The Phantom Car by Fred M. White — Read

For hours it seemed to Peggy that she had been listening and waiting in the seclusion of her room. She had gone to bed earlier than she had intended, because, for once in a way, the pleasant chatter of her aunt and companion had driven her almost wild, so that she was fain to shut down her wireless set and seek the seclusion of her room. Here, by means of a switch, she was able to work a second loudspeaker from the set downstairs and listened more or less abstractedly to the dance music from the Royal Thames Hotel, where on many a happy occasion, she and Trevor had danced together before the shadow of trouble had come between them.

Quite two nights a week they had been in the habit of running up to Town in the two-seater and dining at the hotel in question, after which they turned into the ballroom for an hour or two and whiled away the time with the aid of what Peggy regarded as the best band in London. She could see it now, as she sat near the loudspeaker, see the lounge and the gardens beyond, into which it was possible to steal on a summer's night and sit watching the lights rippling on the river.