GINGER SAID, "ER . . . " AGAIN.
Smedley could feel Alice shaking. Or maybe it was him.
Somebody think of something!
"Yes, sir?" said the voice of the law. A regulation notebook appeared in the bobby's hand.
"Well, it's like this," Ginger said and fell silent.
"Convalescent leave!" Smedley said loudly, and leaned forward to wave his paybook at the policeman.
The law was becoming suspicious. "In a moment, sir. First may I see your driving license, sir?"
Ginger drawled, "Well, actually, officer—"
Behind the car, the night exploded in fire. Not a furlong away, a building sank to its knees and toppled forward into the street. The car jumped bodily. Gravel rattled on roof and windows. The policeman vanished. Before the roar had died away, another . . . and another . . . and another . . . all around. Glass tinkled in deadly rain.
"Out!" Exeter shouted, struggling with the door.
"Get down!" Smedley barked. The others jumped at his tone of authority. "This is as safe as anywhere. It's raining glass out there."
He pushed Alice down on the floor. Exeter went on top of her. As Smedley followed, he caught a glimpse of the policeman, on his feet again, staggering toward the nearest burning ruin. Boom! Boom! The car rocked. Boom-boom! Hail spattered on the roof. Guns crumped regularly in the background between the bomb blasts. Boom! The car leaped, windows shattering. People were screaming right outside, they must be pouring out of the houses, idiots.
From underneath, Alice said, "My God!"
"This is nothing!" Smedley said scornfully. "Throwing darts. It'll take a direct hit to hurt us." Or the adjacent building falling on them, of course. He felt quite unworried. Odd, that. After the creeping barrages of the Western Front, this was a very pathetic fireworks display. The last few bombs had been farther away. The noise was mostly people yelling and the roar of fires.
Boomboomboom! Closer again.
"Nothing, you say?" Exeter's voice sounded strained. This was not spear-throwing and shield banging.
"Kids' stuff. You all right, Ginger?"
A distant voice said, "I just died of fright, that's all."
"Good show."
Heartbeat—beat—beat—beat—beat—
"Is it over?" Alice said. "Someone is kneeling on my kidneys."
"Wait and see. Later planes aim for the fires."
BOOM! The car rose a foot and fell back with protesting squeaks. Something sizable struck the roof, but now the clamor of hail was briefer.
"No, it's not over."
Minutes crawled by. Distant clanging of a fire engine bell. A lot of shouting and cursing now, some very close. More explosions very far away. The futile hammering of guns.
"I think we can risk it," Smedley said. "Watch out for glass in here." He sat up. The car had lost all its windows. A fiery dawn lit the street and the frightened crowds, many people still in their night attire. "Exeter, old man, I do believe you're wearing the proper kibosh now."
They emerged cautiously from the battered vehicle. Ginger had lost his hat and his pince-nez, he was blinking and mumbling. Apparently all four of them had escaped uninjured. The same could not be said for the inhabitants of Greenwich, or possibly this was Deptford. There were bodies on the road, wailing children, and hundreds of people in night attire. Policemen were trying to move the crowds back and let the ambulances and fire engines through. No one was interested in the fugitives now.
"That was very tricky timing," Smedley said. "How far is it from here?" He looked at the other three, who were staring aghast at the burning buildings. "Alice! How far is it from here?"
"What? Oh, miles!"
"Let's get started, then! Don't wait to say good-bye to everybody."
Alice stared at him. "How can you make jokes?" she shouted. "There are people dying, bodies—"
"If you don't laugh you cry. Come on!"
"But you can't walk in your condition!"
"Then you can carry me. Come on! No one's going to question how we're dressed! Or where the blood came from." Smedley took Ginger's arm and urged him into motion. He assumed Exeter and Alice were following, but he did not look back. He felt the same wild exuberance he had known when he lost his hand—saved! No matter the cost, deliverance was what mattered. They could explain their bizarre appearance now, if they were asked. It could not be more than five miles or so to Lambeth, and he was sure he could manage that. He had walked almost that far with a tourniquet on his bleeding stump. Alice would find it harder in her fashionable shoes.
That was a very strange journey along the winding darkened streets of the great city. Half the population had emerged to look at the fires and the searchlight beams playing on the clouds. They cursed the Hun and called out condolences in incomprehensible accents.
About half an hour later, as the fugitives emerged from the affected area, they began to attract more attention. People started asking questions. It could not be long before another policeman appeared. Then a lorry pulled up and asked in very thick Cockney if they needed help. Alice rode in the cab with the driver, denouncing the bombs and explaining about going to stay with a mythical aunt. The men rode in the back, and a few minutes later they all arrived safely at her flat.