Free BLINDFOLD by Lyndon Stacey Page B

the Norton with reluctant admiration.
    Gideon's sense of humour came sidling back.
    `But your brother's bike is better,' he suggested, with the ghost of a smile.
    `Well, it will be,' the urchin asserted, `when he gets it going. He's gonna take me out on it.'
    `So, where's your brother now?' Gideon asked, feeling that it was high time somebody else took responsibility for the brat. He looked back at the driveway from which the child had hurtled. `Is that where you live?'
    He was rewarded with a look of deep scorn. `Me! Live there? Get real!f
    'Well, where then?' Gideon asked with what he felt was commendable patience. `And what were you doing in there, if you don't live there?F
    'None of your business.'
    `No, I guess not,' he agreed. `But I expect whoever lives there would be interested to hear what you've got to say.'
    The child regarded him sullenly for a long moment. `I was looking for my dog,' he said finally. `He saw a squirrel and ran off. I went after him but this man chased me.'
    `What man?'
    `The man that came out of the house. He 'ad a stick,' he added for good measure.
    `What were you doing?' Gideon asked suspiciously.
    `Nothin'. Just trying to catch Tyke. I didn't touch anythin'. Honest!'
    If Gideon thought the child's denial was a little too vehement, he kept it to himself.
    `Well, we'd better go and see if we can find this dog, then,' he said reluctantly. `But if I find you've been lying to me, I'll hand you over to the man with the stick!'
    The blue eyes widened and the curls shook. `I haven'. Honest!' Wondering what he'd let himself in for, Gideon wheeled the Norton back along the lane and into the curving driveway, where he propped it on its stand, screened from the road by the hedge. As they set off towards the house they exchanged names and he learned that the diminutive figure determinedly trying to match strides with him went by the name of Jez and purported to be twelve years old. This last he doubted, but he held his peace.
    Jez had been in favour of approaching the building commandostyle, under cover of the shrubbery, calling the dog as they went; a notion that Gideon dismissed in no uncertain manner. His involvement in the whole affair was uncomfortable enough as it was and wouldn't be helped in any way, shape or form by being discovered skulking in the undergrowth. Jez was visibly disappointed.
    The house, when reached, proved to be sizeable. Not quite on the scale of Graylings Priory but not far short. An unlovely, grey block of a building, it sat squarely in a sea of mown lawns and dormant rhododendrons, with rows of shuttered windows like closed eyes, repelling unwelcome visitors. Above the double front doors a stone bore the carved inscription Lyddon Grange.
    Gideon mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. Nobody came.
    `Let's go,' Jez suggested.
    `No.' Gideon shook his head firmly. `We came for the dog. We'll get the dog.' A suspicion occurred. `There is a dog?' he said, fixing Jez with a warning eye.
    The curls nodded vigorously. `Of course there is!'
    Gideon took time to glance around him. On a sweep of gravel to his right a number of vehicles were parked, among them a gleaming Jaguar, a powerful sports saloon and a blue van with Barratt the Boiler Man emblazoned on the side, along with a childish representation of a boiler gushing smoke, and a telephone number. Gideon leaned on the bell again.
    On the third ring the door opened. The man behind it was of medium height and heavy build, with short-cropped hair, tattoos and an earring. He looked as though he might well be ex-Forces. `Yes?' His tone was decidedly short on welcome.
    `Sorry to bother you. We're looking for a dog that ran in here. It's a-' Gideon looked round helplessly for Jez and found him standing at the foot of the steps almost out of sight behind the wall. `A sheepdog,' Jez supplied. `A puppy.'
    `A sheepdog puppy,' he confirmed, turning back to the door. `Well, I haven't got it, have I? What does this look like? Battersea bloody