Here's a piece taken from a forthcoming publication; Tubular Bridge by Neil Gee. This will be published probably in 2006 or maybe 2007, but preview office prints will be available live on-line through the Infinity Junction website in 2005. Further details now on view at Infinity Junction - Tubular Bridge feature page.

   With weather being so awful I decided to risk leaving for Dinorwic at once, the only precaution being that I rode in fields parallel to roads where possible. The high route through the mountain foothills and Deiniolen village seemed most sensible as I was less likely to encounter anyone by avoiding the much easier route through Llanberis. I left my horse in a field of sheep well away from the quarry and by the time I’d got close enough to recce, it was pretty dark.
   A distinct gust of wind indicated that the previously steady downpour may be about to change and so I approached the quarry entrance with as much haste as was safe. The little office was obvious and so were what looked like the same men I’d seen at Port Dinorwic. While I watched and waited for an opportunity, there were glimpses of lights coming on in Llanberis; the fact that I could see them, albeit only occasionally, proved there were moving pockets of better visibility.
   Two men huddled for shelter under the water tower, another in the mouth of what I assumed was the old drift mine which Mills had told me about. A fourth seemed to be patrolling. At the first chance I climbed quietly over the outer stone wall and waited, wet through and dripping, beginning to feel cold. The patrol man moved away from the office and so I ran into dark cover behind it. There was a degree of shelter here. It wasn’t a help because with no beating rain dominating my thoughts, my mind wandered again; that horrible faceless corpse and other matters.
   The patrolman came near again, I pressed hard against the side wall, then harder still as his steps grew louder. My heart pumped so much with excitement I could hardly control myself. He walked past the back not more than ten feet from me, his face so battered by the rain he was barely looking out. As soon as he was out of earshot I eased my way round the wall, still hugging it, and up to the gutter outlet. Mills must have used a ladder. Of course he was officially on a repair job and had a good excuse to use one. Instead I had to find foot and finger holds on the dripping wet wall and work myself eighteen inches off the ground before feeling under the eaves. The soft touch of leather was a comfort, I pulled the purse out and pushed it straight under my trousers on the inside, pulling the drawstring out and then tying it to my belt.
   It was necessary to wait to make my escape as the rain was easing and sound not so well deadened. What had been solid rain was now more variable, making a getaway trickier by the minute despite falling night.
   A shout in Welsh from the patrolman made me jump. I didn’t know what he said, but apparently it was not about me, it seemed not even about security matters as one of the other guards laughed. It frightened the life out of me for a second.

   I’d only gone a very short way from the quarry when I heard splashing, clopping hooves of two horses approaching, so I jumped over the roadside wall to hide.
   “Check with Wynn,” one rider said in a mild Irish accent.
   I watched the caped horsemen stop at the quarry entrance and the patrolman walked up to them, shading his eyes from rain as he looked up. I followed behind the wall and listened, missing the first part of the conversation but overhearing enough to scare me.
   “... Then we’ll spread the search wider. If he’s professional, he’ll be back for it tonight: he can’t have got it out during work hours. We’ll have whoever the thieving bastard is; blow his brains out and show the others what happens to traitors and spies.”
   Then the riders left, travelling along the lower road on this side of the valley, back north.
   Now I knew for certain there was a search underway and you could bet there’d be more than just these two involved. In fact, with the air clearing very slightly in gusts of wind, I noticed the transient, distant silhouettes of two more riders on the Llanberis side, patrolling the main road there.

   Which roads were they likely to concentrate on first? Here obviously, but they’d just come down the road from Deiniolen so I decided to risk re-tracing my steps that way. It was simply not feasible to ride off the road here in the mountainous area so I was very alert to sounds all around me and stopped every now and then to make sure my horse’s hooves weren’t blotting out crucial evidence.
   Rain was now no longer continuous, but fitful and, apart from the odd squall, lighter. A distinctly wet wind blew from the west, clearing the air but making it rather cold at this altitude, especially as I was still soaking. Then low drizzly cloud drifted in for a short period, blotting out vision beyond twenty yards or so, it blew away quite quickly leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.
   Banking on the search parties concentrating on routes between Port Dinorwic, the camp and the quarry, I chose to ride as far away east of those as the back roads and tracks would allow, hoping to hit Telford’s main road somewhere near Bethesda, well up Ogwen valley. However caution paid off during one of my observation stops when I spotted a patrol not far from Pentir, riding in my direction. That indicated the search had already spread out and my chances of making it to that valley without being spotted were slim. Then I’d follow Johnson and my father to a bloody end...