Dr. Koenig? He at least was a fellow American, and he was a professional man, probably well traveled. He ought to know something, ought to be able to give her some sort of advice. She reached for the door, then drew back from it as though the doorknob were hot. She remembered how he had looked familiar to her, how she was certain she had seen him recently, perhaps in Tralee. And how, in spite of his denial, the feeling had persisted.
Maybe she had been right. Maybe he was someone she had seen before. Maybe he had kept an eye on her in Tralee. Maybe the “wife and children” were a blind. Maybe he was one of David’s men.
Who else was there? The priest, she thought, the priest from Africa who had been so nice to her on the plane. But he was off visiting family in County Clare, and that was no closer than Shannon Airport itself. But he might have helped her if he had been around. He had impressed her as the sort of man who knew how to handle difficult situations. He had helped her with her luggage, and he could have helped her now, but there was no way on earth for her to get in touch with him.
Sara Trevelyan? Even the old Cornish woman could be one of David’s gang, she thought, and then she pushed the thought from her mind. Miss Trevelyan, at least, was the woman she seemed to be. No one would recruit as a spy an old lady with aching bones who rode a bicycle up mountain roads.
Of course, she might be made up to look older than she really was. And Ellen hadn’t actually seen her on the bicycle. And...
Oh, it was nonsense!
She unlocked her door, hurried down the hall to Sara Trevelyan’s room. The door was shut. She knocked.
“Yes?”
“It’s Ellen Cameron. I have to talk with you.”
“I was just resting...”
She opened the door, knowing it was improper to do so, knowing too that propriety was no longer relevant. She closed the door and locked it, then turned to the old woman who was sitting on her bed with both pillows propped up behind her.
“Oh, dear,” Sara Trevelyan said. “Something’s gone amiss, hasn’t it? Poor child. Don’t tell me you’re having a bit of trouble with your young gentleman?”
“More than a bit. It’s—” She looked down at her hands, still clutching the passport and microfilm and photograph. “I’m in danger,” she said aloud, testing the unfamiliar word on her tongue. And, again, “I’m in danger...”
The older woman heard the story all the way through, paying very careful attention, nodding and clucking her tongue, putting occasional questions. “Oh, dear,” she said, when Ellen had finished. “Yes, I do believe you are in danger, aren’t you? I don’t know what to tell you, Ellen. I’d say that you should go straight to the police, but I don’t know just what sort of police force they have here. I shouldn’t think a town this size would have a very elaborate police department, should you?”
“No.”
“I’ve lived all my life in a town not very much larger than this one, and I can’t help thinking of our own police. Just a handful of rural constables, actually. Very good at starting stalled motor cars and such, but not quite in James Bond’s league. Not at all. I think...”
“Yes?”
“I should think you ought to get out of Dingle at once, Ellen. I wouldn’t even stop to pack my luggage. I’d abandon everything and take the first bus to Tralee, and change there for Shannon. You’re certain to find someone at the airport who’ll be likely to know what to do. And you’ll be safe there.” Sara Trevelyan frowned. “That’s the most important thing, truly. Not the secret documents or whatever that little patch of plastic might be. But saving your own neck.”
“I can’t believe—” She broke off.
“Can’t believe what?”
“That he’d really hurt me. Or kill me.”
“Perhaps you had better believe it.”
“Yes.”
For a moment neither of them said anything. And then she heard a voice calling up the staircase, a familiar voice, a warm, strong, tender voice. “Ellen? Are you there?”
David’s voice.
She said, “Oh, Lord, he’s here. What am I going to do?”
“You certainly can’t see him.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t—”
“Stay right where you are,” Sara Trevelyan said, getting to her feet. “I’ll tell him you’ve left and give him a message to meet you. Be calm, Ellen. Everything’s going to be all right, you know.”
She stood at the door, waiting, listening, while the older woman walked to the staircase and down the stairs to the first floor.
“I beg your pardon, but did I hear you calling Miss Cameron?”
“Yes. Is she in?”
“No, she’s not. You must be David Clare? She gave me a message for you. She went around the corner to the café for a cup of tea. She said you would know which café she meant.”
“Should I wait here for her?”
“No, she wanted you to meet her there, if you would.”
“I will. And thanks very much.”
The older woman appeared at the doorway, a smile of amusement upon her lips. “I surprise myself,” she said. “Who would have thought I’d reveal such a talent for deception, and so late in life at that? Give him a minute or two to get round the corner, Ellen. And get your purse from your room. Don’t try to carry anything else. I’ll bring your other belongings over to this room and keep them for you until I hear from you. You know how to find the bus station?”
“Yes.”
“Go straight to it. There probably won’t be a bus leaving for an hour or more, but you can buy your ticket and hide there. You might try concealing yourself in the W.C. until your bus is ready. Not many men are up to storming into a ladies’ lavatory.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Oh, goodness, I haven’t really done anything, now have I? Get your purse, you don’t want to waste a minute now. I wish I hadn’t turned in my bicycle. You could ride it to the bus station. Hurry, now.”
She went to her room, snatched up her purse, dumped the passport and photo and microfilm into it. She rushed down the stairs, then hesitated for a moment in the doorway, afraid to step outside for fear that he would still be waiting there. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then walked quickly outside.
It was still raining, only a light but persistent drizzle now. She looked carefully both ways and saw no one who looked at all familiar. She turned to her left, toward the bus station, and began to walk as quickly as she could. She wanted to run, but if she ran people would notice her and wonder why she was running. And there were probably other men of David’s in town; she didn’t dare attract their attention.
The bus station. Just a few blocks farther, and she would get a ticket to Tralee and find out when the bus was leaving. She would do as Sara Trevelyan had suggested, would hide in the ladies’ restroom until the bus was due to leave. Should she buy a ticket clear through to Shannon? It might save her time at the Tralee station...
No, she decided against it. Once they realized she was gone they would be sure to make inquiries at the bus station, and she didn’t want David to know her ultimate destination. He might guess it anyway, of course, but there was no sense in making it easier for him. Once she was out of Dingle, the most dangerous part would be over. Of course, he could take a fast car and get to Shannon before her. He could be waiting there when she arrived, but she would stay in crowds, stay close to other people, and maybe he would be unable to do anything.