When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Looking first through the pane-less window and then through the gap in the roof, I saw that it was a grey, still morning that held promise of a fine day, though whether that was to my advantage or disadvantage I did not feel quite sure. Nobody seemed to be stirring yet about the houses or fields, so I had still time for deliberation before fate forced my hand.
First of all, I had a look round my immediate surroundings. I was well sheltered, as all the walls were standing, and there was most of a roof over my head (the last being a point of some importance in case any aircraft chanced to make a flight in this direction). It is true that the door was gone, but even here I seemed fortunate, for another small building, also dilapidated-looking but in somewhat better condition, stood right opposite the open doorway and hid it completely. This little building still had a dishevelled door which stood closed, and for a moment I half thought of changing my shelter and taking possession of it; and then I decided that where fate had directed my steps, there should I abide.
The next thing obviously was to overhaul my motorcycle, and this I set about at once, though all the time my thoughts kept working. In the course of an hour or so I had located the trouble in the carburettor and put it right again, and I had also begun to realise a few of the pros and cons of the situation.
I now ate a few sandwiches, had a pull at my flask, lit a cigarette, and put the case to myself squarely.
“With a motorcycle, the whole island at my disposal, and daylight in which to search it through, I can surely find a hiding-place a little farther removed from inquisitive neighbours,” I said to myself. “So the sooner I am off the better.”
But then I answered back—
“On the other hand it may take me some hours to find a better spot than this, and a man tearing about the country on a motorcycle is decidedly more conspicuous in the early morning than in the middle of the day or the afternoon when cyclists are natural objects.
“But again, if I do think of leaving this place I certainly ought not to be seen in the act of emerging from a ruinous house pushing my cycle—not, at least, if I wish to be considered a normal feature of the landscape. I have a chance of escaping now unobserved; shall I have such a chance later in the day?”
Finally I decided to compromise. I should stay where I was till the hour when all the farmers had their midday meal. Then I might well hope to slip out unobserved, and thereafter scour the country looking for the ideal hiding-place without attracting any particular attention. But whatever merits this scheme may have had were destined never to be tested.
From my seat amid the nettles I could see right through the open door, and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building outside. All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a cigarette to my lips grew rigid. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from the chimney.
III
Behind the Wall
“Ruinous” these farm buildings certainly were; but “uninhabited”—obviously not quite! I rose stealthily and crossed to the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to open. I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute before anything more happened. My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed unconscionably slow in his movements.
And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey shawl about her head. As she looked slowly round her, first to one side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did so I knew it was too late. A wisp of smoke had given us both away. This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite plainly drifting through the open door.
I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the doorway. There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.
“Good morning!” I said genially.
She did not start. She did not speak. She just stared at me out of as unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into. I suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.
“I think it is going to be a fine day,” I continued breezily.
She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human eyes, I saw it in hers.
“What do you think yourself?” I inquired with a smile. “I have no doubt you are more weatherwise than I.”
Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister remark.
“Maybe it will be a fine day for some,” she replied.
“I hope I may be one of them!” I said as cheerfully as possible.
She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous innuendo.
It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.
“My bicycle broke down,” I said, “and I took the liberty of bringing it in here to repair it.”
Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motorcycle.
“What for did you have to mend it in here?” she inquired; very pertinently, I could not but admit.
“It was the most convenient place I could find,” I replied carelessly.
“To keep it from the rain maybe?” she suggested.
“Well,” I admitted, “a roof has some advantages.”
“Then,” said she, “you’ve been here a long while, for there’s been no rain since I wakened up.”
“But I didn’t say I came here for shelter,” I said hastily.
She stared at me again for
