Hue and Cry by Patricia Wentworth Page B

away, with something of the same feeling with which a marooned sailor watches his departing ship. She was at the junction of two streets—one dark and quiet, the other more brightly lighted and full of the roar of traffic. She did not know the names of either of these streets, and she had no idea where she was.
    She began to walk down the darker street because it occurred to her that if she stood still, people would notice her and wonder what she was doing. She walked as far as the next crossing, and then turned back again because the road ahead had a deserted look and instinct turned her towards the lights. She walked slowly and tried to think. It was raining, with the sort of icy rain which might turn to snow at any moment; it was very cold.
    Mally reached the lighted corner, turned it, and walked on down the street. It was about seven hours since she had had anything to eat. Every time she began to think about her plans, irrelevant visions of hot soup, and penny buns, and muffins, and buttered eggs, and mince pies, kept bobbing up and down and interrupting her train of thought.
    It was because of this confusion in her mind that she did not at first perceive that she was being followed. She was waiting on the curb to let the incoming traffic from a side road go by, when some one whispered in her ear. The whisper was sound, not words, to Mally. She said involuntarily, “I beg your pardon,” and turned her head.
    A man was standing quite close to her, smiling; and at the sight of his smile Mally ran in front of a taxi, dodged round a bus, collided violently with a stout old gentleman, and narrowly missing a private car, arrived breathlessly on the opposite pavement and fled along it without looking back. She was angry, but she was also frightened. No one had ever looked at her like that before, and it filled her with a shuddering rage.
    When she had run about twenty yards, she took a pull on herself and slowed to a walk. “You little fool—little idiot ! You’re not to run. You’ll make every one look at you. Stop at once and walk properly.”
    She stopped, and began to walk properly. It wasn’t very easy, because she was feeling creepy-crawly all down her back with the thought of what might be coming up behind her. “You’re not to look round—it’s the worst thing you can do—you mustn’t do it.” And at once she did look round. The man with the smile was about a dozen yards behind. Mally’s heart gave a loud, hard thump, and she began to run again.
    This part of the street was rather empty. There were houses on either side, which showed no lights; the shops were all shut; and there did not seem to be a policeman anywhere. Mally was fleet of foot, and the man behind her not desirous of making himself conspicuous by running. His idea was to wait until she was out of breath and then come up with her comfortably. It was quite a good idea, but Mally spoiled it by taking cover just as her breath really did begin to fail. She saw, on her right, three steps leading up to an open doorway from which a light was shining. A light meant people, and people meant safety. That, at least, was the way in which it looked to Mally.
    She ran up the steps and into a paved and empty hall from which a stone stair wound upwards. There was no one there, and there was no sign of a lift. But it was at least a place where she might take breath. Perhaps the creature who was following would think she lived there and go away.
    The thought had hardly come and gone before he was peering round the door. Without an instant’s hesitation Mally ran up the stairs. Once started, she was quite unable to stop. The stair went up and round, and round and up, and up and round again. There were doors with names on them, but Mally never paused to see what the names might be. She ran with all the desperate energy of panic until she had reached the very topmost floor, and there—oh, joy!—was a