The Wicked Mr Hall Read Online Free PDF

receding into the distance and the train pushed forward into the black northern night. My two captors were standing further down the corridor, we were separated by busy luggage-laden passengers anxious for seating and rest. I must have been in a daze, because it wasn’t until I saw the panic in the eyes of the detectives at our enforced separation that the possible significance of the moment hit me. My attention and theirs was on the two middle-aged women who stood between us. Their suitcases prevented me from stepping towards them, or them towards me. To this day I cannot remember having a clear thought that I would jump. But that is what I did. I felt the cold night air and the fear of the unknown as I threw open the door and leapt into the freezing void. The thrust propelled me forward and down, the ground was soft and wet. I lay face down on the earth, my heart was beating so loudly it was difficult to hear the train. I was listening for the screech of brakes and the shouting voices that would mean the chase. I lifted my head to separate the pounding of my heart fromthe rhythmic thunder of the train wheels. I dared not stand. I fought to control my breathing. In what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was just seconds I realised the roll of metal on metal was becoming more distant. The train continued its journey. I was free.

4
AT HER MAJESTY’S PLEASURE
    A fter climbing up an embankment and over an advertisement hoarding, I found myself penniless on a deserted street in the Carlisle suburbs. I have a good sense of direction and, facing north, I started up a slow jog. There were ninety-six miles between my home city and the ground that my feet were pounding. Now I was really on the run. I ran on in the dark for hour after hour. Exhausted, I slept briefly in the doorway of a village church. The bitter cold and hunger made any further rest impossible, so I continued to run.
    As daybreak dawned, the loneliness of that long bitter night receded. With the relief of daylight came the danger of recognition. I wanted to get myself off the open road as quickly as possible. There was little traffic, but each vehicle that passed filled me with a sense of dread. Would this one be a police car? South of Glasgow are the coal-miningfields of Lanarkshire. Workers from all over the border regions were picked up by pit buses and transported to the fields to start their early morning shifts. It was such a bus that rattled down the northern road on which I was walking. Waving frantically, I stopped it. The driver was a gnarled old man, who had probably once earned his wages underground in the same way as his passengers.
    A well-dressed, if bedraggled young man must have seemed a strange sight in the early morning light. I told him that my car had been stolen north of Carlisle, that I had walked for most of the night and was desperate to get to Glasgow to report the theft. All of my money had been in the car. With a terse generosity he motioned his head to one side, a non-verbal communication that allowed me to board the lumbering but warm bus.
    Knowing that my parents’ house was out of bounds, I headed for the home of a criminal friend. I lay low to contemplate my situation. I knew that my mother must be anxious, so I sent a message through my friend telling her that I was in good health and close by. Against my judgement, she was adamant that she must see me. After a few days I reluctantly agreed. We organised a journey involving buses, trams and the subway. If she became suspicious of anyone or anything, she was to abandon the meeting and return home. I waited in a shop doorway some yards from where the bus dropped her off. I scanned the faces and people around her. All seemed well. As my mother approached, I stepped out of the doorway. Together we started the short walk to my refuge. I noticed the strangers immediately standing almost opposite mysafe house. One was considerably older than the other, an odd pairing to a