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she would say if he came on the line. But confirming his presence in London might satisfy her need to prove she hadn’t been hallucinating.
    “We have no one registered by that name, madam. I’m sorry.”
    Sam bit her lip. Had she been mistaken then? “All right,” she said into the phone. “Thank you.”
    She had seen him. She knew she had. But as she tidied up the flat and prepared for bed, doubts kept seeping in. Along with random thoughts of Tony, and his kind, dark eyes.
    Samantha had never before noticed the patterns of light that crossed her bedroom ceiling when the nearby traffic light changed, but she learned them in minute detail throughout that sleepless night.
    * * * *
    By morning, under vibrant sunshine, Samantha admitted that she might have overreacted. It was premature to assume that she’d been found. Unless someone was already watching her, whoever had sent the note would have no way of checking whether she’d received it or not. It would have been impossible to trace every piece of mail sent out from Mr. Collins’s office.
    Frowning, she poured herself a bowl of corn flakes, barely tasting them as she ate. For a moment she considered phoning her aunt. No, she couldn’t. She trusted Aunt Olivia, but her aunt was too fond of Bennett not to inform him if Sam contacted her.
    No, better to wait and see if anything else happened.
    Putting her bowl into the sink, she went into the bedroom to dress for work. This time she wasn’t going to be late.
    She walked to the bus stop, pausing at a news agent’s shop to buy a paper. The Regal Arms was going to be off limits for her for some time, and Dubray was the least of it. She couldn’t risk seeing Tony again.
    She felt a momentary twinge of regret. He was an attractive man, with a quality of integrity that went deeper than his physical appearance. The gerberas still brightened her kitchen.
    Professor Eldridge lived in Richmond. The Underground would have been a more efficient means of transportation, but Sam hadn’t lived in London so long that she didn’t enjoy the vistas from the top of a double-decker bus. She willingly put up with the inconvenience of the ponderous vehicle’s slow progress through the traffic.
    The sun shone down on her head as she walked up the narrow street toward the professor’s house. She wished she could pull the pins out of her hair and let it wave loose, in the free and easy way she’d once worn it. But that didn’t go with her present image. Safety lay in the unobtrusive guise that had become second nature.
    The street, rough with cobblestones and worn asphalt, had once seen better days. The rows of brick terraced houses showed the decline of a gentility that remained only in the lace curtains that hung at many windows.
    Samantha pressed the buzzer next to the yellow-painted door, listening to the harsh peal of the bell inside. As she waited she idly surveyed the street. A long black Jaguar with tinted glass cruised slowly by, as if the driver were searching for an address. After it had passed her, the car sped up, turning with a squeal of tires into the next road.
    She stared after it, wondering at the incongruity of such a luxurious car on this street. The thought fled as the professor’s daily housekeeper opened the door.
    “Oh, good morning, miss. Won’t you come in?”
    “Thank you.” She stepped into the dim hall, inhaling the homey scents of lemon polish and freshly brewed coffee.
    “He’s in the library, miss. Just go right through.”
    The library was a tiny room overlooking the patch of garden at the back of the house. Crowded with books and mementos of a long and varied lifetime, there was hardly room for a desk in the middle.
    “Good morning, Miss Clark.” Professor Eldridge lifted his head and regarded her with eyes only slightly dimmed by age. He pushed his old-fashioned glasses up his nose, and ran his fingers through the lock of hair that persisted in flopping over his forehead.
    He stood up,