“On the steep road where the Land Rover was parked, it was dark and quiet under the overhanging hill, which masked even the revolving blaze of the lighthouse. Below, where the road joined the other paths to the base and the pier it was dark, but by no means as quiet. Men’s voices, shouting, came clearly up from the waterfront, and the flash of numerous torches, borne at a run. As I watched, the disturbance swung away from me, and uphill. Up at the base, a big battery lamp suddenly switched on, t...hen another. But I was no longer looking or listening, for I had reached the Land Rover’s nose. If anyone had seen me approach, there was no sign within. The windscreen stared back at me emptily, and when, stepping lightly, I moved round behind, there was no sound or movement from the dark interior which the half-unrolled canvas concealed. There was no point in whispering names, or in thinking of personal safety now. I was committed. Placing my hands where, on shooting weekends, I had been taught, I pulled myself inside the hood and up to one of the two lining benches.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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