tantalizing and alarming. He had the uncomfortable feeling that it might all be very ordinary if seen with the clear eyes of a normally informed person. Any municipal stronghold of great antiquity could probably appear fantastic to the completely ignorant. Yet, on the other hand, every half-observed aspect of the place might well possess some all-important significance which he ought to recognize at once. There was the number 15 on the agenda: that must be of interest. And the man he had just seen: if his presence was normal, why had he hidden ?
He struggled on and by the time he heard the Superintendent’s heavy breathing just ahead of him he had made up his mind. There was only one course open to him which was not criminally negligent. He must get into touch with Oates at once. He ought to have done that immediately on receipt of the letter, of course. He wondered why he had ignored this obvious solution and suddenly remembered Anscombe and his own invidious position in that matter, which had focused his entire attention on the personal aspect. Hutch had only just explained that, of course. Good God, he was mad! Here he was, stumbling about in the dark seeing monsters where there were bushes and innocent shadows where there might be death-traps, and all the time the precious hours were racing past. He was a lunatic, very possibly a dangerous lunatic. Mercifully he was gradually getting the intelligence to recognize the fact.
The Superintendent was eager for news but even more eager to get out of his highly compromising position. He led the way back with alacrity and they passed across the Council Chamber like a couple of homing foxes.
‘Lorries?’ he said in astonishment when Campion had replied to his question. ‘How many?’
‘Several.’ Campion could not explain his own urge towards caution.
Hutch shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about them,’ he said. ‘It’s the Government work, I expect. They’re doing a lot of experiments with synthetic juice up at the Institute – at least that’s the gossip. The Masters own the Institute, and, come to think of it, the Trough wouldn’t be a bad place to hide a lorry or two. You’re suddenly in a great hurry, sir. You weren’t seen, were you?’
‘No,’ said Campion truthfully, ‘but I’ve got to get a move-on now.’
The Superintendent opened his mouth to make an enquiry but the experience of long service saved him the indiscretion. Moreover, they were approaching the store-room behind the shop again.
They got out without incident but Hutch was not pleased to find it almost dawn. Fortunately it was misty and the two men plunged into the chilling vapour as thankfully as if it had been a smoke-screen especially provided for their benefit.
As they passed down the broad highway of the Nag’s Pykle the squat houses blinked at them through the haze and the town of Bridge looked a little less like a fairy-tale than it had done by moonlight. It was old and very picturesque, but the unreality, the frankly fantastic atmosphere of the night before, had vanished with the moon.
Campion was relieved to see it and to credit his returning intelligence with the change. He felt definitely ill. His head was throbbing and his body ached. However, he knew what he had to do. Amanda was his card. Amanda must take him to Oates. It was odd that the very recollection of Amanda should wrap such comfort round him. He must get out of that, he supposed, if she had made up her mind, and yet … it was absurd. All that was ridiculous. Amanda was not only his: she
was
himself. Amanda … oh, he couldn’t be bothered to work it out. He must go to her … get to her … get … to … her.
Hutch caught him as he stumbled, and as they stood swaying together on the cobbles Campion was aware of some inner reserve of strength like a separate person within his body reaching down, down, and dragging his submerging faculties to the surface again. It was a staggering experience, like
He struggled on and by the time he heard the Superintendent’s heavy breathing just ahead of him he had made up his mind. There was only one course open to him which was not criminally negligent. He must get into touch with Oates at once. He ought to have done that immediately on receipt of the letter, of course. He wondered why he had ignored this obvious solution and suddenly remembered Anscombe and his own invidious position in that matter, which had focused his entire attention on the personal aspect. Hutch had only just explained that, of course. Good God, he was mad! Here he was, stumbling about in the dark seeing monsters where there were bushes and innocent shadows where there might be death-traps, and all the time the precious hours were racing past. He was a lunatic, very possibly a dangerous lunatic. Mercifully he was gradually getting the intelligence to recognize the fact.
The Superintendent was eager for news but even more eager to get out of his highly compromising position. He led the way back with alacrity and they passed across the Council Chamber like a couple of homing foxes.
‘Lorries?’ he said in astonishment when Campion had replied to his question. ‘How many?’
‘Several.’ Campion could not explain his own urge towards caution.
Hutch shook his head. ‘I don’t know anything about them,’ he said. ‘It’s the Government work, I expect. They’re doing a lot of experiments with synthetic juice up at the Institute – at least that’s the gossip. The Masters own the Institute, and, come to think of it, the Trough wouldn’t be a bad place to hide a lorry or two. You’re suddenly in a great hurry, sir. You weren’t seen, were you?’
‘No,’ said Campion truthfully, ‘but I’ve got to get a move-on now.’
The Superintendent opened his mouth to make an enquiry but the experience of long service saved him the indiscretion. Moreover, they were approaching the store-room behind the shop again.
They got out without incident but Hutch was not pleased to find it almost dawn. Fortunately it was misty and the two men plunged into the chilling vapour as thankfully as if it had been a smoke-screen especially provided for their benefit.
As they passed down the broad highway of the Nag’s Pykle the squat houses blinked at them through the haze and the town of Bridge looked a little less like a fairy-tale than it had done by moonlight. It was old and very picturesque, but the unreality, the frankly fantastic atmosphere of the night before, had vanished with the moon.
Campion was relieved to see it and to credit his returning intelligence with the change. He felt definitely ill. His head was throbbing and his body ached. However, he knew what he had to do. Amanda was his card. Amanda must take him to Oates. It was odd that the very recollection of Amanda should wrap such comfort round him. He must get out of that, he supposed, if she had made up her mind, and yet … it was absurd. All that was ridiculous. Amanda was not only his: she
was
himself. Amanda … oh, he couldn’t be bothered to work it out. He must go to her … get to her … get … to … her.
Hutch caught him as he stumbled, and as they stood swaying together on the cobbles Campion was aware of some inner reserve of strength like a separate person within his body reaching down, down, and dragging his submerging faculties to the surface again. It was a staggering experience, like
Similar Books
