‘What I wouldn’t give to be your age again!’ Tilly sighed. ‘You must keep yourself fit. I’ve had too many business lunches.’

At the ripe young age of thirty-something, Melody Hazard empathised with the older woman sitting opposite her in the railway carriage. Tilly was herself a stunning forties-something redhead, so Melody thought she did not have much to complain about. They had struck up an acquaintanceship while waiting to embark at the terminus.

‘It’s no secret,’ Melody laughed. ‘In between typing and secretarial for a legal firm - and studying for my librarianship degree - I help teach physical fitness at a health complex.’

Melody smoothed down her dress jeans which had become rumpled during sleep and straightened her sweater and the white silk blouse and pink neck scarf she wore beneath it. She flashed a smile at Tilly.

Tell you what,’ Tilly went on, ‘if you ever get to the big city, look me up. Here ...’ And she extracted a wallet from her shoulder bag and handed Melody a business card.

Melody read the card aloud: ‘Matilda Morgan. Swag Boutique.’ She looked up at her new friend and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

‘Yes. Awful name isn`t it? It came with the business.’

Melody stored the card away in one of the zip pockets of her travel bag. ‘I’ll let you know within a fortnight whether I’ve decided to move on or not,’ she promised. ‘And if the job’s still open I might just take you up on it.’

Tilly retired to the rest room and changed into more formal attire for their disembarkation, a black pants suit sparkling with sequins.

Melody changed into something more basic. She shrugged off her sweater and donned a black velvet jacket, re-knotting the silk scarf so that it was now worn in cowgirl style around her neck. Its color contrasted well with the jacket. She brushed out her long hair, grimacing as the honey brown tresses fell across her shoulders. She desperately needed to wash her hair but had to content herself with tying it in a pony-tail highlighted by a small blue ribbon.

In the breakfast carriage, Melody concentrated on her eggs and bacon. A steward walked past offering copies of the morning paper. Tilly accepted one and spread it awkwardly across a corner of their table. Melody glanced incuriously at it and a minor headline caught her eyes.

Duck Egg Diamond on Display.

‘Looks a bit phony,’ she observed, pointing vaguely at the picture in an unladylike fashion with her fork.

‘Let’s see,’ said Tilly. She read in silence for a moment then sighed. ‘You’re right. The name’s just something conjured up by the journos. It belongs to some multi-millionare called Sir Herbert Murgatroyd.’ Tilly went on reading. ‘It’s the Murgatroyd Gem, also called the Duck’s Egg diamond.’

‘I bet it’s a bantam,` Melody scoffed. ‘Would be some diamond if it really was the size of a duck’s egg. Is it going on display here?’

Tilly turned the paper over and read the print beneath the banner, ignoring Melody’s inaccuracy in species recognition. ‘The diamond’s in one of the ritzy jeweller’s under armed guard. So I may get to see it. And you too, if you take up my offer of a job in this town.’

The train drew alongside the platform. Melody and Tilly disembarked and went their separate ways.

*

A third of the continent away and half an hour ahead of Melody’s time frame an entirely different meeting was taking place. Clive Devereau, the administrative head of DORFIS - the Department of Reconnaisance, Field Intelligence and Surveillance - reclined in one of the armchairs at the centre of his office. In a similar chair opposite, separated from its mate by a low coffee table, sat a heavy-set man who in dress and manner presented a direct antithesis to the public servant image.

Broderick Clifford wore a thick blue roll-neck sweater and a pair of heavy gray corduroy trousers, his winter uniform against the inland frosts. A thick tweed jacket of ubiquitous blue and black design - at least a third of the male population were wearing it that season - hung shapelessly on his body.

The two men regarded each other with mutual respect. Clive and Brod were key home-based personnel from Australia, seconded to the United States theatre of operations. They rarely met in the course of their work and both knew this was an important moment.

‘There are two things I want to cover with you,’ the chief began. ‘First, how old are you?’

‘Forty going on forty-five, as well you know. What are you getting at Devereau? You’re not hinting that I’m over the hill?’

Although called the old man by his staff, Devereau was Brod’s senior by only a few years. An urbane Englishman, he had spent most of his life as an administrator in consulates and embassies on the Pacific rim. Because they were both expatriates he had always felt a kinship with Broderick. It was this which influenced his circumspect gambit.

