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As the door to the kitchen closed with a firm click, I dropped low at once and crept away, pressed tight up to the side of the house, my jacket brushing the brickwork. My heart was thumping and I kept glancing over my shoulder towards the kitchen door, certain that Selkman or Sneijder would step through and find me. When I at last rounded the corner of the building and moved out of immediate sight of the kitchen door, I stopped, with my back pressed hard against the wall, and closed my eyes. Relief washed over me in tingling waves; the risk had paid off and my ability to spring a surprise remained intact.
Having taken several deep breaths and regained some composure, I turned once more to the matter of igniting the fire and, remaining low, to avoid being seen through the dining room windows, I continued along the back of the house until I reached my stack of timbers. With the box of matches in my pocket, everything now seemed set for me to put my plan into action.
But at that moment, the same voices I heard from the kitchen, one a man and the other a woman, appeared to approach the dining room windows, fragments of a conversation growing louder by the second. I cursed my bad fortune at this late stage in proceedings, but had no choice other than to keep my head down and the matches in my pocket, away from the damp of the fog.
What with the cold and damp, that had by now made its way into every part of my clothing and attached itself with much persistence to my skin, and the repeated stressing of my nerves, I began to feel as though if things were not over soon, then I may not last the course. That surge of enthusiasm and energy that had filled me so happily when I settled on my scheme was beginning to wane.
It wasn’t possible for me to make out who was talking in the dining room, the walls and the window deadening the nuance of their voices most effectively, but I was certain they were not far from me. Although my legs had begun to suffer in their squashed and unnatural position, I dare not shift my weight, for fear of giving myself away. I was, therefore, forced to wait things out until, at last, those voices began to move away and, finally, to vanish from my hearing altogether.
As a sensible precaution, I waited another minute or two, straightened out my legs to give them some relief, then edged along to the nearest window and, with great caution, peered inside to ascertain whether or not the coast was clear. I puffed out my cheeks, relieved to see the room empty and no sign that anyone was planning to return.
With immediate danger gone, it was essential that I press on with setting my fire without further delay. It simply wasn’t possible that my luck would hold forever. I moved back to my pile of timbers, where I crouched low, so as to be close to the kindling, then struck up a match. The screwed-up paper that sat at the very bottom of the pile caught almost at once, bright, eager flames leapt high. I smiled in satisfaction at the spectacle. But I could not be complacent, so remained where I was for several minutes, until I was entirely happy that the wood shavings had been taken by the flames and they, in turn, were licking promisingly at the larger timbers, which I could see begin to blacken and smoulder.
My fire looking well set, I checked once more through the dining room window that I would not be seen, then ran the short distance to the workshop, into which I tumbled, pulling the door closed behind me. The tiredness and worry I had felt hiding outside the dining room soon left me entirely and I found myself filled with energy and eagerness once more.
Flames were soon licking high up the wall of the house, smoke tapering off into the foggy sky, while the smell of it drifted across to where I hid, waiting for my opponent to show his face. The anticipation had me restless, unable to stand still and my fingers constantly exercised themselves in readiness for what was to follow.
After five minutes of waiting in vain, I began to grow a little restless. After six, I was somewhat concerned the house would begin to burn. Of Selkman, or anyone else, there had been no sign. No alarmed face at the window, horrified by what they could see. No screams of panic from within. And most definitely no one running towards the flames from the kitchen with the intention of putting out the now fiercely burning fire. Indeed, so strong was the fire by this stage that I could feel the heat upon my face, which did at least fend off some of the cold that had molested me since I had left the warmth of the house.
Finally, as I began to wonder if anyone inside the house would notice the danger, I saw the huge, hulking figure of Selkman peer out of the dining room window. From where I was, he looked little more than a shadow, lit up here and there by the burning light that danced across the crackling timbers. He saw the fire at once, though he would have been hard pushed to miss it, and turned on his heels without a moment’s hesitation. A thrill ran through me as I reached out a hand to take hold of the wooden hammer. Finally, my moment was almost with me. If I could but take down this huge, powerful man then my way would be clear, for I could not see the housekeeper or even Sneijder being able to get the better of me.
