Serial Story: THE LORRY

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 66, Issue 57, 17 December 1945, Page 6

Serial Story: THE LORRY

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CHAPTER XII. EXPLORATION CONTINUED “He's making a very wide shot if that is his idea,” asserted Carrow. “Why, the place is only a side issue in my scheme of discovery —too much seventeenth century-work about it to be attractive. The really interesting parts are those that show traces of the pre-Conquest builder, or anything before even him. Of course, there’s always something romantic about a hole in the ground. I confess I was more than a little tempted to have a go at the place myself, but to tell you the truth I can’t shift that stone properly without a jack. Here, what say we open it up with your jack to-night? There’ll be plenty of time to have another squint at the inside in the morning.” Now the mention of the jack naturally recalled Madie’s thoughts l to her lorry, and though the suggestion of an exploration held the thrill of mysterious possibilities, her sense of duty an.l of propriety had warned her that it was time for her to proceed on her way if she was to reach Burlingham and Aunt Mary’s at a not too disgraceful hour. “It’s after half past nine,” she protested. “I mustn’t stop another minute.”

“But I thought—” he began. “What did you think?” cut in Madie. “I thought—well you know I suppost it’s not the strictly Victorian thing, but you know you’d be quite safe and somehow I didn’t think of you as being as conventional as all that.”

“You mean you thought I’d deprive you of the shelter of your tent again, I suppose. No thank you Mr Carrow. It was a different matter last time when I was broken down and couldn’t very well help it. This time the old lorry’s good for another twenty miles before bedtime and Aunt Mary is expecting me. It isn’t that I don’t know I’d he perfectly safe.” She was touched with compunction at the sight of his frankly disappointed face as the light of the hurricane lamp caught it, and added: “It isn’t that I’m conventional, at least I hope not, but you don’t know my Aunt Mary, luckily for you.” He shrugged his big shoulders resignedly and reached for tile lamp. “I’ll show you down to the lorry,” ho said.

But when the two of them were halfway down the hill, the swinging lamp casting their absurd long shadows in a fantastic dance on either hand an idea occurred to him.

“How long will it take you to reach your Aunt’s place?” he asked, and to Madie his words seemed to imply that he must he unwittingly exalting her Aunt’s stuffy little villa into some mansion of at least manorial importance. “Under an hour,” she replied gravely in spite of her inward amusement. “And what’s the latest hour you dare arrive there?” “Not a minute after eleven o’clock. I don’t want to have to knock them up.”

“We’ve exactly twenty-five minutes surplus. I wonder if you’d mind lending me your jack and standing by while I raise that stone. I could prop it up and explore the place thoroughly to-morrow. It’s silly of course, to let it distract one from one’s scheme of exploration, but after what Sant said I must admit that hole attracts me more than it ought to attract a serious investigator.” The suggestion chimed in too well with her own inclinations. She was almost on the point of admitting to herself that she was loathe to leave his company, and there was an adventurous thrill about the thought of what that stone might conceal. That of itself would have been almost irresistible.

“Very well,” she said, “only remember I must leave on the stroke of ten o’clock.”

“I won’t keep you a moment after that,” he promised. (To be continued.)

The characters in this story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to an living person or to any public or private company.