Chapter 13 The Man on Putney Hill
I spent that night in the pub that stands on the top of Putnev Hill, sleeping in a made bed for the first time since I had run away to Leatherhead. I broke into the house - and afterwards found that the front door was unlocked. I searched every room for food until, when I was ready to give up, 1 found some bread and two tins of fruit in one of the bedrooms. The place had already been searched and emptied. Later, in the bar, I found some sandwiches that no one had noticed. I ate some of these and put the rest in my pockets.
I lit no lamps, afraid that a Martian might come through that part of London looking for food in the night. Before I went to bed I was very restless and went from window to window, looking out for some sign of them. I slept little. As I lay in bed, I found myself thinking of the killing of the curate.
I had no regrets about this, but in the stillness of the night, with a sense that God was near, I thought again of every part of our conversation from the time we had first met. We had been unable to co-operate. If I had known, I would have left him at Walton, but I had not been able to see ahead. Nobody saw me kill him, but I have described it here and the reader can make a judgement.
The morning was bright and fine and there were little golden clouds in the eastern sky In the road that runs from the top of Putney Hill to Wimbledon many things had been left behind by the crowds that ran towards London on the Sunday night after the fighting began. There was a little two-wheeled cart with a broken wheel. It had the name of a shop written on it. There was a hat lying in the mud, and a lot of broken glass with blood on it.