"Yes," I said, "hop on!"
The detective clambered aboard the police car. He gave me a look that
I'll always remember. A sort of sneer and a sort of smile. "Good luck,
Simpson," he said.
The police car whisked away.
Five minutes to nine.
I wheeled and ran to the livestock hold. The hatch was about shut and I
knew it was too late. 'Goodbye, my darlings! Goodbye!'
Then the hatch jammed and could not close the last six inches and I saw
the reason. A steer had broken loose and charged the door. His head was
caught in the opening. His neck had snapped instantly and he was dead.
They re-opened the hatch long enough to fling the thousand-pound
carcass onto the field. And that was all the time I needed to come
aboard.