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Chapter 4
ThiswasthestorythathummedinmybrainasIswunginthebigtouring-carfromglentoglen.
MyfirstimpulsehadbeentowritealettertothePrimeMinister,butalittlereflectionconvincedmethatthatwouldbeuseless.Whowouldbelievemytale?Imustshowasign,sometokeninproof,andHeavenknewwhatthatcouldbe.Aboveall,Imustkeepgoingmyself,readytoactwhenthingsgotriper,andthatwasgoingtobenolightjobwiththepoliceoftheBritishIslesinfullcryaftermeandthewatchersoftheBlackStonerunningsilentlyandswiftlyonmytrail.
Ihadnoveryclearpurposeinmyjourney,butIsteeredeastbythesun,forIrememberedfromthemapthatifIwentnorthIwouldcomeintoaregionofcoalpitsandindustrialtowns.PresentlyIwasdownfromthemoorlandsandtraversingthebroadhaughofariver.FormilesIranalongsideaparkwall,andinabreakofthetreesIsawagreatcastle.Iswungthroughlittleoldthatchedvillages,andoverpeacefullowlandstreams,andpastgardensblazingwithhawthornandyellowlaburnum.ThelandwassodeepinpeacethatIcouldscarcelybelievethatsomewherebehindmewerethosewhosoughtmylife;ay,andthatinamonth’stime,unlessIhadthealmightiestofluck,theseroundcountryfaceswouldbepinchedandstaring,andmenwouldbelyingdeadinEnglishfields.
AboutmiddayIenteredalongstragglingvillage,andhadamindtostopandeat.Half-waydownwasthePostOffice,andonthestepsofitstoodthepostmistressandapolicemanhardatworkconningatelegram.
