him.
He heard her voice, and for a moment could not believe that she had returned. He made a great effort to keep himself on the edge of consciousness, and raising his head, he looked up. He saw her; a small dark shape against the night sky, standing on the edge of the trench, peering down at him. The relief that he wasn’t going to be left alone, that she was going to help him, was almost too much for him. As she clambered into the trench he caught hold of her hands and pulled her down by his side.
“Don’t leave me,” he implored, too anxious to realise that in the darkness of the trench she could not read his lips. “I’ve broken my leg. You’ve got to help me. I gave you food. I saved you from that woman. You can’t leave me here. They’ll catch me.” He clung to her hands. “If you don’t help me I’ll tell them it was you who killed Mrs Wheeler.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The wind had stiffened and great swollen clouds came up from the west, blotting out the clear sky, the stars and the moon. A few minutes after ten o’clock it began to rain.
Lying in the trench, Ellis cursed the rain. It fell lightly at first, but as more clouds climbed the horizon it began to pour: sheet after sheet of grey, cold water, chased by the wind, soaking into the open ground.
He wished he hadn’t let Grace go. Now it was raining she would probably stay under cover and leave him out in the open to get on as best he could. She had been calm and tender when she realised that his leg was broken. It was odd that she should have behaved like that, Ellis thought. Now that she had him at her mercy she seemed to lose her fear of him, and instead of jeering at him and leaving him as he would have done in her place, she had actually made him comfortable and had straightened his broken leg so efficiently that he had scarcely felt any pain.
“I’ll go to the clubhouse,” she had said. “Perhaps I can find something I can use as a splint.”
He couldn’t understand how a girl of her type knew anything about broken limbs, and when he asked her, she explained that she had been a nursing orderly in the W.A.A.F. and had passed a number of tests in first aid.
He didn’t want her to go, but he knew something had to be done. He couldn’t stay in the trench. Before long he would have to make an effort to climb the steep bank, and to crawl somehow or other to the wood. At the moment he was too frightened to move, but if she set the bone and strapped it up, he might be able to make the attempt.
So she had gone. He had listened to her speeding footfalls as she ran lightly across the grass, but when the sound of her running had died away, he immediately lost confidence and cursed himself for letting her go.
She wouldn’t come back. After the way he had treated her, she would be a fool to come back. In her place he wouldn’t have hesitated. It would have been a perfect opportunity to have ditched her. Ditched in a ditch, he thought, and thumped the moist soil, furious and fearful.
It was now cold and wet in the trench. Rain poured down on his head, cold against his feverish skin. It would rain, he thought bitterly: this ghastly country and its treacherous weather. You never knew. He could have stood the pain and the worry if it had been dry and warm, but this insinuating wet and cold unnerved him.
Minutes ticked by. He had taken off his wrist-watch and stowed it in his wallet to protect it from the wet. Unable to resist looking at it, he brought it out once more and saw she had been away twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! What was she doing? Was she coming back? He tried to raise himself to look over the top of the trench but pain forced him to lie still. All he could see was the dark sullen sky overhead and feel the rain on his face.
A new sound came to him as he lay there. The sound of an approaching train. It rattled along the track, slowed down, and finally stopped at the station. He immediately imagined the girl waiting on the
He heard her voice, and for a moment could not believe that she had returned. He made a great effort to keep himself on the edge of consciousness, and raising his head, he looked up. He saw her; a small dark shape against the night sky, standing on the edge of the trench, peering down at him. The relief that he wasn’t going to be left alone, that she was going to help him, was almost too much for him. As she clambered into the trench he caught hold of her hands and pulled her down by his side.
“Don’t leave me,” he implored, too anxious to realise that in the darkness of the trench she could not read his lips. “I’ve broken my leg. You’ve got to help me. I gave you food. I saved you from that woman. You can’t leave me here. They’ll catch me.” He clung to her hands. “If you don’t help me I’ll tell them it was you who killed Mrs Wheeler.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The wind had stiffened and great swollen clouds came up from the west, blotting out the clear sky, the stars and the moon. A few minutes after ten o’clock it began to rain.
Lying in the trench, Ellis cursed the rain. It fell lightly at first, but as more clouds climbed the horizon it began to pour: sheet after sheet of grey, cold water, chased by the wind, soaking into the open ground.
He wished he hadn’t let Grace go. Now it was raining she would probably stay under cover and leave him out in the open to get on as best he could. She had been calm and tender when she realised that his leg was broken. It was odd that she should have behaved like that, Ellis thought. Now that she had him at her mercy she seemed to lose her fear of him, and instead of jeering at him and leaving him as he would have done in her place, she had actually made him comfortable and had straightened his broken leg so efficiently that he had scarcely felt any pain.
“I’ll go to the clubhouse,” she had said. “Perhaps I can find something I can use as a splint.”
He couldn’t understand how a girl of her type knew anything about broken limbs, and when he asked her, she explained that she had been a nursing orderly in the W.A.A.F. and had passed a number of tests in first aid.
He didn’t want her to go, but he knew something had to be done. He couldn’t stay in the trench. Before long he would have to make an effort to climb the steep bank, and to crawl somehow or other to the wood. At the moment he was too frightened to move, but if she set the bone and strapped it up, he might be able to make the attempt.
So she had gone. He had listened to her speeding footfalls as she ran lightly across the grass, but when the sound of her running had died away, he immediately lost confidence and cursed himself for letting her go.
She wouldn’t come back. After the way he had treated her, she would be a fool to come back. In her place he wouldn’t have hesitated. It would have been a perfect opportunity to have ditched her. Ditched in a ditch, he thought, and thumped the moist soil, furious and fearful.
It was now cold and wet in the trench. Rain poured down on his head, cold against his feverish skin. It would rain, he thought bitterly: this ghastly country and its treacherous weather. You never knew. He could have stood the pain and the worry if it had been dry and warm, but this insinuating wet and cold unnerved him.
Minutes ticked by. He had taken off his wrist-watch and stowed it in his wallet to protect it from the wet. Unable to resist looking at it, he brought it out once more and saw she had been away twenty minutes. Twenty minutes! What was she doing? Was she coming back? He tried to raise himself to look over the top of the trench but pain forced him to lie still. All he could see was the dark sullen sky overhead and feel the rain on his face.
A new sound came to him as he lay there. The sound of an approaching train. It rattled along the track, slowed down, and finally stopped at the station. He immediately imagined the girl waiting on the
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