We'll meet again

I was in this position because of my relationship with James Brent, who was obviously more than an army doctor. I saw now that his work was secret and dangerous.

I had to get away. I had to think clearly. I wanted to shout at this man: "I will not do this. Let me give you money." I was being stupid.

He did not want money. He wanted this box. And if I were to save Tristan, I had to find it.

I said as coolly as I could: "How shall I know this box when I see it?”

"I am giving you a diagram of it. It is about six inches by four.

You will not fail to recognize it. Do not let anyone see it. Do your search by daylight when you do not have to show a light.”

That seemed significant. The burglars detected by Charley must have been working with this man.

I felt trapped, out of my depth, bewildered, one moment determined to go in search of the box, the next telling myself that I was caught up in something bigger even than the kidnapping of a child.

I had to get away from this place... and think.

"Give me the diagram," I said.

A black-gloved hand was held out. I took the folded paper and put it into my pocket.

"It is clear," said the man. "Your child's life depends on this. This time on Friday. Again, I must warn you not to attempt to trick us.

You do not want to be responsible for your child's death, do you, Mrs. Tregarland?”

I turned away and stumbled out of the house. I don't know how I managed to drive the car back to Tregarland's, but I did; no one was aware that I had been out.

For the rest of that evening, I went about in a daze. No one commented. They thought my mood was entirely due to Tristan's disappearance.

Gordon, Violetta, and I sat at supper, pretending to eat. Old Mr. Tregarland was in his own room. We had decided we would not tell him the news yet. Gordon thought it would be too great a shock for him.

We went to our rooms early, as there was nothing we could do.

There was an extension of the telephone in Gordon's room, so that, if a message came through, he could take it.

There would be no message, I knew; but I could not tell them that.

I undressed and sat in a chair in my dressing-gown, staring out of the window, seeing nothing but the secluded cottage with the creaking door and the eerie gloom-going over every sinister second I had spent there.

I had to find the box. Tomorrow I would go down and begin the search.

Clearly it was something of great importance, possibly to the enemy of our country and, if I found it, if I gave it to them, I should be working for these spies. How could I do that? Yet, if I did not, they would kill Tristan.

I should never have gone to that cottage. I should never have become involved with Captain Brent.

I thought of the pleasure of the last month when I had been really happy. I was in love with him in a lighthearted wartime way, as he was with me. One takes one's pleasures with open hands in wartime without question. We were two free people; neither of us had commitments with other people. Why should we not bring a little joy into those dreary, war-stricken months?

But he was clearly engaged in dangerous work. Naturally, he did not talk of it to me. And I, because of our relationship, had become involved in this without knowing what. Consequently, my child was in danger. There was something about the man in the cottage that was deadly serious. I knew he was in earnest. If I did not produce the box on Friday, they would kill Tristan. And if I told anyone what had happened, they would doubtless kill me, too.

Not that I cared about myself. It would be an easy way out of my troubles, I thought.

That was foolish. I did not want to die. But I could never be happy again if they hurt my child. I had to get that box. I had to give it to them ... and never let my child out of my sight again. But how could I do it? How could I steal this important thing from James? It was important, not only to him, but to the country.

I had never been in such a terrible dilemma in my life.

I started. The door was opening. I knew who it was before she came into the room. She was in her dressing-gown, as I was. She said, in that straightforward way which was typical of her: "What has happened?”

Of course, she was my Win, and there was this special bond between us.

She had often known when I was in difficulties without my telling her.

"Violetta," I said. "It's you.”

"Who else? Something's happened, hasn't it?”

"It has," I cried hysterically. "Someone's taken Tristan. I'm out of my mind with worry.”

"We are all the same. But I know something's happened ... today ... this evening. What is it, Dorabella? You know you always tell me.”

I thought: She will stop me from doing this. I know it is wrong to do it ... but I must save Tristan.

I was silent. She took a chair and, pulling it close to mine, sat down.

"Now tell me everything," she said.

I stammered: "Perhaps there'll be a message soon. They ... they'll want money. The old man will have to be told. He's rich. He'll pay anything to get Tristan back.”