CHAPTER 30
As the sound of the Sycamore carrying Donald Forbes receded into the distance and the sun broke through the clouds to cast an aura of warmth and brightness over the village, in the home of Police Constable Keith Greaves, the policeman and Michael Sweeney looked up for a second, though their eyes found only the ceiling of the policeman’s kitchen. They’d been talking for some time, being served fresh tea from time to time by Greaves’s wife, Tilly, accompanied by freshly baked scones laced with butter and jam. Tilly had made them herself as usual, though the butter supply was growing critical. She thought that the men deserved it though. Soon they’d be reduced to using the margarine that she kept on a shelf in the cool of the pantry. Tilly wished that she and Keith could buy one o
