Murder At Deviation Junction

    A beat of silence as I sized up the door.

    'He did it to save you from Small David.'

    'Well, he has a funny way of saving people,' I said, and I ran at the door again.

    'I suppose he thinks he's given us a sporting chance,' said Bowman.

    'The only thing for it,' I said, 'is to dig underneath.'

    'To think that we're here just because a man opened a window,' said Bowman.

    I moved towards the line of white light, and began feeling about for any loose stone that might serve as a tool. Bowman gave a hand. There was no loose stone, but I found the edge of the giant flagstone placed at the foot of the door. Its edge was about level with the edge of the door, and I began trying to work away the earth around it, but as this was frozen solid, it was no easy job. I could only chip away with my finger ends. There wasn't room for Bowman to help, so he sat back against the wall.

    The stone was fast; I was scraping away only a few crumbs of mud at a time; and even if I got it out, I'd only have six inches of daylight under the door. A crawling space would need to be three times that.

    Bowman's voice came out of the darkness.

    'I could use a drink, you know.'

    I worked on.

    'Not that sort of drink,' Bowman ran on. 'If we get out of this fix, I mean to stop that lark for good and all.'

    I would have to stop digging shortly; it was agony to touch the cold stone, and when I pressed my fingers to my cheek they trailed the fast-drying wetness of blood.

    Bowman was saying, 'I think I'll go back to writing 'Whiffs', if anybody will have it. Simple facts, simply put over. I enjoyed that.'

    I pulled at the stone.

    ''How does an engine re-water?''

    I pulled again at the stone and it gave slightly.

    ''The secret of a travelling lavatory.''

    I could prise it up a little way now ... But I must have a rest.

    ''Why do locomotives have two whistles?''

    I rolled away from the doorway.

    'Any joy?' said Bowman.

    'I'll go at it again in a minute,' I said, breathing hard and flexing my hands.

    'Want me to try?'

    I shook my head, not realising that he couldn't see me. It came to me then that Bowman must be in a double darkness, having lost his specs.

    'It'll be Christmas soon,' he said.

    'Six days,' I said.

    'Jesus was born in a manger,' said Bowman. 'Did you ever hear of anybody dying in one?'

    'I expect there've been plenty,' I said. Then: 'I've no bloody gloves.'

    'Here,' said Bowman, 'take mine. I'm holding them out before me just now.'

    I found his hands, and I found his gloves.

    I went back to the scraping and chipping around the stone with a will.

    'It's coming up,' I said, after a few more minutes.

    I pulled at the stone and it rose up. I could feel the size of it: about two foot by two foot. I worked it away from the door and felt the space I'd created: an area of cold snow and cold air. I'd done nothing but create a draught. I pressed down, and for the first time felt it was all up with me, for there was another wide, smooth stone underneath, and no room for further digging. I rolled away from the door again.

    'I've a powerful thirst,' said Bowman.

    I put my hand in my pocket, and there was the orange I'd bought outside King's Cross. It had been through a lot. I took off the gloves, and peeled it with numb fingers, and it seemed to give a little warmth as well as the promise of food and drink. As I peeled it, two drops of its juice landed on the palm of my hand and, when licked, they weren't there, which seemed a disaster.

    'I have an orange here,' I said into the darkness. 'There are ten segments - five apiece.'

    I reached out once again, meeting Bowman's hand.

    'That's kind of you, Jim,' he said.

    'I'll tell you what - it's a good job there weren't eleven,' I said.

    The orange gave the most beautiful drink ever supplied to anyone; but it was a small drink.

    'I've given up with the door for now,' I said presently. 'Let's have another listening go.'

    'Just as you like,' said Bowman.

    I could half-see him moving about four feet away - his body made a deeper darkness. There came no sounds. After what might have been half an hour, might have been three hours, I divided up the orange peel and gave half to Bowman.

    After another unknown time, Bowman said, 'It was pretty foolish of you to follow me up from London, you know.'

    'I was bored in my work.'

    Silence.

    'You acted your part well,' I said. 'I kept thinking you might be a bit - fly, but I remembered that at Stone Farm you'd volunteered a good deal of information - told me that Peters had had his camera stolen, and so on.'

    'I told you only what I thought you'd eventually discover for yourself.'

    'Yes, I thought that later,' I said.

    'I wouldn't say you'd been quite as stupid as me over the whole business,' said Bowman.

    'Thanks for saying so, mate,' I said.

    Silence again.

    'I flattered the stationmaster at Stone Farm - the man Crystal. I thought: if I keep in with him, he'll tell me how the investigation proceeds . . . How's your wife?' Bowman added, suddenly. 'How do you get along with her, I mean?'

    'Well, she's my lifeblood, mate.'

    'A notch above you socially?'

    'Aspires to be,' I said.'. .. and is in fact.'

    'That supper on the train,' he said after a while, 'it was good; cheap, too.'

    Another long silence, and he said through chattering teeth, 'Marriott thought he was a cut above. It's all nonsense about the sudden loss of temper if you ask me. Marriott felt he had the right to crown the man.'

    'But they were both toffs really,' I said.

    'Well, it's all relative,' said Bowman, who after a space added, 'It's all r-r-r-relatives,' but he could hardly get the words out for shivering.

    Silence again. My hands and feet hurt with an almost burning pain. I tried to tell myself that it was only cold; that we were indoors after all, but it bothered me that I could not stop my arms from shaking. A man ought to be able to command his own arms. I thought again of little Harry, in the middle of the dusty road on a day of heat. I loved the boy, and I nodded to myself at the thought.

    I found, a few minutes later, that I was still nodding. The cold was making an imbecile of me. This was the worst way of killing: to lock a man in a room without food or water. It was the method a weak man would choose. I might have dreamt, then. At any rate, I saw in my mind's eye a dark herd of deer coming down a dark hillside. The antlers made them like a moving forest, and the notion slowly struck me that they were coming towards me.

    'We would like our property back,' said the leader, and he spoke to me as the governor of the house with the antlers on the walls.

    'But you already have them,' I said, and I pulled up sharp at the knowledge that I had spoken the words out loud. My legs were quaking now, along with my arms. My whole body was going away from me. I wanted to stand, to test my limbs in that position, but I couldn't be bothered to stand, couldn't be