and thirty years’ blameless record was at stake.
‘Give me the torches. You stay where you are.’ It occurred to Campion briefly that it was odd that he should issue orders so naturally and should be so certain that they would be unquestioningly obeyed. He went on alone, moving like a wraith but very quickly, with a sure-footed stealth which betrayed long practice. He did not see the second iron ladder until he was almost upon it, and he paused with his heart in his mouth, peering down into the abyss.
The throbbing had ceased, but in the cold underground air there was a slight but umistakable breath of exhaust. He went down the ladder for what seemed a very long way and found himself in a passage no wider than his outstretched arms.
Here the taint was stronger and he moved very cautiously, keeping the pinpoint of light from the small torch on the ground at his feet. An abrupt right-angle turn brought him up with a start. The fumes were much stronger now and, mingling with them, was the fresh sharp tang of the sea.
He pressed on and came out suddenly into what felt like a vast open space. The air smelt like a garage and his tiny ray of light suddenly lengthened as the path ended in a yawning hole before his feet. He paused, breathless, and switched off the light.
There was no sound, no sign of life, nothing except the strong reek of petrol. He hesitated. If the place was occupied his presence must already be discovered. He took the Superintendent’s larger torch in his left hand and, holding it at arm’s length so that the beam should arise a good three feet away from him on the wrong side, switched it on.
What he saw was so unexpected that he almost dropped the torch. He was on a narrow ledge, high up on the rock wall of a cave which could only be the Trough of the Superintendent’s description, for it stretched away to a narrow railed opening far away in the distance. This in itself was not altogether unexpected, but what was extraordinary was that directly below him, hidden from the entrance by a natural partition which jutted out into the main body of the cave, was a large pocket or alcove, snug and secret, which housed at the moment something under three hundred three-ton lorries of varying types and ages, but clearly in good running order and ready for the road.
Campion swung the torch over them and the finger of light rested on bonnets and cabs, on yawning bodies and solid wheels. The narrow shaft of light ran up one row and down the next, wavered dangerously, and swept on again.
Campion forced himself to finish his inspection, but that single glimpse at the end of the row had been enough. He had seen the face of a man, crouching back into the shelter of an overhanging cab. It had been a white face in the bright light and it had been familiar. It had flashed into his vision bringing a name with it; a name and a deep feeling of no enthusiasm, as someone once said so expressively.
‘Weaver Bea.’
As he repeated it under his breath it sounded absurd and unlikely and yet in all the turmoil in his mind it remained familiar and unpleasant.
It was at this point that the full realization of his own utter inefficiency came home to him. The curious singleness of purpose which had hitherto characterized his condition was wearing thin and he began to take a more normal view of the situation in which he found himself, inasmuch as he began to suspect himself at every step. He saw himself making mountains out of molehills, and, what was even worse, pitfalls into mere depressions. Moreover, the physical effect of the experience had begun to tell on him again. His head ached maddeningly and he was not too certain of his legs.
He crept back the way he had come but, although he paused to listen when he reached the right-angle bend, there was still no sound from the great hidden garage he had left.
As he felt his way up the narrow iron ladder he tried to assimilate what he had seen since entering the Nag. It was both
‘Give me the torches. You stay where you are.’ It occurred to Campion briefly that it was odd that he should issue orders so naturally and should be so certain that they would be unquestioningly obeyed. He went on alone, moving like a wraith but very quickly, with a sure-footed stealth which betrayed long practice. He did not see the second iron ladder until he was almost upon it, and he paused with his heart in his mouth, peering down into the abyss.
The throbbing had ceased, but in the cold underground air there was a slight but umistakable breath of exhaust. He went down the ladder for what seemed a very long way and found himself in a passage no wider than his outstretched arms.
Here the taint was stronger and he moved very cautiously, keeping the pinpoint of light from the small torch on the ground at his feet. An abrupt right-angle turn brought him up with a start. The fumes were much stronger now and, mingling with them, was the fresh sharp tang of the sea.
He pressed on and came out suddenly into what felt like a vast open space. The air smelt like a garage and his tiny ray of light suddenly lengthened as the path ended in a yawning hole before his feet. He paused, breathless, and switched off the light.
There was no sound, no sign of life, nothing except the strong reek of petrol. He hesitated. If the place was occupied his presence must already be discovered. He took the Superintendent’s larger torch in his left hand and, holding it at arm’s length so that the beam should arise a good three feet away from him on the wrong side, switched it on.
What he saw was so unexpected that he almost dropped the torch. He was on a narrow ledge, high up on the rock wall of a cave which could only be the Trough of the Superintendent’s description, for it stretched away to a narrow railed opening far away in the distance. This in itself was not altogether unexpected, but what was extraordinary was that directly below him, hidden from the entrance by a natural partition which jutted out into the main body of the cave, was a large pocket or alcove, snug and secret, which housed at the moment something under three hundred three-ton lorries of varying types and ages, but clearly in good running order and ready for the road.
Campion swung the torch over them and the finger of light rested on bonnets and cabs, on yawning bodies and solid wheels. The narrow shaft of light ran up one row and down the next, wavered dangerously, and swept on again.
Campion forced himself to finish his inspection, but that single glimpse at the end of the row had been enough. He had seen the face of a man, crouching back into the shelter of an overhanging cab. It had been a white face in the bright light and it had been familiar. It had flashed into his vision bringing a name with it; a name and a deep feeling of no enthusiasm, as someone once said so expressively.
‘Weaver Bea.’
As he repeated it under his breath it sounded absurd and unlikely and yet in all the turmoil in his mind it remained familiar and unpleasant.
It was at this point that the full realization of his own utter inefficiency came home to him. The curious singleness of purpose which had hitherto characterized his condition was wearing thin and he began to take a more normal view of the situation in which he found himself, inasmuch as he began to suspect himself at every step. He saw himself making mountains out of molehills, and, what was even worse, pitfalls into mere depressions. Moreover, the physical effect of the experience had begun to tell on him again. His head ached maddeningly and he was not too certain of his legs.
He crept back the way he had come but, although he paused to listen when he reached the right-angle bend, there was still no sound from the great hidden garage he had left.
As he felt his way up the narrow iron ladder he tried to assimilate what he had seen since entering the Nag. It was both
Similar Books
