Tony Walker

I somehow think the cow, or whatever they get steaks off, had only died that morning.

It was very, um, obstinate.

While I dined, she talked to me.

She would tell me all about an operation her husband had just had.

All about it.

It was almost a lecture on surgery.

The steak was rather undone, and it sort of made me feel I was illustrating her lecture.

Anyway, she put me clean off my dinner and then departed for the night.

I explored the bungalow and just had a look outside.

It was of course very dark, but not snowing quite so hard.

The garage stood about fifteen yards from the back door.

I walked round it, but didn't go in.

I also went down to the edge of the broad and verified the boathouse.

The whole place looked as though it might be all right in the summer time.

But just then it made one wonder why people ever wanted to go to the North Pole.

Anyhow, I went indoors and settled down by the fire.

You've no idea how quiet it was.

Even the waterfowl had taken the night off.

At least they weren't working.

A few minutes to eleven I heard the first noise that had been since Mrs. What's-her-name-a-Selston had cleared out.