Thirteen
It had been Victoria’s intention to go to bed and to sleep and to leave allproblems until the morning, but having already slept most of the after-noon, she found herself devastatingly¹ wide awake.
In the end she switched on the light, finished a magazine story she hadbeen reading in the plane, darned her stockings, tried on her new nylons,wrote out several different advertisements requiring employment (shecould ask tomorrow where these should be inserted), wrote three or fourtentative letters to Mrs. Hamilton Clipp, each setting out a different andmore ingenious set of unforeseen circumstances which had resulted inher being “stranded” in Baghdad, sketched² out one or two telegrams ap-pealing for help to her sole surviving relative, a very old, crusty, and un-pleasant gentleman in the North of England who had never helped any-body in his life; tried out a new style of hairdo, and finally with a suddenyawn decided³ that at last she really was desperately⁴ sleepy and ready forbed and repose⁵.
It was at this moment that without any warning her bedroom doorswung open, a man slipped in, turned the key in the lock behind him andsaid to her urgently:
“For God’s sake hide me somewhere—quickly….”
Victoria’s reactions were never slow. In a twinkling of an eye she hadnoted the laboured breathing, the fading voice, the way the man held anold red knitted scarf bunched on his breast with a desperate clutchinghand. And she rose immediately in response to the adventure.
The room did not lend itself to many hiding places. There was the ward-robe, a chest of drawers, a table and the rather pretentious⁶ dressing⁷ table.
The bed was a large one—almost a double bed and memories of childishhide-and-seek made Victoria’s reaction prompt.
“Quick,” she said. She swept off pillows, and raised sheet and blanket.
The man lay across the top of the bed. Victoria pulled sheet and blanketover him, dumped the pillows on top and sat down herself on the side ofthe bed.

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