straight there and back when he had gone to fetch Mickey, the place he had fetched him from would lie in the area between the circles.
Some directions from Humber's were unsuitable because of open-cast coal mines and eight miles to the southeast lay the outskirts of the sprawling mining town called Clavering. All round the north and west sides, however, there was little but moorland interspersed with small valleys like the ones in which Humber's stable lay, small fertile pockets in miles and miles of stark windswept heath.
Tellbridge, the village where Adams lived, lay outside the outer circle by two miles, and because of this I did not think Mickey could have been lodged there during his absence from Humber's. But all the same the area on a line from Number's yard to Adams' village seemed the most sensible to take a look at first.
As I did not wish Adams to find me spying out the land round his house, I fastened on my crash helmet, which I had not worn since the trip to Edinburgh, and pulled up over my eyes a large pair of goggles, under which even my sisters wouldn't have recognized me. I didn't, as it happened, see Adams on my travels; but I did see his house, which was a square, cream-coloured Georgian pile with gargoyle heads adorning the gate posts. It was the largest, most imposing building in the tiny group of a church, a shop, two pubs, and a gaggle of cottages which made up Tellbridge.
I talked about Adams to the boy who filled my petrol tank in the Tellbridge garage.
'Mr. Adams? Yes, he bought old Sir Lucas' place three-four years ago.
After the old man died. There weren't no family to keep it on. '
'And Mrs. Adams?' I suggested.
'Blimey, there isn't any Mrs. Adams,' he said, laughing and pushing his fair hair out of his eyes with the back of his wrist.
'But a lot of birds, he has there sometimes. Often got a houseful there, he has.
Nobs, now, don't get me wrong. Never has anyone but nobs in his house, doesn't Mr. Adams. And anything he wants, he gets, and quick. Never mind anyone else. He woke the whole village up at two in the morning last Friday because he got it into his head that he'd like to ring the church bells. He smashed a window to get in. I ask you! Of course, no one says much, because he spends such a lot of money in the village. Food and drink and wages, and so on. Everyone's better off, since he came. '
'Does he often do things like that ringing the church bells?'
'Well, not exactly, but other things, yes. I shouldn't think you could believe all you hear. But they say he pays up handsome if he does any damage, and everyone just puts up with it. High spirits, that's what they say it is.'
But Adams was too old for high spirits of that sort.
'Does he buy his petrol here?' I asked idly, fishing in my pocket for some money.
'Not often he doesn't, he has his own tank.' The smile died out of the boy's open face.
'In fact, I only served him once, when his supplies had run out.'
'What happened?'
'Well, he trod on my foot. In his hunting boots, too. I couldn't make out if he did it on purpose, because it seemed like that really, but why would he do something like that?'
'I can't imagine.'
He shook his head wondering.
'He must have thought I'd moved out of his way, I suppose. Put his heel right on top of my foot, he did, and leaned back. I only had sneakers on. Darn nearly broke my bones, he did. He must weigh getting on for sixteen stone, I shouldn't wonder.'
He sighed and counted my change into my palm, and I thanked him and went on my way thinking that it was extraordinary how much a psychopath could get away with if he was big enough and clever and well-born.
It was a cold afternoon, and cloudy, but I enjoyed it. Stopping on the highest point of a shoulder of moorland I sat straddling the bike and looking round at rolling distances of bare bleak hills and at the tall chimneys of Clavering pointing up on the horizon. I took off my helmet and goggles and pushed my fingers through my hair to let the cold wind in to my scalp. It was invigorating.
There was almost no chance, I knew, of my finding where Mickey had been kept. It could be anywhere, in any barn, outhouse, or shed. It didn't have to be a stable, and quite likely was not a stable: and indeed all I was sure of was that it would be somewhere tucked away out of sight and sound of any neighbours. The trouble was that in that part of Durham, with its widely scattered villages, its sudden valleys, and its miles of open heath, I found there were dozens of places tucked away out of sight and sound of neighbours.
Shrugging, I put my helmet and goggles on again, and spent what little was left of my free time finding two vantage points on high ground, from one of which one could see straight down the valley into Humber's yard, and from the other a main cross roads on the way from Humber's to Tellbridge, together with good stretches of road in all directions from it.
Kandersteg's name being entered in Humber's special hidden ledger, it was all Durham to a doughnut that one day he would take the same trail that MickeyStarlamp had done. It was quite likely that I would still be unable to find out where he went, but there was no harm in getting the lie of the land clear in my head.
At four o'clock I rolled back into Humber's yard with the usual lack of enthusiasm, and began my evening's work.
Sunday passed, and Monday. Mickey got no better;
the wounds on his legs were healing but he was still a risky prospect, in spite of the drugs, and he was beginning to lose flesh. Although I had never seen or had to deal with a horse in this state before, I gradually grew certain that he would not recover, and that Adams and Humber had another misfire on their hands.
Neither Humber nor Cass liked the look of him either, though Humber seemed more annoyed than anxious, as time went on. Adams came one morning, and from across the yard in Dobbin's box I watched the three of them standing looking in at Mickey. Presently Cass went into the box for a moment or two, and came out shaking his head. Adams looked furious. He took Humber by the arm and the two of them walked across to the office in what looked like an argument. I would have given much to have overheard them. A pity I couldn't lip-read, I thought, and that I hadn't come equipped with one of those long-range listening devices. As a spy, I was really a dead loss.
On Tuesday morning at breakfast there was a letter for me, post-marked Durham, and I looked at it curiously because there were so few people who either knew where I was or would bother to write to me. I put it in my pocket until I could open it in private and I was glad I had, for to my astonishment it was from October's elder daughter.
She had written from her university address, and said briefly:
Dear Daniel Roke, I would be glad if you could call to see me for a few moments sometime this week. There is a matter I must discuss with you.
Yours sincerely, Elinor Tarren.
October, I thought, must have given her a message for me, or something he wanted me to see, or perhaps he intended to be there to meet me himself, and had not risked writing to me direct. Puzzled, I asked Cass for an afternoon off, and was refused. Only Saturday, he said, and Saturday only if I behaved myself.
I thought Saturday might be too late, or that she would have gone to Yorkshire for the weekend, but I wrote to her that I could come only on that day, and walked into Posset after the evening meal on Tuesday to post the letter.
Her reply came on Friday, brief again and to the point, with still no hint of why I was to go.
'Saturday afternoon will do very well. I will tell the porter you are coming: go to the side door of the college (this is the door used by students and their visitors) and ask to be shown to my room.'
She enclosed a pencilled sketch to show me where to find the college, and that was all.
On Saturday morning I had six horses to do, because there was still no replacement for Charlie, and Jerry had gone with Pageant to the races.
Adams came as usual to talk to Humber and to supervise the loading up of his hunters, but wasted no attention or energy on me, for which I was thankful. He spent half of the twenty minutes he was in the yard looking into Mickey's box with a scowl on his handsome face.
Cass himself was not always unkind, and because he knew I particularly wanted the afternoon free he even went so far as to help me get finished before the midday meal. I thanked him, surprised, and he remarked that he knew there had been a lot extra for everyone (except himself incidentally) to do, as we were still a lad short, and
