Gumble's Yard by John Rowe Townsend

Author:John Rowe Townsend
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1961-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

THE train rattled its way across the Pennines into Yorkshire. I sat in a corner seat, feeling glum and anxious. For one thing, I felt as if I was moving away from the centre of events. I wished I knew what was going on in Cobchester behind me. What had happened to Sandra, and Harold, and Jean? What had happened to Tony? What were the men up to who had shipped the packing-cases on to the barge? (I still shuddered as I recalled the brutal face of the big fellow who had caught and stowed them.) What was Walter doing among such a crew? Why did the cases contain—of all things—electric irons? Had Dick a plan of action, and if so what was it? The whole thing had got quite beyond me.

I had to admit to myself that there was nothing I could have done in Cobchester that Dick could not do equally well; also my present task—to find our only known relative—was an important one that nobody but myself could carry out. But here I had a fresh anxiety to trouble me. For although I had spoken confidently enough when Tony asked me if I could be sure of finding my uncle— and indeed I had felt confident at the time—I now began to wonder whether it would be as straightforward as I had expected. I knew the name of the district, I knew which main road the buses took from the city centre, I could recall quite clearly the road junction where we used to get off the bus. And from there I thought I could still weave my way through the streets to where Uncle Bob lived. And yet… it was four years since I had been there. I’d only been just nine years old at the time. Supposing I didn’t remember as well as I thought? Suppose I finished by wandering hopelessly round, lost and penniless, unable even to get back to Cobchester?

On the opposite seat was an evening paper that somebody had left behind. To take my mind off my worries I glanced through it. But there was nothing really interesting. There were the comings and goings for some big international conference, with photographs of various blank important faces. Nearer home, ‘baby-faced Flick Williams’ had broken out of Cobchester Jail. For a moment that seemed to stir some recollection in my mind, but I couldn’t quite place it. And the Albion team was announced for next weekend’s Cup Final, but that didn’t excite me, because I supported United and anyway it was time to be thinking of cricket now. I threw the paper down and stared out of the window, my thoughts returning willy-nilly to the old track.

I was still worrying when the train pulled in to Ledford station, but I felt better when I was on my own feet again and doing something. Going from the station I soon found the bus-stop. I had enough money for the bus, but I decided not to take it, because I didn’t know what stop to ask for, and I had a dread of arousing suspicion.

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