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certainly irrelevant
, Polly thought.
    “In
Dumb Witness
,” Eileen said. “At first it didn’t seem to have anything at all to do with the murder, but then it turned out to be the key to the entire mystery.”
    “Exactly,” Mike said. “Write it all down, and see if it triggers something. And in the meantime, I want you to make the rounds of the department stores on Monday and fill out a job application at each one.”
    “I can ask Miss Snelgrove if they need anyone at Townsend Brothers,” Polly said.
    “This isn’t about a job,” Mike said. “It’s so they’ll have her name and address on file when the retrieval team comes looking for us.”
    Which must mean the arguments I made to him this morning at Padgett’s convinced him he didn’t alter history after all
, Polly thought. But after they’d curled up under their coats on the landing to sleep, he shook her awake and motioned her to tiptoe after him past the sleeping Eileen and down the steps to the landing below.
    “Did you find out anything more about Padgett’s?” he whispered.
    “No,” Polly lied. “Did you?”
    He shook his head.
    Thank goodness
, Polly thought.
When the all clear goes, I’ll take him straight to the drop. He can’t talk to anyone there. He can sit there till I come back from the hospital. If I can get him out of here without Miss Laburnum latching on to us and blurting out something about how awful it is that there were five people kil—
    “You said there were three fatalities, right?” Mike asked.
    “Yes, but the information in my implant could have been wrong. It—”
    “And the supervisor—what was his name? Feathers?”
    “Fetters.”
    “Said everybody who worked at Padgett’s had been accounted for.”
    “Yes, but—”
    “I’ve been thinking. What if it was our retrieval team?”

Metal makes guns! Keep your lipstick holder. Buy refills
.
    — MAGAZINE ADVERTISEMENT ,
1944

Bethnal Green—June 1944
    MARY FLUNG HERSELF DOWN IN THE GUTTER NEXT TO TALBOT , half on top of her, listening to the sudden silence where the
putt-putt
of the engine had been.
    “What in God’s name are you doing, Kent?” Talbot said, trying to wriggle free from underneath her.
    Mary pushed her back down into the gutter. “Keep your head down!” They had twelve seconds before the V-1 exploded. Eleven … ten … nine … 
Please, please, please, let us be far enough away from it
, she prayed. Seven … six …
    “Keep my—?” Talbot said, struggling against her. “Have you gone mad?”
    Mary pressed her down. “Cover your eyes!” she ordered, and squeezed her own shut against the blinding light that would come with the blast.
    I should put my hands over my ears
, she thought, but she needed them to hold down Talbot, who was, unbelievably, still attempting to get up. “Stay down! It’s a flying bomb!” Mary put her hand to the back of Talbot’s head and forced it flat against the bottom of the gutter. Two … one … zero …
    Her adrenaline-racing mind must have counted too quickly. She waited, arms tight around Talbot, for the flash and deafening concussion.
    Talbot was struggling harder than ever. “
Flying
bomb?” she said,wrenching herself free and raising herself on her hands and elbows. “
What
flying bomb?”
    “The one I heard. Don’t …,” Mary said, trying vainly to push her down again. “It’ll go off any second. It …”
    There was a sputtering cough, and the
putt-putt
ing sound started up again.
But it can’t have
, she thought bewilderedly.
V-1s don’t start up again …
    “Is
that
what you heard?” Talbot asked. “That’s not a flying bomb, you ninny. It’s a motorcycle.” And as she spoke, an American GI came around the corner on a decrepit-looking De Havilland, sped toward them, and careened to a stop.
    “What happened?” he asked, leaping off the motorcycle. “Are you two all right?”
    “No,” Talbot said disgustedly. She pulled herself to sitting and began