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This
was
the
story
I
had
been
deciphering
in
a
back
room
of
a
country
inn
,
overlooking
a
cabbage
garden
.
This
was
the
story
that
hummed
in
my
brain
as
I
swung
in
the
big
touring-car
from
glen
to
glen
.
My
first
impulse
had
been
to
write
a
letter
to
the
Prime
Minister
,
but
a
little
reflection
convinced
me
that
that
would
be
useless
.
Who
would
believe
my
tale
?
I
must
show
a
sign
,
some
token
in
proof
,
and
Heaven
knew
what
that
could
be
.
Above
all
,
I
must
keep
going
myself
,
ready
to
act
when
things
got
riper
,
and
that
was
going
to
be
no
light
job
with
the
police
of
the
British
Isles
in
full
cry
after
me
and
the
watchers
of
the
Black
Stone
running
silently
and
swiftly
on
my
trail
.
I
had
no
very
clear
purpose
in
my
journey
,
but
I
steered
east
by
the
sun
,
for
I
remembered
from
the
map
that
if
I
went
north
I
would
come
into
a
region
of
coalpits
and
industrial
towns
.
Presently
I
was
down
from
the
moorlands
and
traversing
the
broad
haugh
of
a
river
.
For
miles
I
ran
alongside
a
park
wall
,
and
in
a
break
of
the
trees
I
saw
a
great
castle
.
I
swung
through
little
old
thatched
villages
,
and
over
peaceful
lowland
streams
,
and
past
gardens
blazing
with
hawthorn
and
yellow
laburnum
.
The
land
was
so
deep
in
peace
that
I
could
scarcely
believe
that
somewhere
behind
me
were
those
who
sought
my
life
;
ay
,
and
that
in
a
month
's
time
,
unless
I
had
the
almightiest
of
luck
,
these
round
country
faces
would
be
pinched
and
staring
,
and
men
would
be
lying
dead
in
English
fields
.
About
midday
I
entered
a
long
straggling
village
,
and
had
a
mind
to
stop
and
eat
.
Half-way
down
was
the
Post
Office
,
and
on
the
steps
of
it
stood
the
postmistress
and
a
policeman
hard
at
work
conning
a
telegram
.
When
they
saw
me
they
wakened
up
,
and
the
policeman
advanced
with
raised
hand
,
and
cried
on
me
to
stop
.
I
nearly
was
fool
enough
to
obey
.
Then
it
flashed
upon
me
that
the
wire
had
to
do
with
me
;
that
my
friends
at
the
inn
had
come
to
an
understanding
,
and
were
united
in
desiring
to
see
more
of
me
,
and
that
it
had
been
easy
enough
for
them
to
wire
the
description
of
me
and
the
car
to
thirty
villages
through
which
I
might
pass
.
I
released
the
brakes
just
in
time
.
As
it
was
,
the
policeman
made
a
claw
at
the
hood
,
and
only
dropped
off
when
he
got
my
left
in
his
eye
.
I
saw
that
main
roads
were
no
place
for
me
,
and
turned
into
the
byways
.
It
was
n't
an
easy
job
without
a
map
,
for
there
was
the
risk
of
getting
on
to
a
farm
road
and
ending
in
a
duck-pond
or
a
stable-yard
,
and
I
could
n't
afford
that
kind
of
delay
.
I
began
to
see
what
an
ass
I
had
been
to
steal
the
car
.
The
big
green
brute
would
be
the
safest
kind
of
clue
to
me
over
the
breadth
of
Scotland
.
If
I
left
it
and
took
to
my
feet
,
it
would
be
discovered
in
an
hour
or
two
and
I
would
get
no
start
in
the
race
.
The
immediate
thing
to
do
was
to
get
to
the
loneliest
roads
.
These
I
soon
found
when
I
struck
up
a
tributary
of
the
big
river
,
and
got
into
a
glen
with
steep
hills
all
about
me
,
and
a
corkscrew
road
at
the
end
which
climbed
over
a
pass
.
Here
I
met
nobody
,
but
it
was
taking
me
too
far
north
,
so
I
slewed
east
along
a
bad
track
and
finally
struck
a
big
double-line
railway
.
Away
below
me
I
saw
another
broadish
valley
,
and
it
occurred
to
me
that
if
I
crossed
it
I
might
find
some
remote
inn
to
pass
the
night
.
The
evening
was
now
drawing
in
,
and
I
was
furiously
hungry
,
for
I
had
eaten
nothing
since
breakfast
except
a
couple
of
buns
I
had
bought
from
a
baker
's
cart
.
