ONE
In just over an hour and twenty minutes Joseph GreenwoOd
would be dead.
The sleet on the windscreen could turn into snow， he
thought miserably， and that was the last thing he wanted in
tl a lonely lane miles from anywhere with no sign of a building，
nor of anyone he could stop and ask the way. Indigestion
nagged at him and he felt in the glove compartment for the
peppermints again. He tried to remember how long ago tt
was when he d last eaten and gave it up.
The day had been like one of a hundred others on the road，
stopping at all his usual places and eating a sandwich when
I he could， and only then if he found a pub open at the right
time. If things had gone as he d planned he would have been
~ well on the way back to London by now. But that was before
i he d seen the photograph. He thought ruefully of the hot bath
~ he had planned before being entertained at one of the best
restaurants in London. Too late now， at least he d been lucky
~- to find a phone-box that was working and cancel the appoint-
merit. You didn t upset buyers if you could help it， and if this
n- turned out to be a wild goose chase， well， it wouldn t be the
first time.
Another mile， and it was snowing in earnest now， so that
I the signpost was barely legible. One arm said \"Wangf~rd
half a mile\" and the other\"Warren Lane.\" Warren Lane--
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