The Village by Stan Mason Read Free Book Online Page B

sizable hole... one big enough for me to climb through. I place the pole across the arms of the chair and climbed on it. The action increased the elevation by another fifteen inches. There was four feet left to manage and I prayed that my weight would not pull down the plaster as I tried to raise myself through the hole. Trusting to luck, I pulled myself upwards but the plaster was too weak to hold me and I fell headlong off the chair to the floor. However, despite the fact that a large part of the ceiling had collapsed, I could see a wooden beam above me on which the floorboards rested upstairs. I climbed back on the chair and hauled myself upwards, athletically pulled myself up into the great hole I had created to find myself standing in an empty office. It was my good fortune that no one was in situ at the time or I would have been handcuffed and taken to a different cell. I paused to catch my breath, dusted myself down, and went to the door, opening it cautiously, to find myself in a hallway. I walked along it to the end and opened another door even more cautiously. I found myself standing at the front of the police station behind the desk sergeant. I paused for a moment to build up my courage and then walked boldly forward, wishing the policeman a good day and hurried out of the front door as he stared at my departing figure with utter amazement. There was no doubt that he would chase after me but, by the time he reached the front steps of the police station, I would be well and truly gone. There would almost certainly be a hunt to find me... I was on Numbwinton’s police list!
    The most important thing I needed to do was a change of clothes. I had worn a blue lounge suit at Mary’s party but I put on my old battledress on the following morning and was still wearing it. The camouflaged jacket and trousers made me stand out in the village like a sore thumb and I needed to do something about it urgently. Unfortunately, my suit was in a suitcase in the boot of my car which was miles away in the garage for repair. Ultimately I needed to find some clothing from elsewhere. I walked towards the residential area of the village which comprised of some four hundred houses, looking over the four feet fences of the back gardens. Eventually I saw a shirt and a pair of trousers on one of the washing lines. They looked pretty dry to me but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Even if I contracted arthritis at the age of seventy though wearing damp clothes I could see no immediate alternative. I entered the garden by the rear gate, looking around surreptitiously. Nothing could be heard from inside the house and no one else seemed to be within the vicinity. I unpaged the clothes intending to take them away and change into them as quickly as possible. However, the watchful eye of the woman in the house stared out of the window recognising my intent and she raced smartly into the garden to prevent me from stealing her possessions.
    â€˜This is not the way we do things in this village!’ she reproached angrily, causing me to feel extremely embarrassed at being caught in the act. It was pointless to explain that I had just escaped from jail and was desperate.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ I apologised profusely. ‘I’m terribly sorry. I need something else to change into. My car’s in the garage being repaired...’
    â€˜Enough!’ snapped the woman irately. She was about thirty years old and extremely attractive. I wondered why she wasn’t’ working in a shop or in the fields on this particularly bright day. ‘I don’t know who you are or why you’re stealing my clothes,’ she chided ‘You’re not of this village and there’s no doubt that the police will be looking for you.’
    â€˜Why should the police be looking for me?’ I asked wondering if there was some kind of telepathy so that everyone knew everything here.
    She looked me up and down to determine whether or