‘What I’m getting at is ... ,‘ he went on slowly, ‘How do you feel like a spot of field work?’ Brod made no answer. ‘Have a look at these and give me your opinion.’ Devereau leaned across the coffee table and delicately picked up a file which he handed to Brod. Brod hefted it and looked enquiringly at his senior. ‘Pretty thin yet,’ Devereau admitted to the unspoken question. ‘We’ve a long way to go.’

Brod placed the file carefully on the table, unfastened the purple tape which held it, and turned the cover. In it were two photographs. The first print showed a scene taken by the camera at some distance, evidently a security video hookup. A group of people were standing in various attitudes of respect before a glass covered case in which lay on display a sparkling gem of large proportions resting on a black velvet tray flanked by a selection of smaller pieces. Brod studied the faces one by one. At that resolution some were a little blurred. One or two persons stood in shadow just outside the bright circle of luminescence cast by the spotlight. Brod turned his attention to the second photograph. It showed the same scene but this time in close-up where computer enhancement had brought the blurred and darkened visages from the background into greater relief. This time he stiffened and looked more closely. When he replaced the photographs on the table he sank thoughtfully back into his chair, and a low speculative whistle passed his lips.

‘Well, well, well. Johnny Montague,’ he exhaled softly.

‘Cause for concern.’ remarked Devereau crisply. ‘It was a routine security check. We might never have picked it up if you hadn’t done that collating job earlier this year. You recognised a man from your own files!’

‘And the gem?’ Brod asked.

‘The Duck’s Egg diamond, also popularly dubbed the Murgatroyd Folly after its so-called owner.’

‘That crook! I can`t abide his kind,’ Brod sneered. ‘Arms seller on the side to hot up local wars. White slave trade. Makes his millions from the suffering of others. Only excrescence worse than his sort are the drug barons.’

‘Yes, he is a man of very dubious character,’ agreed Clive. ‘And now we observe that at least one, ahem, "concern" is showing what might be more than a passing interest in the diamond. Where Montague is, his two mismatched henchmen are not far away.’

‘Shouldn’t this be a routine matter for the Feds?’

The look of chagrin was all too plain on Devereau’s face. ‘It’s really more than that. Interpol have asked us to take a personal interest in the matter. They certainly want to put the finger on Montague and his pals ...’

Brod snorted again, ‘Those buffoons. A bunch of amateurs ...’

‘ ... but dangerous for all that. True, they haven’t killed anyone yet in their career but that’s due as much to good luck as to poor timing. But the more important thing Interpol want is Sir Murgatroyd’s head on a platter. They think there’s something fishy about that diamond. You know how during the latter part of the prohibition era the FBI collared a number of gang leaders on tax evasion charges. From what I can gather Interpol want to pull something like that on Murgatroyd and put him away, at least for a few years. By which time some of the fellow’s competitors will have moved in. And most of them are not as clever.’

‘Surely that’s outside our brief.’

‘Of course it is. But keeping an eye on the fellow’s precious diamond, that unfortunately falls right into our laps as DORFIS. We’ll help on the side as it were, and let the big boys play their games in their home yards. And we’re short-staffed. Our West Coast operative, deVille, has taken a spot of well-earned leave. He aborted one of Murgatroyd’s pet projects and during that case almost killed a Murgatroyd hired hand. There was a woman involved, I believe. DeVille was not communicative on that aspect of the case. He very nearly put an end to Murgatroyd too, but the wily bird holed up at the other end of town with a dozen alibis. So it’s up to us alone to find out about imminent jewel robberies and pass the information on to the proper authorities. I often wonder why we have any function at all, considering that the others have their own intelligence networks.’

‘So your solicitous remarks about my lifestyle and the question of field work have some bearing on all this.’

‘I’m not one for interfering in the personal lives of my staff, unless of course they involve a security breach. It’s just that Oscar’s been concerned about your wellbeing lately.’ Devereau raised a hand placatingly at Brod’s scarcely audible expletive. ‘I know you haven’t always seen eye to eye with each other, but Oscar really is worried. He thinks you’re one of our greatest assets. He could do with a little field work himself, by the way, instead of sitting in the office as my secretary. I know you came to us seconded from a more scholarly clique at the Academy teaching American literature. You haven`t been chafing for the old days? Robert Frost? Gore Vidal?’ Brod shook his head. ‘So how about a spot of fresh air? You might find field work stimulating, might even meet a good woman.’

