“Can you?”

It was the voice of 7 o’clock. It awoke some magic chord of memory in Bundle’s brain.

Surely she knew that voice?

Very slowly No. 7 raised a hand to his head and fumbled with the fastening of the mask.

Bundle held her breath. At last⁠—she was going to know.

The mask fell.

Bundle found herself looking into the expressionless, wooden face of Superintendent Battle.