I was a little taken aback by the sight of Selkman as he raced round the corner of the house, for he moved somewhat faster than I had given him credit for and looked more certain on his feet than most big men do. He did not hesitate with assessments and appraisals as he reached the burning timbers, but set about them right away, kicking at the base of the bonfire with his feet, trying to dislodge things as best he could and steer them away from the building.
Happily for me, he was a man engrossed in his work entirely. Picking up the wooden hammer and taking a deep breath to better steel myself, I pushed open the workshop door and, without a pause or second thought, walked straight across the ground so as to bring myself up directly behind him. My heart rate and breathing quickened as I closed on him, bringing the hammer up level with my head.
Selkman took a considerable swing at one of the largest timbers with his foot and, as he did so, his body turned a fraction to his left. This movement appeared to provide him with a glimpse of me, for he paused and started to turn his head further in my direction. If I had been a yard or two further away, I may have been in a good degree of trouble and fearing for the worst, but I was almost on top of him and, lifting the hammer higher still, I brought it down on his unnaturally large skull with very nearly as much force as I could manage. I only held back at all because, at the last moment, some little part of me did not want to snuff out the man’s life, despite the danger he presented to me if I did not put him down.
There was a terrible, violent thump, the impact of which rippled up the handle of the hammer and on up my arms, before the weapon fell away to one side. The sound of solid timber on skull was an odd, rather dull thud, that was nothing like they describe it in the more sensational of adventure stories. A short, deep sigh escaped Selkman’s open mouth, then, after a momentary pause, he slumped to the ground as if every one of his bones had been turned to dust. He lay there in an unnatural distortion of a sleeping man, his arms folded under his body.
My blood was up and I stood there, wide-eyed and excited, my hands gripping the handle of the hammer so tightly that the devil himself would not have been able to prise it from them. I am ashamed to admit now that a part of me wanted Selkman to rise up and threaten to set about me, so that I could let him have a second blow and perhaps then a third. Those animal instincts that are buried deep inside us all had taken control of me, of that there was no doubt. It was a most disturbing sensation, both unexpected and unsettling in its nature.
It was fortunate for me that, as I stood there looking down over the prostrate figure of my opponent, my breathing began to settle, my heart rate returned to something more normal and, little by little, I began to take back control of myself. Keeping a grip on the hammer with one hand, I bent down next to Selkman and sought out a pulse. It reminded me of my inadequate attempts to do just that very thing with the farm labourer after the cart had crashed, but on this occasion there was a sense of relief in me when I found a solid enough pulse on the side of Selkman’s neck. He was very much out of the game but still alive, for which I gave thanks to the Heavens.
With Selkman, the only one of my three adversaries that I truly feared, now disposed of, I felt a calmness begin to wash over me. An odd sensation, given the situation I was in at that time, but I welcomed it all the same, for I believed it gave me back my senses and allowed me to make rational decisions again, not ones driven by base, animal instincts.
I stood there for a moment in the silence, interrupted only by the sparking and crackling of what remained of the fire, and wondered what I was to do next. The odd thing was, I hadn’t given my next step a single thought when planning my little ambush on Selkman, which now seemed a somewhat peculiar shortcoming. It was a plan only half devised. But then, as I found myself staring intently into a cluster of flames, a funny thought came to me. It was such a simple and amusing idea that I really couldn’t resist it.
Not wanting to run the risk of the house catching fire, I used the hammer to knock away from the wall the remaining burning timbers, which began, almost at once, to fizzle and die on the wet, cold ground. When that job was completed, I retrieved a length of strong rope from the workshop and proceeded to tie up Selkman in a manner I hoped would hold him secure, should he regain his senses before I was done with his confederates.
The risk of a major fire averted and Selkman secured, I dusted off my sooty clothes and straightened them up, then wiped the worst of the dirt and stains from my hands on the damp grass. All I had to do now was march around to the front of the house and pull vigorously on the doorbell, which is precisely what I did. I suppose it must have been something of a surprise to those inside to hear the doorbell ring, but, whether it was or not, the door was soon opened.