‘Okay. So brief me.’

‘As you know, we’re link people. Even in the field we don’t get involved in dirty business. No rough stuff. We rarely carry side arms. Though you look pretty fit and I read in the dossier you’re a Judo black belt or something, so you should be able to handle yourself. We observe, give advice if necessary. Often the more involved operatives don’t even suspect we’re around. So what I’d like you to do is stay close enough to the diamond but remain unobtrusive. Talk to the security guards. Keep an eye on the machinery, and report back periodically, unlisted number direct to this office. Apart from that your time’s your own. Have a holiday from this building, these four walls, this confoundedly cold city - reminds me of the Old Country! ’

‘And if something happens?’ enquired Brod.

‘If there’s an attempt on the diamond, monitor it. Get the information from the Feds and pass it on to us. Try to find any leads. Do a little detective work. You’ll have our authorisation and security clearance. It will give you access to the regular authorities. What about it?’

Brod rose, smiled. ‘Sure, Clive. You’re right about a lot of things. I am getting stale.’

*

Melody drove to a bank in one of the mountain towns near the big city. It was mid-morning, one of those chilly winter days when the sun shines fitfully from behind heavy clouds. She wore jeans and a bulky hand knitted sweater in autumnal tones of brown and gray. Her hair, freshly washed and glowing, was tied back from her face with a neatly folded silk scarf also in autumnal patterns.

On her way out of the bank, having completed her business, the strap of Melody’s shoulder bag snagged in an advertisement stand, spilling its contents across the carpeted floor. With cheeks burning in embarrassment, Melody knelt and began scooping up the assorted contents: a compact, lipstick, handkerchiefs, bobby pins, hair bobbles, a spare scarf, notebook, pencil and pen, cheque book - the list seemed endless!

Then a large hand reached across and with a single deft movement rescued half of the oddments and dropped them into her bag. Again the movement and only a couple of items remained on the floor. Melody lifted her head and found herself looking into dark gray eyes that regarded her with a twinkle, though the sternness of the face that went with them at the same time gave her an involuntary shiver. As she scrambled to her feet, a little unsteadily with a mumbled thanks on her lips, his hand gently supported her elbow. The encounter was brief. The man bowed slightly and retired to his place in the queue. Melody headed off for her next appointment with fate.

Tilly was waiting at the bus stop, and as soon as Melody alighted she rushed forward and hugged her. Over coffee and light sandwiches, Tilly raised the question of employment again. ‘When can you start, dear?’

‘How about tomorrow morning?’

*

Thursday of the third week in her new job began like all the other days. Melody chose a woolen skirt patterned in autumn colors and teamed it with a red silk blouse, a wide belt, and her dark velvet jacket. She tucked her favorite large autumn patterned scarf at her throat. Aside from sweaters this was the best clothing she had for winter, but with her first pay packet she had begun to buy warmer outfits and one or two more blouses. Melody loved blouses and scarves and could never resist adding to her growing collection whenever she went shopping.

She arrived at the doors of the boutique a minute behind Tilly, and after checking the sales receipts from the previous day allowed Tilly to talk her into pausing for an early coffee break.

‘That’s a beautiful ring,’ Tilly observed apropos of nothing. ‘Does it have special significance?’

‘Oh this?’ Melody fingered the ring, twisting it around the third finger of her right hand. ‘My parents once went on a holiday bus tour to the Australian outback. They stopped in a dugout hotel at Coober Pedy and brought this back as an unexpected present. It’s beautiful isn’t it?’

Melody twisted the fragile ring from her finger a little distractedly because her mind kept coming back to those receipts, and as it slid from her finger the ring was inadvertently flicked by a finger nail, escaping her light grasp. With a click it disappeared. When she and Tilly had located the wreckage under one of the tables it was to find that the opal had come adrift from its setting, and she saw that one of the minute teeth which held it in place was broken. ‘Oh drat!’

‘That`s okay,’ said Tilly reassuringly. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you take an early lunch break and have it fixed at a jeweller’s? I know a good place just a block away. They’ll have to send it away for repairs. I’ve had a couple of jobs done there and the rings looked as good as new. Take all the time you need,’ Tilly added. ‘You’ve earned it. Only don’t forget to come back. We have a meeting with the auditors.’

