The Runaways by Victor Canning

the sink fairly dry from his washing, putting the spoon away in its drawer, and dropping the empty baked-bean tin in the waste bin. If his Sister Ethel could have known how tidy he had been she would have thought he was sickening for something or working up to some outrageous request to be allowed to do something she would normally have refused. Then he began to worry about the baked-bean tin. Whoever had gone in might look in the bin and see it. That would give the game away. Or say they knew exactly what had been in the cupboards and spotted how he had helped himself? Well, there was nothing he could do about it now.
    After about five minutes Smiler saw a woman come across the little bit of the yard he could see. She had a blue woollen hat on and a thick brown coat, and she wheeled a bicycle with a black shopping bag hanging from the handlebars. She was dumpy-looking and oldish. She pushed her bicycle through the side wicket gate and then rode away over the river bridge and up the slope beyond.
    Smiler gave her a few minutes to get clear and then he began to move back. But he did not go to the cottage. He went along the hillside through the trees and dropped down into the side road. He walked down the hill, looking as though he were out for a stroll, past the big white gate and on to the bridge. Here he leaned over the parapet and pretended to be looking at the river. But his eyes were on the house and the front door, and the curtained windows. For all he knew more than one person might have gone into the house and only the woman had come out. It proved a very wise precaution. He had hardly been there a few minutes when the front door opened and a girl came out. She slammed the door to lock behind her, and then came across the lawn, out on to the road, and towards Smiler who was still hanging over the bridge parapet.
    She was a nice-looking girl – with a tanned complexion and shoulder-length black hair – wearing a shiny red plastic coat and high black boots. Back in Fishponds there had been plenty of girls who hung about with Smiler’s friends. Smiler didn’t dislike girls, but he hadn’t got a lot of time for most of them. They never seemed to say or do anything that was particularly interesting. Just laughed and giggled most of the time, or talked about clothes and a lot of nonsense.
    As the girl came on to the bridge she saw Smiler. Smiler stared down at the river and hoped she would pass on. She didn’t. She stopped behind him and said, ‘ Hullo.’
    Smiler half-turned. ‘Hullo,’ he said.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’
    â€˜Just looking at the river,’ said Smiler. She seemed all right. She had a friendly smile and it suddenly occurred to him that he might get some useful information from her. He nodded his head at the cottage. ‘You live there?’
    â€˜No. My mum does for them. Once a week. I just come down with her.’
    â€˜She the one that went up on the bike?’
    â€˜Sright.’
    â€˜Whyn’t you go back with her?’
    The girl laughed. It was a nice laugh and her teeth showed very white against her tanned face. ‘You’re a one for questions, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Sorry. I was just asking.’
    â€˜Well, I comes down with her on the back of her bike. But as it’s all uphill going back … well, I walk. She came down to pick up the letters, but I stopped to dust the dining-room.’
    â€˜Don’t nobody live there, then?’
    â€˜They’re away. I haven’t seen you around before, have I?’ The girl leaned over the parapet a yard from him.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Where you from, then?’
    For a moment Smiler hesitated and then he said, ‘Oh, over Warminster way.’ To forestall further questions along that line, he went on, ‘ Where do you live?’
    â€˜Up the hill. ’Bout a mile. Lodge Cottage. You know it?’
    â€˜No.’
    The girl, who clearly had time on