Such was not the case, but Adam made only one more attempt to seek their society. This happened on the same evening. They were late enough home from their excursion to decide to combine tea and supper and then to sit about until ten or when they felt ready for bed.
The weather was changing by the time the meal was over; by eight o’clock the wind had got up and before nine the rain was lashing the windows. Woodwork in the cabin creaked and moaned and occasionally let off a sharp, protesting crack.
‘You’d think it is still alive,’ said Tamsin.
‘What is?’ asked Hermione.
‘The wood this place is made of. You know, there’s something creepy about a forest in this sort of weather. It’s as though the living trees were calling out to the dead ones.’
‘Oh, go to bed and pull the coverlet over your ears!’ said Isobel. ‘That’s what I’m going to do.’ The wind gave a sudden howl and there was a crash as a particularly rough squall hit the french doors. ‘ “It’s the wild night outside”. That’s from Campbell of Kilmhor, my favourite one-act play.’
‘ “Is the rain still coming down?” ’quoted Tamsin in her turn.
‘ “It is that, then”. What’s the bit about some poor lost soul coming up to the door, and we refusing it shelter?’
‘Oh, you two!’ said Erica. ‘Shut up! You make me go all goose-flesh. Let’s do the washing-up.’
‘Can’t it stay till morning?’ asked Isobel.
‘No, it jolly well can’t. If I begin to let you lot slack off, this place will be a pigsty by Saturday.’
Adam’s last visit to them was heralded by a furious battering on the french doors, a sound which outdid even the fury of the storm.
‘Oh, Lord! What now?’ said Erica, who had been the last to get into bed when the washing-up was done.
‘It’s only the wind,’ said Tamsin.
‘It certainly isn’t.’ The almost frenzied banging came again. Erica rolled out of bed, pulled on her dressing-gown and went into the lounge. ‘Who is it?’ she called out.
‘Let me in! My bike’s conked out and I’m soaked to the skin. Open the door!’
‘I can’t. We’re all in bed!’
‘Let me in, I tell you! I’m nearly drowned!’ The hammering came again, a positive fusillade. This time it had an effect, but not the one which Adam intended. Another voice, deeper than his own, said, ‘What’s all this?’
‘Oh, John! John Trent!’ shouted Erica. There was a yell and an indeterminate scrabbling noise. Then John Trent called out, ‘All right, ladies! All clear now!’ Erica opened the door. John Trent, torch in hand, was on the verandah. Erica pulled him inside.
‘Oh, dear! You are wet!’ she said.
‘Nothing to speak of. What was all that racket?’
‘That was the wretched boy who’s been dogging our footsteps for the past two days. We thought we’d got rid of him.’
‘You don’t value him, then?’
‘We’re sick to death of him.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I’ve just chucked him over your verandah railings.’
‘Oh, dear!’ said Tamsin, distressed.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll retrieve him and bed him down in our shack. He can have the spare bunk and I’ll chase him away in the morning with a flea in his ear that he won’t forget. I’m sorry he’s made such a nuisance of himself. I’ll see it doesn’t happen again. ’
Chapter 4: DODDER
« ^ »
After breakfast on the following day Erica paid a visit to the cabin across the way to thank John Trent for his intervention.
‘But for you, it looks as though we might have been pestered by that youth for the rest of our stay,’ she said.
‘Oh, no, I don’t think so. If he is staying at Youth Hostels he is allowed a maximum of three nights in any one of them. It was abominable of him to attempt to knock you up at that time of night, but I don’t think you’ll see or hear any more of him. I’ve put his motorcycle right and sent him off.’
She had scarcely got back to her own cabin when she and the others had another visitor. This was the warden. He was accompanied by the forester who had led the conducted tour on the Sunday.
‘Not to alarm you,’ he said, ‘but I’m making a round of the cabins because I have just had a police message. A convict has escaped from Hangmoor. He will be in need of money and a change of clothes. The police don’t think he has any outside contacts. He’s a convicted murderer, not a habitual criminal, but he must be desperate and may be dangerous. The police think he is somewhere on the moors and will soon be recaptured, but until that happens it might be as well to stick to the forest walks, or, if you do go out on the moors, to remain in your car and on no account to give anybody a lift. Anyway, whatever you do or wherever you go, my advice is that you all keep together and make sure that your cabin is locked up when you’re out and is made secure at night.’
John Trent came over after the warden had gone.
‘My parents and I are checking out on Saturday morning,’ he said, ‘and I don’t know whether our cabin has been booked for the following week. If it should be left empty you’ll be rather isolated out here, so you’ll be a bit careful until this fellow is caught, won’t you?’
‘You know, said Tamsin, when John had left them, ’I think all that business with Adam has upset my nervous system. I don’t believe I want to go out today.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ said Isobel. ‘We mustn’t give in to a scare. There isn’t one chance in a thousand that we shall run across this murderer. As for Adam Penshaw, well, he was just a nuisance to you, and that was your own fault. You shouldn’t have encouraged him in the first place.’
‘I suppose I encouraged him too, you know, ’ said Hermione. ‘I gave him the lift in my car. Who was to know that he would latch on to us the way he did?’
‘Well, the rain has stopped,’ said Erica, ‘and I can’t see us spending all our time cooped up indoors just because there’s a convict on the run. Why don’t we try one of the forest trails if Tamsin’s ankle will stand up to a bit of walking? We need not go all that far.’
‘Oh, the ankle is all right. I’ll buy an ash-plant just in case. I expect they’ve got some at the shop,’ said Tamsin. ‘If not, they’ll have them in Gledge End.’
‘We’ll each buy one,’ said Hermione, ‘and then it won’t matter how many escaped convicts we meet.’
‘We’re not likely to meet any in the forest,’ said Isobel, ‘with the foresters and the other cabin people all over the place. I’m game for a walk. Who’s coming?’
Into the outhouse at the Youth Hostel slunk a bedraggled, dirty, unshaven man. The outhouse was an open-fronted shed with a bench on all three sides. It was there to accommodate Youth Hostellers who arrived before five in the afternoon, since the hostel admitted nobody before that hour. The man knew nothing of this. He was merely taking a much-needed rest. When he heard voices he got up from the bench and almost collided with two young men who were about to enter the outhouse.
‘No good trying yet. It wants a quarter to five,’ said one. ‘I say! You’re wet, brother! Been sleeping rough?’
‘Lost my way,’ said the man, trying to push past.
‘Mean you were out in the rain last night? They’ve got a drying-room here. You’ll be all right by morning.’
‘Drying room?’
‘Sure. Dry your gear, see? Haven’t you stayed in one of these before?’
‘One of what?’
‘Aren’t you a member?’