Melody paused indecisively at the door when she saw the street black and glistening in a steady drizzle of rain. ‘This doesn’t seem to be my day. Now it’s wet and cold and I didn’t bring anything to wear!’

‘Try this,’ Tilly suggested. And she fetched an overcoat from the back of the store.

‘Where did this come from?’

‘Last year’s stock.’

‘And last year’s fashion!’

Melody was not a follower of fashion, but she knew an ugly garment when she saw one. It was one of the more exaggerated models of last season, a trench coat suggesting the pre-war years of the 1930s, resplendent with unnecessary flaps and pockets and with high shoulder pads, power dressing that appeared ludicrous even for that fashion. She sighed resignedly and drew it on. The coat for all her dislike was warm and surprisingly comfortable, and Melody was grateful to have it as she threaded her way across the road with a scattering of other pedestrians and umbrellas at the corner traffic lights.

It was not long before she found the jewellery store and walked thankfully onto the thick carpet and into the warmth of the air conditioning. The place had a large central room with display cases stationed at intervals across it. A long glass-topped counter stood at the back wall overlooked by an ornate clock in a vaguely baroque design. Near one end of the counter an office door led to the back of the shop.

Towards the other end of the counter stood the store assistant, a young woman in her mid-twenties. She was dressed in the modern style, long blonde hair piled into a chignon offset by a small wisp of silk which helped keep it in place. Her mouth was made up in a thick lipped pout, a fashion Melody personally found unattractive. She wore a single-piece turquoise dress in a silky synthetic material highlighted by a large floral silk shawl across her shoulders which covered most of the upper part of her body.

But what caught Melody’s eyes and held them was the resplendent diamond nestling on a black velvet throne within a glass domed case. The case reminded her quirkily of a cheese platter but the diamond took her breath away. Never had she seen such a large and perfect gem, even in photographs. The shop girl was in the act of putting it away in an iron safe just below the counter, but she replaced her burden onto the counter top when she turned her attention to Melody.

‘How can I assist you Madam?’ she asked prissily.

Melody almost blushed at what the girl must be thinking of the trench coated apparition in front of her. However she set to business quickly and presented for repair the broken opal ring. As the shop girl filled out the job sheet with her details, Melody studied the gem-stone with awe.

‘Is it real?’ she asked a trifle foolishly.

‘Oh yes, Madam. It is the Duck’s Egg diamond. Surely you’ve read about it. This is the last week for it’s display here before it goes to the next city. I’m putting it away for the security guard to collect in a few minutes. It’s too precious to remain on display for long ... There you are Madam. We need one working week. If you could pick it up next Thursday ... ’

Melody did not leave immediately but stood and watched while the shop assistant picked up the diamond in its display case and knelt before the safe as though it was a sacred shrine and she a supplicant with an offering.

Those seconds in which Melody delayed sealed her fate for the adventure which was to come. As she turned to leave, a rough voice broke the stillness of the room, fracturing the distant piped music from the shopping arcade outside. Melody’s heart went cold.

‘Don’t either of you move. This is a holdup!’

*

For a moment the silence was so complete that the neutral ticking of the clock could be heard. ‘Not a peep outa either of you. This is a robbery,’ the leading man repeated unnecessarily. There were three of them, dressed completely in black with woollen balaclavas over their heads. It was the shorter, more wiry man who spoke. He carried what looked like a sawn-off shotgun in one hand and an old fashioned kit bag in the other.

The shop assistant who was still kneeling behind the counter stumbled to her feet and clapped a hand to her mouth with a frightened gasp. But, scatter-brained though she appeared, she still had the presence of mind not to yell. Melody felt relieved. She did not want to witness anyone being killed and knew that the best thing they could do was to cooperate with the robbers, who were obviously more interested in the treasure trove around them than the two woman caught between.

The second man, big and shambling - he appeared less sure of the situation than his companions - locked the door and propped a ‘closed’ sign in place against the window, drawing the window-blind. The large screens in the display windows effectively obscured most views into the room from the arcade. The third man was tall and pencil thin. He was not armed. He carried another kit bag. Melody glanced at the clock. It was just past two. Clever of them to choose the slack period after lunch hour.

