A Rogue by Compulsion | Page 7

this case was a private
drive up the hill into the main Devonport road. If there was such a drive
the house was no doubt a private residence and a fairly large one at
that.
With infinite precaution I began to creep forward again. Between the
trunks of the trees I could catch glimpses of a stout wood paling about
six feet high which apparently ran the whole length of the grounds,
separating them from the wood. On the other side of this fence I could
hear, as I drew nearer, a kind of splashing noise, and every now and
then the sound of somebody moving about and whistling.
The last few yards consisted of a strip of open grass marked by deep
cart-ruts. Across this I crawled on my hands and knees, and getting
right up against the fence began very carefully to search around for a
peep-hole. At last I found a tiny gap between two of the boards. It was
the merest chink, but by gluing my eye to it I was just able to see
through.
I was looking into a square gravel-covered yard, in the centre of which
a man in blue overalls was cleaning the mud off a small motor car. He
was evidently the owner, for he was a prosperous, genial-looking
person of the retired Major type, and he was lightening his somewhat
damp task by puffing away steadily at a pipe. I watched him with a
kind of bitter jealousy. I had no idea who he was, but for the moment I
hated him fiercely. Why should he be able to potter around in that
comfortable self-satisfied fashion, while I, Neil Lyndon, starved,
soaked, and hunted like a wild beast, was crouching desperately outside
his palings?
It was a natural enough emotion, but I was in too critical a position to
waste time in asking myself questions. I realized that if burglary had to
be done, here was the right spot. By going farther I should only be
running myself into unnecessary risk, and probably without finding a
house any more suitable to my purpose.
I squinted sideways through the hole, trying to master the geography of

the place. On the left was a high bank of laurels, and just at the corner I
could see the curve of the drive, turning away up the hill. On the other
side of the yard was a small garage, built against the wall, while
directly facing me was the back of the house.
I was just digesting these details, when a sudden sigh from the
gentleman in the yard attracted my attention. He had apparently had
enough of cleaning the car, for laying down the cloth he had been using,
he stepped back and began to contemplate his handiwork.
It was not much to boast about, but it seemed to be good enough for
him. At all events he came forward again, and taking off the brake,
proceeded very slowly to push the car back towards the garage. At the
entrance he stopped for a moment, and going inside brought out a
bicycle which he leaned against the wall. Then he laboriously shoved
the car into its appointed place, put back the bicycle, and standing in
the doorway started to take off his overalls.
I need hardly say I watched him with absorbed interest. The sight of the
bicycle had sent a little thrill of excitement tingling down my back, for
it opened up possibilities in the way of escape that five minutes before
had seemed wildly out of reach. If I could only steal the machine and
the overalls as well, I should at least stand a good chance of getting
clear away from the Moor before I was starved or captured. In addition
to that I should be richer by a costume which would completely cover
up the tasteful but rather pronounced pattern of my clothes.
My heart beat faster with excitement as with my eye pressed tight to
the peep-hole I followed every movement of my unconscious quarry.
Whistling cheerfully to himself, he stripped off the dark blue cotton
trousers and oil-stained jacket that he was wearing and hung them on a
nail just inside the door. Then he gave a last look round, presumably to
satisfy himself that everything was in order, and shutting the door with
a bang, turned the key in the lock.
I naturally thought he was going to stuff that desirable object into his
pocket, but as it happened he did nothing of the kind. With a throb of
half-incredulous delight I saw that he was standing on tiptoe, inserting

it into some small hiding-place just under the edge of the iron roof.
I didn't wait for further information. At any moment someone might
have come blundering round