Accused

Hideaway

"Well, why didn't they just shoot 'im when 'e was runnin' away?"

The man sighed and rolled his eyes at his companion. "They can't bloody well shoot a suspect, ya dolt!"

"Oi! Watch yer language!  This is a respectable establishment!  Wif ladies."

Elsie looked intently into her tea and tried not to seem as if she was listening to the conversation of the two labourers sitting at the table near her.  She was in a tearoom, having a light snack, after running some errands.  Two days had passed since her encounter with Edwin Bridle.  At that moment, she hung on every word the two men were saying.

"Do ya think the police'll catch 'im soon?"

"I dunno, probably.  According t' the papers, 'he took some food with 'im, but once that runs out, 'e'll be a goner.  He'll either starve t' death or be forced inter the open."

The men moved on to other subjects, but Elsie was no longer paying attention.  Sudden anxiety had pressed upon her.  She knew almost for certain, that Bridle had already run out of food. He had now, unless she was mistaken, gone 48 hours without eating anything.  And, she realised with a jolt, it was her fault.

Compassion washed over her for the bright young man she had seen in the moor.  Although she rarely judged a book by its cover, she had gone over what she knew about the man's character.  She had come to the realisation that in all likelihood, he could be innocent.  He was a suspect, but that was no reason to let him starve.  At any rate, she could study this man more; see whether he seemed the kind to kill in cold blood.  Her curiosity was a major factor in the decision she made next. 

Elsie wasn't one to falter once she had made up her mind to do something.  She knew what she must do, and she did it.

Paying her bill, she walked out of the teahouse and threw her groceries into her car.  Expertly spinning the front-crank, she hopped into the driver's seat and sped off towards the other end of town.  She made one stop before making her way out of the town and along the road to the moor.

She reached the large boulder with the gorse bushes, which marked the place where she had seen the suspect last.  She stopped and parked her car. Exiting her vehicle and shouldering a pack, Elsie walked around the rock.

She found no one.  The space behind the rock was empty.  Bridle had gone.  There were only a few yellow gorse flowers scattered about the old hiding place.  She tried to look through the bushes to see if the young man had left anything, but all she got for her pains were several thorn pricks.

Sucking her bleeding fingers, Elsie wandered about the moor.  After half an hour of fruitless searching, she stood still and pondered.

If she were a criminal... no not a criminal, she told herself, just running away from the police, where would she go?  She spotted a spinney in the far distance.  The police had looked for their quarry there; it was across the road and about a half a mile from the wood where Bridle had escaped.  A memory came of playing hide-and-seek with her friends.  She could recall many times she had won by sneaking out of one hiding place and into another, where the seeker had already looked.

Without bothering to retrieve her car, she started off towards the small thicket with great celerity.  When she reached it, she realised that it wasn't as small as she had originally assumed.  It seemed to be about a mile wide.

Her heart sank a little. Most likely, Bridle was hiding at the very center.  Brushing away her frustration, she plunged into the thicket.

After a few minutes, she found a godsend.  A dear path was cutting through the spinney.  If Bridle had gone this way, he would likely have come upon it as well.  Sure enough, as Elsie carefully tread the path, she saw a limp hand sticking out from behind a tree on her right.  She approached it with stealth and stuck her head around the trunk.