He piled up the stove with logs. The stove drew even better than it had ever done before. He fed Towser and made dinner for himself.
What had he left in life? he thought. Demoted back to constable, no more Priscilla, back to his old life. The wind howled outside and snow whispered against the window-panes. The stove roared and glowed red, steak sizzled in the pan, and suddenly the police station seemed a refuge against a naughty world outside.
“Yes, I’m ‘back to where I was,” said Hamish to Towser. He turned the steak in the pan and began to whistle.
§
THE END