But I had no time to linger, since this mill was obviously a bad
hiding-place. Anyone looking for me would naturally follow the
lade, and I made certain the search would begin as soon as they
found that my body was not in the storeroom. From another
window I saw that on the far side of the mill stood an old stone
dovecot. If I could get there without leaving tracks I might find a
hiding-place, for I argued that my enemies, if they thought I could
move, would conclude I had made for open country, and would go
seeking me on the moor.
I crawled down the broken ladder, scattering chaff behind me to
cover my footsteps. I did the same on the mill floor, and on the
threshold where the door hung on broken hinges. Peeping out, I
saw that between me and the dovecot was a piece of bare cobbled
ground, where no footmarks would show. Also it was mercifully
hid by the mill buildings from any view from the house. I slipped
across the space, got to the back of the dovecot and prospected a
way of ascent.
That was one of the hardest jobs I ever took on. My shoulder
and arm ached like hell, and I was so sick and giddy that I was
always on the verge of falling. But I managed it somehow. By the
use of out-jutting stones and gaps in the masonry and a tough ivy
root I got to the top in the end. There was a little parapet behind
which I found space to lie down.
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