A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [103]
"Sarah," I interrupted, "The car, Sarah, look at the car going around the corner. What are the numbers on the registration plate at the back of the car?"
"That's funny, isn't it? There aren't any numbers on the back of it."
"All right, Sarah, look back at the beggarman. He's standing up now, Sarah; he's standing up and taking a step toward the pillar box, and he's wearing a hat, isn't he, a knit cap, and it's dark on the street, but the streetlamp lights up his face from the side. See how it hits his nose? You can see his nose clearly, the shape of it. And his chin, too, against his coat, and when he turns his head, the light falls on his cheeks and his eyes. You'll never forget the shape of his eyes, even though you can't see the eyes themselves. They're in the shadows, but his face, Sarah, you can see his face, and you'll never forget it. You'll remember him even when you've walked back up the steps, won't you, Sarah, because you're a clever girl, and Tommy's here to be with you, and that was a good woman who shouldn't have died, and you want to remember everything. Even if it hurts, like a sad movie, you can remember."
Her face was faintly surprised as she stared into the room, and slightly relieved, but not afraid or horrified. I continued, "You have it now, the moving picture of the beggar standing up and the people inside the car, and you can hold on to it now, like a clear cinema film. You can run it anytime you want; you can bring it back up the steps with you. Shall we go, then? One step now. You want to turn around now, and step back up onto step number two. It's as easy as breathing, slow and steady, taking that one section of the circle with you, up to number two, and then to three, the third step." I watched to see when she was firmly on each level before proceeding. "And to four, four steps up, you feel like you're waking up, though you haven't been asleep. You're halfway back now, at five."
She took a deep, shuddering breath at six and stretched at eight, and her eyes found Tommy and she smiled at ten. I sat back, limp, and closed my eyes. My blouse was clinging to my back with the sweat, and my neck and shoulder throbbed with fire.
Miss Chessman, in contrast, looked better than she had three hours before. Her eyes were clear, and she seemed rested. She smiled tentatively at me.
"Is it still clear in your mind?" I asked her. The smile faded, but her answer was even.
"It is. Funny I couldn't remember it before."
"Shock does that. I'd like to telephone a friend from Scotland Yard. He'll listen to your story without making you feel like a gramophone record, and he'll bring some photographs to see if any of them match the man you saw. Is that all right? I know it will be late when you finish, but it's best to do it while you're fresh, and he can fix it with your employers so you don't have to go in early."
"I don't mind. It would make me feel good to be doing something to help that woman. I mean to say, I know it's too late to help her, but—"
"Fine, then. Is there a telephone?"
"Down the hallway to the right."
I slumped against the wall as I waited for the connexion to Mycroft's number. Holmes answered it at the first ring, and I tried to keep the exhaustion from my voice.
"Hello, husband. Would you please ring Lestrade and tell him to bring his photographs along? I'll wait for him, then get a taxi back to Mycroft's when they're through with me."
"You got it?"
"As you say, I got it."
"It was hard?"
"In my humble opinion,