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- Джон Джон Бакен
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- Стр. 46/83
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But
it
was
a
chance
,
the
only
possible
chance
.
It
was
a
mighty
risk
,
but
against
it
was
an
absolute
black
certainty
.
If
I
used
it
the
odds
were
,
as
I
reckoned
,
about
five
to
one
in
favour
of
my
blowing
myself
into
the
tree-tops
;
but
if
I
did
n't
I
should
very
likely
be
occupying
a
six-foot
hole
in
the
garden
by
the
evening
.
That
was
the
way
I
had
to
look
at
it
.
The
prospect
was
pretty
dark
either
way
,
but
anyhow
there
was
a
chance
,
both
for
myself
and
for
my
country
.
The
remembrance
of
little
Scudder
decided
me
.
It
was
about
the
beastliest
moment
of
my
life
,
for
I
'm
no
good
at
these
cold-blooded
resolutions
.
Still
I
managed
to
rake
up
the
pluck
to
set
my
teeth
and
choke
back
the
horrid
doubts
that
flooded
in
on
me
.
I
simply
shut
off
my
mind
and
pretended
I
was
doing
an
experiment
as
simple
as
Guy
Fawkes
fireworks
.
I
got
a
detonator
,
and
fixed
it
to
a
couple
of
feet
of
fuse
.
Then
I
took
a
quarter
of
a
lentonite
brick
,
and
buried
it
near
the
door
below
one
of
the
sacks
in
a
crack
of
the
floor
,
fixing
the
detonator
in
it
.
For
all
I
knew
half
those
boxes
might
be
dynamite
.
If
the
cupboard
held
such
deadly
explosives
,
why
not
the
boxes
?
In
that
case
there
would
be
a
glorious
skyward
journey
for
me
and
the
German
servants
and
about
an
acre
of
surrounding
country
.
There
was
also
the
risk
that
the
detonation
might
set
off
the
other
bricks
in
the
cupboard
,
for
I
had
forgotten
most
that
I
knew
about
lentonite
.
But
it
did
n't
do
to
begin
thinking
about
the
possibilities
.
The
odds
were
horrible
,
but
I
had
to
take
them
.
I
ensconced
myself
just
below
the
sill
of
the
window
,
and
lit
the
fuse
.
Then
I
waited
for
a
moment
or
two
.
There
was
dead
silence
--
only
a
shuffle
of
heavy
boots
in
the
passage
,
and
the
peaceful
cluck
of
hens
from
the
warm
out-of-doors
.
I
commended
my
soul
to
my
Maker
,
and
wondered
where
I
would
be
in
five
seconds
...
A
great
wave
of
heat
seemed
to
surge
upwards
from
the
floor
,
and
hang
for
a
blistering
instant
in
the
air
.
Then
the
wall
opposite
me
flashed
into
a
golden
yellow
and
dissolved
with
a
rending
thunder
that
hammered
my
brain
into
a
pulp
.
Something
dropped
on
me
,
catching
the
point
of
my
left
shoulder
.
And
then
I
think
I
became
unconscious
.
My
stupor
can
scarcely
have
lasted
beyond
a
few
seconds
.
I
felt
myself
being
choked
by
thick
yellow
fumes
,
and
struggled
out
of
the
debris
to
my
feet
.
Somewhere
behind
me
I
felt
fresh
air
.
The
jambs
of
the
window
had
fallen
,
and
through
the
ragged
rent
the
smoke
was
pouring
out
to
the
summer
noon
.
I
stepped
over
the
broken
lintel
,
and
found
myself
standing
in
a
yard
in
a
dense
and
acrid
fog
.
I
felt
very
sick
and
ill
,
but
I
could
move
my
limbs
,
and
I
staggered
blindly
forward
away
from
the
house
.
A
small
mill-lade
ran
in
a
wooden
aqueduct
at
the
other
side
of
the
yard
,
and
into
this
I
fell
.
The
cool
water
revived
me
,
and
I
had
just
enough
wits
left
to
think
of
escape
.
I
squirmed
up
the
lade
among
the
slippery
green
slime
till
I
reached
the
mill-wheel
.
Then
I
wriggled
through
the
axle
hole
into
the
old
mill
and
tumbled
on
to
a
bed
of
chaff
.
A
nail
caught
the
seat
of
my
trousers
,
and
I
left
a
wisp
of
heather-mixture
behind
me
.
The
mill
had
been
long
out
of
use
.
The
ladders
were
rotten
with
age
,
and
in
the
loft
the
rats
had
gnawed
great
holes
in
the
floor
.
Nausea
shook
me
,
and
a
wheel
in
my
head
kept
turning
,
while
my
left
shoulder
and
arm
seemed
to
be
stricken
with
the
palsy
.
I
looked
out
of
the
window
and
saw
a
fog
still
hanging
over
the
house
and
smoke
escaping
from
an
upper
window
.
