Chapter 1: What leads the narrator to the Norfolk Broads during a snowstorm?
Everybody dies, don't they? Everybody come back. Isn't that so? You tried to get into the locked drawer today, didn't you? How do the dead come back, mother? What's the secret?
My Adventure in Norfolk by A.J. Allen I don't know how it is with you, but during February my wife generally says to me, have you thought at all about what we're going to do for August? Of course, I say, no. And then she begins looking through the advertisement of bungalows to let. Well, this happened last year, as usual, and she eventually produced one that looked possible.
It said, Norfolk, Hickling Broad, Furnished Bungalow, Garden, Garage, Boathouse, and all the rest of it. Oh, and plate and linen. It also mentioned an exorbitant rent.
Chapter 2: How does the narrator encounter the stranded woman?
I pointed out the bit about the rent, but my wife said, yes, you'll have to go down and see the landlord and get him to come down. They always do. As a matter of fact, they always don't. That's a detail. Anyway, I wrote off to the landlord and asked if he could arrange for me to stay the night in the place to see what it was really like.
He wrote back and said, certainly, and that he was engaging Mrs. So-and-so to come in and oblige me, make up the beds and so forth. I tell you, we do things thoroughly in our family. I have to sleep in all the beds, and when I come home my wife counts the bruises and decides whether they will do or not.
At any rate, I arrived in a blinding snowstorm, at about the most desolate spot on God's earth. I'd come to Potterham by train and been driven on. It was a good five miles from the station. Fortunately, Mrs. Selston, the old lady who was going to do for me, was there, and she'd lighted a fire and cooked me a steak, for which I was truly thankful.
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.
Chapter 3: What peculiar behavior does the woman exhibit during their interaction?
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.
Chapter 4: What happens when the narrator investigates the car's engine?
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. It was the sound of a car. If it had gone straight by, I probably shouldn't have noticed it at all. Only it did go straight by. It seemed to stop farther up the road before it got to the house. Even that didn't make much impression.
After all, cars do stop. It must have been five or ten minutes before it was borne in on me that it hadn't gone on again. So I got up and looked out of the window. It had left off snowing, and there was a glare through the gate that showed that there were headlamps somewhere, just out of sight. I thought I might as well stroll out and investigate.
I found a fair-sized limousine pulled up in the middle of the road about twenty yards short of my gate. The light was rather blinding, but when I got close to it I found a girl with the bonnet open, tinkering with the engine. quite an attractive young female from what one could see.
Chapter 5: What unsettling discovery does the narrator make in the garage?
But she was so muffled up in furs that it was rather hard to tell. I said, um, good evening. Anything I can do? She said she didn't know what was the matter. The engine had just stopped and wouldn't start again. And it had. It wouldn't even turn either with the self-starter or the handle. The whole thing was awfully hot. And I asked her whether there was any water in the radiator.
She didn't see why there shouldn't be. There always had been. This didn't strike me as entirely conclusive. I said, we'd better put some in and see what happened. She said, why not use snow? But I thought not.
Chapter 6: How does the narrator piece together the mystery behind the dead man?
There was an idea at the back of my mind that there was some reason why it was unwise to use melted snow, and it wasn't until I arrived with a bucket full that I remembered what it was. Of course, goiter. When I got back to her, she'd got the radiator cap off and inserted what a Danish friend of mine calls a funeral. We poured a little water in. Luckily, I'd warned her to stand clear.
The first tablespoonful that went in came straight out again, red hot, and blew the funeral sky high. We waited a few minutes until things had cooled down a bit, but it was no go. As fast as we poured water in it simply ran out again into the road beneath. It was quite evident that she'd been driving with the radiator bone dry and that her engine had seized right up. I told her so.
She said, ''Does that mean I've got to stop here all night?'' I explained that it wasn't as bad as all that. That is, if she cared to accept the hospitality of my poor roof. And it was a poor roof. It let the wet in.
Chapter 7: What twist reveals the true nature of the events that transpired?
But she wouldn't hear of it. By the by, she didn't know the circumstances, so it wasn't that. No, she wanted to leave the car where it was and go on on foot. I said, don't be silly, it's miles to anywhere. However, at that moment we heard a car coming along the road, the same way as she'd come. We could see its lights, too, although it was a very long way off.
You know how flat Norfolk is, you can see a terrific distance. I said, there's the way out of all your troubles. This thing, whatever it is, will give you a tow to the nearest garage, or at any rate a lift to some hotel. One would have expected her to show some relief, but she didn't. I began to wonder what she jolly well did want.
She wouldn't let me help her to stop where she was, and she didn't seem anxious for anyone to help her to go anywhere else. She was quite peculiar about it. She gripped hold of my arm and said, "'What do you think this is that's coming?' I said, "'I'm sure I don't know, being a stranger in these parts, but it sounds like a lorry full of milk cans.'
Chapter 8: What insights are shared about A.J. Alan and his storytelling style?
I offered to lay a sixpence about it. This was before the betting tax came in. She'd have had to pay too because it was a lorry full of milk cans. The driver had to pull up because there wasn't room to get by. He got down and asked if there was anything he could do to help. We explained the situation. He said he was going to Norwich and was quite ready to give her a tow if she wanted it.
However, she wouldn't do that. and it was finally decided to shove the car into my garage for the night to be sent for the next day, and the lorry was to take her along to Norwich. Well, I managed to find the key of the garage and the lorry driver, Williams his name was, and I ran the car in and locked the door. This having been done, ablative, absolute, I suggested that it was a very cold night,
williams agreed and said he didn't mind if he did so i took them both indoors and mixed them a stiff whisky and water each there wasn't any soda and naturally the whole thing had left me very cold too i hadn't an overcoat on Up to now I hadn't seriously considered the young woman. For one thing it had been dark and there had been a seized engine to look at.
I'm afraid that's not a very gallant remark. What I mean is that to anyone of the mechanical mind a motor-car in that condition is much more interesting than a... Well, it is very interesting. But why labour the point? However, in the sitting-room, in the lamplight, it was possible to get more of an idea. She was a little older than I'd thought, and her eyes were too close together.
Of course, she wasn't a... how shall I put it? Her manners weren't quite easy, and she was careful with her English, you know. But that wasn't it. She treated us with a lack of friendliness which was, well, we'd done nothing to deserve it.
there was a sort of vague hostility and suspicion which seemed rather hard lines considering also she was so anxious to keep in the shadow that if i hadn't moved the lamp away she'd never have got to the fire at all And the way she hurried the wretched Williams over his drink was quite distressing, and foolish too, as he was going to drive. But that was her funnel.
When he'd gone out to start up his engine, I asked her if she was all right for money, and she apparently was. Then they started off, and I shut up the place and went upstairs. There happened to be a local guide-book in my bedroom with maps in it. I looked at these and couldn't help wondering where the girl in the car had come from. I mean, my road seemed so very unimportant.
The sort of road one might use if one wanted to avoid people. If one were driving a stolen car, for instance. This was quite a thrilling idea. I thought it might be worth while having another look at the car, so I once more unhooked the key from the kitchen dresser and sallied forth into the snow. It was as black as pitch, and so still that my candle hardly flickered.
It wasn't a large garage, and the car nearly filled it. By the bye we'd backed it in so as to make it easy to tow it out again.
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