The village is a long
line of houses forming Main Street, with a few short rows leading off. Main Street is now lined with bulky
television vehicles and two satellite vans are parked on the village green, all
because of Bailey’s discovery.
This
morning two local television crews hammered on our door and asked to film him,
but Richard sent them away, swearing freely, and let Bailey out at the back into
the garden, where he dug a hole in the lawn.
I stay inside, shaking, waiting for the police inspector to arrive. Through the window I can see two officers following Bailey around the maples, hoping to discover where he buries his treasures; but Bailey does not usually bury things as he prefers to eat them straightaway. One of the policemen tells me they may have to arrest him.
I can’t tell whether or not he is joking.
