Constable Across the Moors Read Online Free PDF Page A

helmet was totally obliterated.
    “P.C. Rhea,” I announced, removing my gauntlets.
    “Good heavens!” she stood back to allow me inside. “What on earth are you doing here?”
    “It’s a long story,” I said, stamping the snow from my boots. It fell on to her door mat.
    “Come in for a warm, for God’s sake,” and she stepped back to permit me enter. The interior was comfortably warm, and I was shown into the bar area with its flagstone floor and smouldering peat fire. The place was full of men, some dozing and other sitting around quietly playing cards.
    “Oh,” I said. “Company?”
    “Marooned,” she smiled. “A bus load.”
    I began to unbutton my stout clothing, my hands warm andpliable after the exercise of controlling the bike, and she asked, “Coffee?”
    “I’d love one.”
    “I’m doing breakfast for that lot. Forty-two of them, bacon and eggs. How about you?”
    At the mention of food my mouth began to water and I assured her that a delicious bacon and egg breakfast would be the best thing that could happen to me. She told me to remove my outer clothing and sit with the others. She’d call us into the dining-room when she was ready.
    Some of the men glanced at me, and it was only when I peeled off the heavy jacket that they realised I was the law. I could see their renewed interest.
    “What’s this, Officer? A raid for drinking after time, or before time?”
    “No,” I struggled with the ungainly trousers and rubber boots and was soon standing with my back to the fire, warming my posterior and rubbing my hands. My face burned fiercely and my ears began to hurt as the sudden warmth made the blood course through them. I hadn’t realised my extremities were so cold.
    “Breakfast then?” a stout man smiled. “You’ve called in for your breakfast?”
    “I am going to have breakfast, as a matter of fact.” I looked at them. “Are you the businessmen from Bradford?”
    There was a long silence and then the stout man nodded. “Aye,” he said. “How come you know about us?”
    “I’m searching for you,” I lied to make the matter seem more dramatic. “There’s a hue and cry out for you – there’s reports of missing men snowed up in the North Yorkshire moors, men dying from starvation and exposure, buses falling down ravines and bodies all over …”
    “Gerroff!” he laughed. “Go on, what’s up?”
    “I’m out here on another job …”
    “Not working? They haven’t made you work out here, in all this snow, on a bloody motor bike?” One of them stood up and addressed me.
    “They have. It’s important,” I tried to explain without revealing national secrets.
    “It must be – I’d have a strike at my factory if I even suggested such a thing,” and he sat down.
    I tried to continue. “I was called on my radio. Our Control Room said your bus was thought to have got stuck, and it was felt you might be here but they couldn’t make contact because the telephone lines were down.”
    “No, not down, officer. We’ve taken the phone off the hook.”
    “Off the hook!” I exploded. “You mean I’ve come all this way …”
    “Look,” the stout man stood up and came towards me. “We’re businessmen, and we’re always on call, always being rung up and wanted for some bloody thing or another. When we got here last night, for a drink, it was so nice and cosy that when the weather took a turn for the worse, we decided to stay. We took the telephone off the hook because we didn’t want to be disturbed and we intended staying, didn’t we, lads?”
    “Aye,” came the chorus from the assembled group.
    “This is our holiday, officer. A sudden, unexpected and excellent holiday. Can you think of anything better than being snowed up in a moorland pub miles from civilisation? The landlord and his lady are marvellous and they’ve a stock of food that’ll not get eaten unless they get crowds in. The beer’s fine and we can play dominoes and cards to our hearts’