Free Going It Alone by Michael Innes

been such as to restore the energies wrested from him by the fatigues of the preceding day. Nevertheless he sprang out of bed, hastened to the window, groped for the catch, flung up the sash, thrust out his head. There was nothing out of the way to be seen. Had there been, he’d still not have seen it – the moon having dipped over the horizon and departed.
    But now Gilbert Averell was entirely collected, and very well able to decide that his dream – or at least his awakening from it – had been controlled by some actual event in the external world. And he could do one of two things: either stick his head under the bedclothes and endeavour to go to sleep again, or proceed to investigate forthwith. Finding that he was decidedly for the latter course, he switched on the bedroom light. The first object his eye fell upon was Tim Barcroft’s shotgun. It had quite a reassuring look.
    But, of course, he wouldn’t have a notion of how to fire the thing. Were he to attempt to do so, no pepperings, no howlings would result. Realizing this – and realizing, too, that whatever had happened afforded some colour to the disturbing notions in Tim’s head – Averell picked up the gun, opened his door, and went quietly along the corridor to Tim’s room. The moment had come when he and his nephew must tackle something together.
    ‘Oh, bother!’ Tim said, when given a good shake. ‘I was having a marvellous dream.’ He sat up in bed. ‘What’s the matter, Uncle Gilbert? Are you ill?’
    ‘Be quiet, Tim.’ Averell found that he was whispering. ‘And listen.’ And he gave an account of his disconcerting experience. Tim listened intently, scrambling into his dressing gown and a pair of shoes the while.
    ‘We’ll take a look,’ Tim said decidedly. ‘Go on the offensive. It’s the only thing.’
    ‘Very well.’
    ‘And give me that gun, for goodness sake. You look like a Yeoman of the Guard with his halberd or something. There are a couple of electric torches in the hall.’
    They crept downstairs, leaving Ruth and her daughters apparently undisturbed. Each armed with a torch, they went out through the front door, which Tim locked behind him. There was a clear sky, with all the proper constellations available for study had they been disposed to it. Nevertheless it was extremely dark, and Averell rapidly developed a sense that their foray could only be of a random and unconsidered sort. If there was no intruder around any longer, there was nothing to be done – except, of course, ring up the police and report the matter, which Tim was unwilling to do. But, if, on the other hand, Tim’s belief in the probability of some violent attack had any basis at all, mucking around with torches in the dark was simply to create sitting (or almost sitting) targets in the most foolhardy manner. Messrs Barcroft and Averell, in fact, would have to improve their technique considerably if they were to keep their end up against mysterious adversaries while going it alone.
    They turned a corner of the house, much as Averell had done during his earlier adventure that afternoon. And at once drama confronted them.
    Drama confronted them in the light of Tim’s torch, which was shining full upon a man out of a newspaper. It was thus that Averell instantly and not very accurately conceived the matter, since it is rather in TV playlets that one is being glared at through a stocking or similar filmy integument. The man now doing this ought perhaps to have been pointing a revolver or brandishing a bludgeon. Oddly enough, his immediate impulse upon being thus suddenly bathed in light appeared to be defensive or evasive. He took a blundering sideways step which landed him rather heavily against the wall of the house. Something painful must have resulted, since he gave a yelp of mingled agony, indignation, and alarm. He then dodged first to one side and then to the other, much in the manner of a three-quarter proposing to evade a couple of lumbering