aching,’ he said, and forced himself on again.
The precipitous part was mercifully short. Once round the point of the headland—the Point of Caves—the path went a little inland, through two walls of rock, as if here the cliff had split open at some time. The rocky walls were high above them: all Tim could see when he looked up, was the purplish, menacing sky. If it rains, he thought, it’ll be slippery going back, and the thought made his stomach churn, as if he had eaten too much ice-cream. He wasn’t afraid for himself, he thought, but for Janey. She wasn’t frightened, of course. Whenever he stopped, she prodded him in the back and said, ‘Hurry up, lazy. I want to get to the cave.’
From this approach the cave and the little beach looked quite different from when Tim and his father had come down the side of the torrent. Tim could see, what he had not noticed then, that beyond the rocks was a small, natural harbour. A boat was moored there, rocking among the gingery seaweed. An outboard motor was propped up on the stern and the bottom of the boat was full of fishing tackle and lobster pots.
‘That’s Mr Campbell’s boat,’ Perdita said, as she came panting up to join them.
*
They sat on the shingle beach and looked at Mr Jones’s picture in the newspaper. Toffee Papers, Frog Face, Mr Jones. Pratt was the name the newspaper used. And Mr Pratt—whowas fifty-two, the newspaper said, and had two little girls—was not a burglar, or, indeed, a criminal of any kind. He was an assistant in a big jeweller’s shop in the West End of London, and an extremely brave man. When the shop had been raided by a gang late one winter afternoon, Mr Pratt, who had stayed after closing time to finish stock-taking, had behaved with great courage. Hearing a noise in the shop, he had telephoned the police from the back office, and then, fearing they would not arrive in time, he had attempted to prevent the thieves making a get-away. It was gallant but useless: when the police reached the shop they found the thieves gone, and poor Mr Pratt gagged and blindfolded and trussed up like a chicken ready for the oven. He had been badly hurt, severely bruised and cut about the face, and it was some time before he recovered sufficiently to make a statement. The odds had been terribly against him: there had been seven or eight men, though he could only describe one. ‘It all happened so suddenly,’ he said. The man he had seen was of medium height, not fat, not thin: he wore a hat and a raincoat and Mr Pratt had thought his eyes were brown, but he couldn’t be sure.
Tim frowned down at the newspaper. ‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘that that could be a description of just about anybody. I mean—if you had to describe somebody, but didn’t want anyone to know who it was, that’s just the sort of description you’d give.’
He paused. ‘Perhaps he just isn’t a very noticing sort of person,’ he said. ‘Mum says there are a lot of people who don’t really notice what other people look like. She notices. She’s got a good memory for faces.’ He remembered something, suddenly . ‘She remembered his face, you know. She told me she thought she’d seen him somewhere before. I suppose she’d seen his picture in the paper …’
He thought a minute. ‘I wonder how long ago this happened. There isn’t any date …’
‘Three years, just about,’ said a voice behind them.
CHAPTER TEN
UNEXPECTED EVIDENCEÂ
I T WAS T OFFEE P APERS . The sea boomed so loudly round the Point of Caves, that even Janey had not heard him come. He bent down and removed the piece of newspaper from Timâs limp fingers.
âNot a bad likeness,â he said, regarding it critically. âNot bad at all.â His eyes bulged like pale, boiled sweets as he sat on a rock and looked at the three children. âNational hero, thatâs what I was. A national hero â¦â
He took a toothpick out of his waistcoat pocket and began to dig
The precipitous part was mercifully short. Once round the point of the headland—the Point of Caves—the path went a little inland, through two walls of rock, as if here the cliff had split open at some time. The rocky walls were high above them: all Tim could see when he looked up, was the purplish, menacing sky. If it rains, he thought, it’ll be slippery going back, and the thought made his stomach churn, as if he had eaten too much ice-cream. He wasn’t afraid for himself, he thought, but for Janey. She wasn’t frightened, of course. Whenever he stopped, she prodded him in the back and said, ‘Hurry up, lazy. I want to get to the cave.’
From this approach the cave and the little beach looked quite different from when Tim and his father had come down the side of the torrent. Tim could see, what he had not noticed then, that beyond the rocks was a small, natural harbour. A boat was moored there, rocking among the gingery seaweed. An outboard motor was propped up on the stern and the bottom of the boat was full of fishing tackle and lobster pots.
‘That’s Mr Campbell’s boat,’ Perdita said, as she came panting up to join them.
*
They sat on the shingle beach and looked at Mr Jones’s picture in the newspaper. Toffee Papers, Frog Face, Mr Jones. Pratt was the name the newspaper used. And Mr Pratt—whowas fifty-two, the newspaper said, and had two little girls—was not a burglar, or, indeed, a criminal of any kind. He was an assistant in a big jeweller’s shop in the West End of London, and an extremely brave man. When the shop had been raided by a gang late one winter afternoon, Mr Pratt, who had stayed after closing time to finish stock-taking, had behaved with great courage. Hearing a noise in the shop, he had telephoned the police from the back office, and then, fearing they would not arrive in time, he had attempted to prevent the thieves making a get-away. It was gallant but useless: when the police reached the shop they found the thieves gone, and poor Mr Pratt gagged and blindfolded and trussed up like a chicken ready for the oven. He had been badly hurt, severely bruised and cut about the face, and it was some time before he recovered sufficiently to make a statement. The odds had been terribly against him: there had been seven or eight men, though he could only describe one. ‘It all happened so suddenly,’ he said. The man he had seen was of medium height, not fat, not thin: he wore a hat and a raincoat and Mr Pratt had thought his eyes were brown, but he couldn’t be sure.
Tim frowned down at the newspaper. ‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘that that could be a description of just about anybody. I mean—if you had to describe somebody, but didn’t want anyone to know who it was, that’s just the sort of description you’d give.’
He paused. ‘Perhaps he just isn’t a very noticing sort of person,’ he said. ‘Mum says there are a lot of people who don’t really notice what other people look like. She notices. She’s got a good memory for faces.’ He remembered something, suddenly . ‘She remembered his face, you know. She told me she thought she’d seen him somewhere before. I suppose she’d seen his picture in the paper …’
He thought a minute. ‘I wonder how long ago this happened. There isn’t any date …’
‘Three years, just about,’ said a voice behind them.
CHAPTER TEN
UNEXPECTED EVIDENCEÂ
I T WAS T OFFEE P APERS . The sea boomed so loudly round the Point of Caves, that even Janey had not heard him come. He bent down and removed the piece of newspaper from Timâs limp fingers.
âNot a bad likeness,â he said, regarding it critically. âNot bad at all.â His eyes bulged like pale, boiled sweets as he sat on a rock and looked at the three children. âNational hero, thatâs what I was. A national hero â¦â
He took a toothpick out of his waistcoat pocket and began to dig
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