Melody resolved to stay as calm as possible and observe in the minutest detail what the men did so that she could be of some use later when giving descriptions to the police. There was not much to see though. Through the dark clothing she was only able to get an impression of their respective heights and build. But she watched for mannerisms and listened carefully to their speech. And if she could get close enough, she thought, it might be possible to see the colour of their eyes at least, or the hair on the backs of their hands, and whether they wore finger rings, tattoos, anything of that nature, what the police call distinguishing characteristics.

In two rapid strides, the man with the gun came to Melody’s side and grasped her elbow painfully. Melody respected the danger of the shotgun in such a confined space and made no move to alarm him. She was jerked around and hustled towards the office. ‘Bring the other one,’ her assailant rasped over his shoulder, at which the shop girl squealed in fright.

The office door swung open. As she stumbled across the threshold in response to a far from gentle shove from her captor, Melody collided with the shop assistant who was pushed after her by the thin man. For a moment they grappled unsteadily - the girl seemed very distraught - and Melody skidded to her hands and knees onto the thick plush carpet. The other woman somehow managed to keep her feet.

As she scrambled upright Melody looked around her. The office was furnished in tasteful style, the carpet, desk and chair trimmings a rich green like the cloth surface of a billiard table. A single small window covered by a very old venetian blind was set in the wall opposite the door. In the wall where the desk stood was a similar window. This was all she had time to observe before a hand was shoved into her back. ‘Sit in that chair, pronto.’ The voice of the short man had a thick nasal quality.

Melody sat obediently in the heavy chair that stood in front of the office desk, her feet pressing into the deep pile of the carpet in her nervousness. The sales girl was placed on the companion chair after it had first been lifted from behind the desk. She sat beside Melody a couple of feet away. The man with the gun bent over them and nodded to his tall companion. Without a word, the thin man plucked Melody’s autumn patterned silk scarf from her throat and quickly bound it over her eyes. The scarf was already folded into a three-inch bandage and its thick texture cut off all vision. Melody felt herself growing weak with apprehension. The muffled exclamation of the shop assistant suggested that the same was being done to her, probably with the glamorous floral shoulder scarf she wore.

Melody was now shoved out of the chair onto her knees. ‘Down on the floor,’ came a peremptory command. The young woman obeyed, wondering what was coming next. She did not have long to wait. ‘Cut the cord from those blinds,’ the shorter man ordered. Melody now knew what was coming and her heart sank. She had never been tied up before and the thought frightened her. She did not forget her policy of watchfulness however and, though she could no longer see, she listened intently.

She heard at first an indeterminate sound, possibly that of thin cord parting under the edge of a knife. But she had no difficulty hearing was happened next, because the blinds proved their antiquity by coming away from the wall and, she guessed, falling upon the hapless robber. ‘Come on Hudson you fool.’ A name! That one’s called Hudson. The shorter man seemed unaware that he had let anything slip. ‘Come on,’ the leader repeated with irritation. ‘Toss over one of those pieces while you’re sorting yourself out, lummox. As for you, lady ... ’

Melody’s arms were wrenched roughly behind her back. She knew this was no time for heroics and submitted reluctantly to the coils of thin sash cord that she now felt being wound around her wrists, relaxing her arms and hands in an endeavour to reduce the pain caused by the brutal way in which she was being handled. She felt on the verge of hysteria but managed to choke back the impulse to scream. She could hear the shop assistant whimpering and guessed that she too was fighting for self control while one of the other men was binding her.

She could visualise the cruel grin of satisfaction on her captor’s face. Before the blindfold had been secured she had noticed two things. His eyes were a washed-out blue in colour and the knuckles of one hand were tattooed with the letters C, she had been unable to make out the second, U, and D. A nickname of some kind?

Her wrists were now very tightly tied together, trapped in four or five cross-turns of cord. It was a simple tie, ending with a non-slip double knot that was so closely placed next to the skin of one wrist that her fingers had no chance of reaching it. Although the cord was tied over the cuffs of the flimsy silk organza blouse she was wearing under the overcoat, the light material might just as well not have been there for all the protection it gave. The cord was secured at the exact junction between wrists and hands and there was no give in it. She could not slide her wrists up and down within the bonds, not could she turn her hands around in any way.

