Read Bury in Haste for Free Online

back, and the incident had made a deep impression upon him. Warily he jerked the handle round. Nothing happened.
    By the sixth attempt Deepbriar was red in the face and running out of breath. He removed his gloves, spat on his hands and took a firmer grip. This time he flung all of his considerable weight into the task. He met resistance and exerted more force. The handle spun then stopped abruptly. Caught off guard Deepbriar slipped in the mud and sat down hard.
    The Atkinson, having given a rather amused cough, juddered a little. The engine spluttered and the machine rocked rhythmically, blue smoke belching from the exhaust. Deepbriar hastily lifted his bicycle alongside the recumbent Spraggs, climbed into the cab and sat down, instantly discovering why Joe had used the cushion, as a metal protrusion dug into an area already tender as a result of his fall.
    Ignoring the discomfort, the constable studied the controls; it looked simple enough. He released the hand brake and put a tentative foot on the right hand pedal. The engine coughed again, derisively. Recalling that the vehicle had to be in gear in order to move, Deepbriar waggled the gear lever. The Atkinson screeched in torment, and the constable snatched his hand back as if it had been scalded.
    Deepbriar thought, staring at the various buttons and levers. Finally he looked beneath his feet. Of course. There was another pedal. He had to engage the clutch. Pressing down with his left foot, he tried the gear lever again, and it settled into a new position. He let out a pent-up breath, and eased his left foot up, while gradually increasing the weight on the right.
    The elderly lorry leapt forward with a snort, like a startled horse. Deepbriar, clinging hard to the wheel and wincing at the pressure on his rear end, thrust both feet to the floorboards. The engine roared but the vehicle rolled to a halt. He then lifted his foot from the accelerator. Grumbling throatily, the engine subsided.
    His second attempt sent the lorry hurtling through the open gates, the cab shuddering around him, before he once more thrust his size ten boots to the floor.
    He decided to experiment with another gear, stirring the ancient lever until it settled again. This proved to be less than successful, since his next leap was made backwards, the Atkinson’s mudguard barely missing the gate post.
    The constable took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and tried again. Slowly the Atkinson wheezed forward, its bare tyres skidding a little in the mud as it ground along the rutted lane.
    Knuckles white, forehead creased in concentration, Deepbriar eased the lorry out on to the road and headed it towards Minecliff. It took him twice as long to reach the village as it would have done on his bicycle, but finally the Atkinson arrived outside Dr Smythe’s house. Deepbriar lifted both feet from the pedals, and with a violent jerk the lorry came to a halt and the engine died. At least that solved the problem of how to turn off the motor. He heaved on the hand brake and wiped a film of sweat from his face.
     
    ‘Strange,’ Dr Smythe mused, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. ‘He’s had something he shouldn’t, but I’m blowed if I know what.’
    ‘Poison?’ Deepbriar asked, his eyes widening at the thought. Dick Bland’s last case had involved a triple poisoning; very nasty.
    ‘No, no, just something that’s sent him to sleep, I’d say. He’s showing signs of coming round, though I doubt if you’ll get much sense out of him for an hour or two.’
    ‘All right if I leave him with you then, Doctor? I’ll pop along and see his wife. And mine, come to that,’ Deepbriar added, as his stomach rumbled hungrily. The thought of roast beef made his mouth water, and he’d forgotten his earlier fear that there might be none awaiting him.
    The Doctor nodded. ‘No rush I think. Come back about three. And tell young Emily she can call in a little later, with luck he’ll be able to go home this