As she left the close-set streets of the center of town, Sam dared speed up a little. The faint glow of the headlamps, dimmed to regulation wattage by the black-out fittings attached to them, barely showed the road ahead, but her memory of its twists and turns was clear, and at least here there was less risk of meeting another car or a stray pedestrian.
Intent on steering the car, she only gradually became aware of an orange glow on the horizon ahead. As Standish's home came closer, Sam realized she was seeing the light of a fire. Quite a big one, too. It looked like the rear of the house was alight, and although the absence of fire-fighters made it clear it hadn't been burning long, the flames crackled loudly.
Golly, Jenny might be in there!
Sam jolted over the last few yards of the road and flung herself out of the car. She dashed around the side of the house, casting about for a bucket or basin as she ran. There must be a water-trough or a pump or something …
As she rounded the corner she was relieved to see that the fire was not, as she had thought, the house burning, but a shed set some distance from it. The smell of petrol hung on the air and a man was beating at the flames with what seemed to be a sack or blanket.
Oh, cripes! If the fire was fueled by petrol, even finding a bucket and a pump wouldn't help. Sam looked around frantically, and the sandbags stacked against the rear of the house caught her eye. Solid burlap sacks, that'll do!
She seized one and began to rip at the end seam to empty the dirt inside out, and then stopped. Sam Stewart, you are an idiot! Dragging the sandbag to the fire, she upended it onto the edge of the flames. Smothered, they went out. Three or four more ought to do it.
A hand seized her arm. "What do you think you're doing?" Neville Standish demanded angrily, shouting over the crackling roar of the flames.
Sam jerked herself free. "Putting out your fire," she yelled back, grabbing another sandbag.
"Not with those!" he ordered.
"Don't be silly, it's the quickest way." Sam ripped the bag open and began to drag it back to the fire. "I'll help you fill them again when the fire's out, if you like."
"Stop!"
Standish lunged at her, grabbing the bag and trying to pull it from her grip. Sam was so surprised that she clutched on to it reflexively. Under the strain, the already-loosened seam tore all the way open, showering Sam's feet with … ball bearings? How rum!
She stared down at them, glinting in the firelight. Metal was far too valuable and scarce to be used to fill sandbags, of all things! And if Standish were collecting them for the salvage drive, why on earth store them like this? The only reason to stick them in a sandbag would be …
To hide them.
Oh dear.
Pretend you didn't just think that.
Pretend you don't know anything.
Mr Foyle will be here soon.
I hope.
Sam dropped the sack and shouted at Standish: "There's petrol on that fire! We need dirt, not scrap metal!" Without waiting for an answer she turned back to the pile of sandbags, feeling them to see which felt like dirt or sand and which didn't.
She'd fooled Standish, and he helped her. It took the two of them several more minutes to extinguish the last of the flames.
Without their crackle, the night was very still. Sam wiped her forehead with one gloved hand and settled her hat more firmly on her head. "Gosh, it was lucky I cam along!"
"Yes," Standish said. "It's Miss Stewart, isn't it? Mr Foyle's driver? Why, um, did you come along?"
"Oh," Sam said as casually as she could, "well, um." Her mind raced. "Mr Foyle sent me to give you a lift to the station, actually!"
"Why?"
"Oh, I don't know," Sam said. She smiled at him, the expression feeling stiff and unnatural. "Mr Foyle never tells me anything, probably something to do with tonight's raid, I expect."
"He could have telephoned," Standish said suspiciously.
"The line went out," Sam said. She hoped the ring of conviction in her voice would convince him that all the rest of it was true, too. "Couldn't get through. The car's around the front - we should get going."
"All right," Standish said. "I'll just get my coat."
"It did seem rather urgent, sir," Sam said, moving to get between him and the door to the house, wondering if Jenny was still inside.
"It might be urgent," Standish said shortly, "but I'm damned if I'll go gallivanting around the countryside in my shirtsleeves." He stepped around her and opened the rear door to the house. "Come in and wash some of the soot off while I find it."
"I'm quite alright," Sam said quickly. "I'll wait in the car!"
He turned back towards her, framed in the doorway, and Sam saw the pistol in his hand. "I said come into the house, Miss Stewart."