Melody’s crossed ankles were now being fastened just as tightly with a piece of cord that seemed to be about the same length as that which held her wrists so cunningly. ‘Give’s another piece,’ she heard her tormenter mutter to one of his henchmen. And the next thing she knew was that her arms above the elbows were being dragged together and cinched in cord as well. In a short time, Melody’s arms were fixed more or less immovably behind her back and, although she began gradually to lose circulation in them, she was glad she was wearing the overcoat Tilly had loaned her. Desperately, in a placating voice, Melody took a chance and asked for some relief from the tight bonds.

‘Please, the ropes are cutting off circulation. Couldn’t you loosen them just a little? It’s not as though we’ll be going anywhere, tied like this!’

‘We’ve got a lippy one here,’ her captor observed callously. ‘Hudson, go look for a first aid kit - there should be one in the bathroom through there - and bring back any adhesive tape you find. As for you, smarty ... ’ and Melody was seized under her chin by a rough hand, her head tilted painfully back, ‘don’t say another word.’ Thoroughly cowed, Melody kept very still as her jaw was released. Tears stung her eyes beneath the blindfold. This couldn’t be happening. It was too frightening for words.

Melody heard the scuffing sounds of Hudson’s feet as he returned. Her captor grunted in an unpleasantly satisfied way. The next moment, she was seized by the shoulders and rolled roughly onto her back. There came the tearing sound of tape as it was stripped from its dispenser.

‘Shut your mouth with your lips together.’

Melody had no sooner obeyed than a wide piece of very sticky medical adhesive tape was strapped across her lips and mouth and around part of her cheeks and jaw. It must have been at least two inches wide. Brutal hands worked over her face and mouth, smoothing and pressing the tape so that it quickly became like a second skin. Melody heard the tearing sound again, and a second strip of tape was roughly plastered over the first, this time covering her face from ear to ear. ‘Karl, do the other woman too.’ Another name had let slip! Sobbing noises began somewhere to Melody’s left, only to be quickly stifled.

The two helpless women were now forgotten. From time to time, Melody could hear scuffing sounds as the thieves stalked quickly about the display room, but she could never tell where they were exactly. Instead, she concentrated on fighting down her growing panic. The blindfold was very tight and her head began to ache. She made the mistake of trying to breathe through her mouth and found herself fighting for air. It took a great effort of will to control her panic and breathe through her nose.

The robbers seemed to be ransacking the shop for a very long time, and it would not be sensible for her to try to work free from the bonds while they were still nearby, though her fingers were growing more numb with every minute. It was a better strategy to wait patiently until they had left, and then to get out of this somehow and call the police. Occasionally she heard a muffled sob from the younger woman who lay on the floor near her. Her own attempts at experimenting with the tape sealing her mouth met with no success. When she attempted to move her jaw the tape pulled at her lips. The pain was enough to force her to stop. Her nostrils flared with the continual effort to breathe and she had to lift her face from the floor from time to time. Somehow the air seemed stale at carpet level. Perhaps cleaning fluids had been used on it. The minutes seemed like hours while the thieves rummaged about in the outer room. Melody wished they would leave soon. There was now virtually no feeling in her hands.

The mood outside changed suddenly. She lifted her head and listened intently. Voices were still muted, but angry, their sense disjointed.

‘I’d swear it was there.’

‘I dint see nothin. I was at the winder, shuttin the door.’ That had to be the one called Hudson whose slow gravelly voice was in keeping with the apparent clumsiness of his movements.

‘That’s the safe. Yeah.’

‘... customer ... smart. Y’know what I mean? Got her marbles. Didn’t look too fright ...’

If they mean me, thought Melody, they’re very wrong. I’m terrified!

‘Pretty too. So you had your eyes on the pretty woman and didn’t look for the diamond. Bloody typical!’

‘Hey boss, maybe there ain’t no diamond.’

Was the diamond missing? thought Melody in bewilderment. She and the shop assistant had just been looking at it moments before the robbers burst in.

‘We’ve got the women secure. Won’t be hard to get it out of them if they know anything.’

Melody heard the scuff of shoes as the men walked towards the office where she and the shop girl lay. Quickly she lowered her head and feigned indifference to their affairs, her heart fluttering. It was not difficult to look harmless and languishing. There was a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach and Melody thought she might faint at any moment. The steps drew closer. She raised her head and turned her face slightly towards the sound. What were those horrible men going to do to her and the girl?

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