plantations. It was a good place to lie up in, but unfortunately there
was another and more pressing problem in front of me. Half delirious
as I was, I realized that unless I could find something to eat that
night my career as an escaped convict was pretty near its end.

I picked myself up, and with a great effort managed to drag the
bicycle to the side of the road. Then, clutching the rail that bounded
the plantation, I began to stagger slowly forward along the slightly
raised path. I think I had a sort of vague notion that there might be
something to eat round the next corner.

I had progressed in this fashion for perhaps forty yards, when quite
unexpectedly both the trees and the railings came to an end. I
remained swaying and half incredulous for a moment: then I began to
realize that I was standing in front of an open gate looking up an
exceedingly ill-kept drive. At the end of this drive was a house, and
the moonlight shining full on the front of it showed me that the whole
place had about as forlorn and neglected an appearance as an inhabited
building could very well possess. That it was inhabited there could be
no doubt, for in the small glass square above the hall door I could
see a feeble glimmer of light.

No one could have called it an inviting-looking place, but then I
wasn't exactly waiting for invitations where a chance of food was
concerned. I just slipped in at the gate, and keeping well in the
shadow of the bushes that bounded the drive, I crept slowly and
unsteadily forward until I reached a point opposite the front door. I
crouched there for a moment, peering up at the house. Except for that
flickering gas jet there was no sign of life anywhere; all the windows
were shuttered or else in complete darkness.