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datatime: 2022-12-08 08:17:03 Author:ZuEjqcfD

'I mean we might tell the police about what we saw; it might start an investigation into what is going on in the Mission.'

'But there isn't a photograph of the wheelbarrow?'

'No, either the reporter had no film in his Brownie or the police didn't think it necessary.'

Norman prodded at his paper. 'Wheelbarrow clue in double slaying.'

'Where you have been for the last two days, in my bloody allotment shed.'

'Yes, I can't see the Mercury's ace reporter getting the journalist of the year award for it.'

'I mean we might tell the police about what we saw; it might start an investigation into what is going on in the Mission.'

The two men did not wait to see what might happen. They looked at each other, dropped the newspaper and fled.

'Yes, I can't see the Mercury's ace reporter getting the journalist of the year award for it.'

'But there isn't a photograph of the wheelbarrow?'

Ornally shook his head. 'Police stations are bad places to break into, this is well known.'

There are many pleasures to be had in camping out. The old nights under canvas, the wind in your hair and fresh air in your lungs. An opportunity to get away from it all and commune with nature. Days in sylvan glades watching the sunshine dancing between the leaves and dazzling the eyes. Birdsong swelling at dawn to fill the ears. In harmony with the Arcadian Spirits of olden Earth. At night a time for reverie about the crackling campfire, the sweet smell of mossy peat and pine needles. Ah yes, that is the life.

Up at the bar Norman, who had quietly been reading a copy of the Brentford Mercury, said suddenly, 'Now there's a thing.'

'We might simply make a clean breast of it,' said John.

'Where you have been for the last two days, in my bloody allotment shed.'

'But there isn't a photograph of the wheelbarrow?'

'I mean we might tell the police about what we saw; it might start an investigation into what is going on in the Mission.'

'Yes, I can't see the Mercury's ace reporter getting the journalist of the year award for it.'

Norman prodded at his paper. 'Wheelbarrow clue in double slaying.'

Pooley jerked himself awake. 'Where am I?' he groaned.

Norman prodded at his paper. 'Wheelbarrow clue in double slaying.'

Pooley groaned anew. 'I was having such a beautiful dream. I can't go on here,' he moaned, 'I can't live out my days a fugitive in an allotment shed, I wish Archroy had never rebuilt it. You must give yourself up, John, claim diminished responsibility, I will gladly back you up on that.'

'We might simply make a clean breast of it,' said John.

'We might simply make a clean breast of it,' said John.

The words were drowned by the scream of a police-car siren. Driven at high speed, the car came through the red lights at the bottom of Haling Road, roared past them and screeched to a standstill a hundred yards further on, outside the Flying Swan. A plainclothes detective and three burly constables leapt from the vehicle and swept into the saloon bar.

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