx of visitors in the last few days. Now they were employing their local police to prevent any but permanent residents in their municipalities from alighting. Thirty or forty trains had returned to Liverpool Street during the night, still loaded with their human freight and the railway company, not unnaturally, refused to sanction the departure of any more.
Obviously Ann could not have left London then. Kenyon turned and looked at the closely wedged mass of people who stood there, speechless for the most part and waiting in the hope that the Company might reverse its decision. She must be somewhere among them if only he could find her, so he buffeted his way back towards the booking office. That too was crammed with patient careworn humanity.
For ten frantic minutes Kenyon squeezed and pressed his way through the throng, standing on tiptoe at every second step to peer above the heads of the surrounding people. Then he gave it up as hopeless and made his way back to his car.
His new acquaintance uncurled himself from the seat, and Kenyon handed him the promised pound. The fellow grinned sheepishly.
'Don't seem fair to tike it reely does it? Still, h'easy come and h'easy go, as they say. Well, so long, Guv'nor I only wish there was a h'upset like this every day!'
Kenyon sped back through the deserted City and along the Embankment, but he passed the end of Northumberland Avenue, thinking it better to cut out Piccadilly and Trafalgar Square. Yet near Victoria Street he got caught again. This time by a long religious procession. It was headed by priests from the Cathedral who carried Crosses and an image, while they chanted an age old hymn. Dozens of little boys in surplices followed meekly in their train. Free of it at last the rest of the journey was easy, and he pulled up once more outside 272 Gloucester Road. The door was open so he went straight up, not expecting to find Ann, for he did not think she could have returned so quickly, but determined to wait for her. Rudd was in sole possession of the sitting room and he was busy. Two large automatics lay on the floor in pieces, and he was polishing their parts with loving care.
'Hullo!' said Kenyon. 'Where did you get those things?'
Rudd grinned. 'Mr. Sallust give them to me, sir told me to clean 'em up just in case like.'