Free 3 Inspector Hobbes and the Gold Diggers by Wilkie Martin Page B

response, so, I crawled inside.
    ‘Hello!’ I cried, my voice muffled.
    ‘Are you shouting to me?’
    I jumped, headbutted the low ceiling and groaned. Puzzled, but relieved, I reversed into the daylight.
    ‘Umm … how did you get here?’
    ‘It’s like a labyrinth in there,’ said Hobbes. ‘I came out another way.’
    As I stood up, I considered punching him, and might have, had I believed it would hurt him more than it hurt me. Instead, I put the kettle on and, with a flourish like a stage magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he produced a large, brown paper parcel from the rucksack. Inside was bread, cheese, pickles and salad, and two of Mrs Goodfellow’s best china plates. I couldn’t help thinking that he’d really catch it if we broke one.
    I could barely restrain myself until it was time to eat and, as Hobbes passed me a plate, I fell to eating, like a wolf on the fold. Hobbes was more restrained, and Dregs was disappointed to get only water. The bread was fresh, crusty and fragrant, the Sorenchester cheese sweet and tangy, and the pickle pungent and perfect.
    Hobbes, having filled two mugs with tea and given me one, took a slurp from the other. ‘You’d better make the most of it. There’s a meat pie for supper and after that we’ll have to rely on what we can find or catch.’
    ‘What,’ I asked, staring at the desolate, empty landscape, ‘is there to eat around here?’
    ‘There are rabbits, hares, hedgehogs, stoats, fish, ducks and all sorts of roots and things. And there may still be wild strawberries, if we’re really lucky.’
    ‘But, how will we, umm … you catch them?’
    ‘Strawberries don’t usually require much catching,’ he said, smiling. ‘As for the others I will use stealth, cunning, and possibly a rock. If we’re unlucky, there are emergency rations in Dregs’s pannier.’
    ‘What are the chances we’ll need them?’
    ‘We’ll see.’
    Although his answer failed to reassure me, I experienced the sudden realisation that I didn’t not want to be there and that I would have hated giving up on the life adventurous. Sometimes, I doubted my own sanity, because when things became dark, dangerous and uncomfortable, as was frequent when Hobbes was around, I still wanted to be there. I had sometimes cursed myself for not sticking to safe, familiar ways, but not often.
    Having rested and eaten my fill, I was in a fairly cheerful mood as we set off again, finding the going far easier on my feet than yesterday’s road had been. It was hard to believe that had only been a day ago.
    ‘Where, exactly, are we heading?’ I asked breathlessly, having caught up.
    ‘Straddlingate.’
    ‘I know, but what is it? A camp site? Or a village?’
    ‘It’s a valley with an old quarry and some mine workings. It’s said there was gold in these here hills, long ago.’
    ‘Why are we going there in particular?’
    ‘Something, I’m not sure what, is drawing me back. Possibly, it’s because I always felt comfortable there, even though it can be a fearful place.’
    ‘Fearful? What d’you mean?’
    ‘I don’t know exactly. Careful where you tread; that’s a bog asphodel and it’s quite rare.’
    Looking down, I avoided crushing a plant with small orangey capsules and smooth stems, but only by stepping into a patch of thick, stinking, bubbling mud.
    ‘Well done,’ said Hobbes, as I extricated myself. ‘Let’s get a move on.’
    As we strode deeper into the bleakness, he occasionally stooped to throw a stick for Dregs. Where Dregs had found a stick in such a desolate landscape was a mystery, but he was really in his element, his long legs making light work of the rough terrain.
    It was a lot later when I realised that Hobbes had distracted me from questioning him about Straddlingate. Still, I reasoned that the company I was in would keep me fairly safe.
    Hobbes stopped and pointed. ‘Did you see them?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The stoats.’
    ‘No.’
    He shrugged and carried on. I was