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We looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. “You heard that?” Her voice trembled.

“I heard something. It was just a woman’s laugh, somewhere nearby but hidden by the fog.”

“It was the same thing that did it. Do you think I’m wrong? It’s with Mr. Lawrence. It’s his shadow, always following him.” She was shaking from head to toe, her face pale and eyes wide. I didn’t know what to do. I quickly hailed a passing cab and practically lifted her into it. She had become completely helpless.

I told the driver to head to Victoria Station—fast. An idea struck me: the Ostend boat train left at half-past five. We might still make it. Anything was better than staying here. The sooner we left London, the better.

She was still trembling beside me in the cab. I tried to comfort her. “You’re too sensitive. It was just your imagination running wild. If you’re not careful, you’ll make yourself sick. Then what will I do?”

She pressed closer to me. “Save me! You have to save me!”

Her voice was like that of a frightened child. Her touch made me shiver too, a strange mix of fear and something else.

“There’s nothing to save you from right now. But when there is, I’ll be ready, I promise.”

“Put your arm around me.” I did as she asked, wondering if we were both losing our minds. “How is it that I only feel safe when I’m close to you—and the closer, the safer?”

“It’s because God is very good to me.”

“To you? God is good to you?”

“Hasn’t He made you feel safe with me?”

“You think so? Take your arm away. I’m better now. I’m not such a coward. You believe it’s God who made me feel safe with you. I wonder.”

“I’m sure of it.”

“You’re a strange man.”

“I hope you won’t always think that.”

“Have you had many women friends?”

“None, unless I can count you.”

“Oh yes, you can count me—as a friend. Do you care for women?”

“I didn’t know until now.” She laughed, and I was glad to see her mood lift.

“You are odd—you’re really very quaint.” She leaned out of the cab.

“Where are we? I have no idea where you’re taking me.”

“To Victoria Station, to catch the Ostend boat.”

“Ostend? Are we really going there?”

“I think it’s the best option.”

“But—well, I wasn’t expecting a trip to Ostend so soon. You mentioned Paris earlier.”

“And it might still be Paris; the Ostend boat just leaves first.”

“And time’s critical. I get it. Between now and the Paris train, there’s a risk of being arrested. That makes it very real.”

I stood there, unsure of what to say. She was right; this was a situation where truth couldn’t be played with. She, too, was silent, leaning back in her corner of the cab, looking into the fog. To me, taking off for the other side of the world at a moment’s notice was nothing new. But to her, an unexpected dash to Brussels was almost terrifying. I checked my watch and called to the driver.

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“Can you hurry up a bit? We’ll miss our train.”

“Why rush? Let’s miss it.”

We disagreed on that; I wasn’t about to miss it. But I kept quiet as the driver whipped up his horse. We soon reached the station yard, congested with vehicles. I realized threading through them would take too long. Time was running out.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out. We’ll reach the platform faster on foot, and the train’s about to leave.”

We got out and navigated through the crowd of horses and people to the station. I rushed to the ticket office with her laughing close behind, treating the whole situation like a game.

“Two first-class tickets to Brussels!”

“Too late, sir. The train’s just leaving.” As the clerk spoke, a whistle blew. “There it goes. The platform’s closed; you won’t catch it.”

She was all smiles. “See? After all that rush! Isn’t that annoying?”

She didn’t seem annoyed at all. Boys were shouting about the latest evening papers. Placards were up at the bookstall. I saw her glance at one, which had already caught my eye.

“‘Imperial Mansions Murder. Extraordinary Scene at the Coroner’s Inquest.’ Has the inquest been held? What happened there? What’s this ‘extraordinary scene’?”

I felt exposed, like everyone was about to shout, “There’s the man who locked up the coroner’s court! There’s the woman he’s spiriting away!” That placard rattled me. I snapped.

“Forget the inquest! We need to focus on that train.”

“Oh really? So you can be bad-tempered and civil too. I was wondering if you were always so perfectly polite.”

“I’m sorry, but I was determined to catch that train.”

“Were you? And you were also determined I wouldn’t see what’s in the papers. You’re very thoughtful, Mr. Ferguson.”

I glanced around, startled. Her loud use of my name took me by surprise. Surely everyone was talking about John Ferguson; looking for him; wondering where he was. I didn’t want this crowd to know he was among them. My discomfort seemed to amuse her.

“Can I ask you just one question?”

“You’re too hard on me; ask a thousand.”

“Did you plan to take me to Ostend without feeding me? Maybe you don’t know that four o’clock is the actor’s dinner hour. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Miss Moore!”

I immediately regretted saying her name out loud. A man nearby turned towards us as if struck by it—or so I thought. If he had shown any recognition, there would have been violence. But he was a mild-looking, grey-haired man, and the sight of my expression seemed to astonish him so much that he backed away quickly, fearful I might actually attack him. I pushed on.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were hungry.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Meaning I’m the kind of guy who never knows anything? You’re probably right. But where should we go? I think there’s a place in the station where we can get something to eat.”

“Just the closest place, please.”

“But I’m afraid it might be awful.”

“Don’t you know any place that isn’t awful?”

I was feeling more useless than ever. Missing the train, suggesting a foodless trip to Ostend, and hearing those paperboys yell, “Extraordinary scene at an inquest!”—all of it had my brain in a fog. I couldn’t think of where to take her for a decent meal. I was heading to the station restaurant when someone grabbed my arm. It was Mr. Isaac Bernstein, looking half-crazed with excitement.

“Mr. Bernstein, please let go of my arm.”

He started talking a mile a minute.

“I’ve had enough, and I’m not taking it anymore. Don’t touch me, or I’ll call for help. There are policemen nearby, and I’m not unprotected! Even a worm will turn, and now I’m turning; so listen to what I have to say.”

“Your issues, Mr. Bernstein, are of no interest to me. Did you hear me ask you to release my arm?”

“It’s as much your business as it is mine. Look, there’s Lawrence!”

“Who?”

“Lawrence! He was trying to make a run for it—to Ostend or some other place across the world, for all I know—planning to ditch me like he’s done to the rest of you. But I was on to him. He would’ve been gone if he wasn’t drunk or crazy, and they wouldn’t let him on the train. Now he’s acting like a lunatic.” Mr. Bernstein let go of my arm and wiped his brow with his hat. “I believe he’s gone mad. Listen to the noise he’s making!”

As he spoke, I realized something was happening on the platform where the boat train had just left. It was becoming more noticeable every second. The railway staff seemed to be trying to eject someone from the station. This person, the center of a growing crowd, was loudly sharing his opinions on various subjects, especially about railway workers, in a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

A sudden feeling hit me that things were coming to a head, that in a few hours, or even minutes, the whole mystery would be revealed. Though I had no clue what that revelation would be. As I looked around, I spotted my companion’s brother, Mr. Thomas Moore, peeking at us from the crowd. He looked terrified, pale as a ghost. When he saw I recognized him, he slunk away like a scared puppy.

I glanced at her to see if she had noticed her brother. From her demeanor, I guessed not. But as I watched her, I could tell she, too, sensed that something momentous was about to happen, something that would change everything for both of us.