Sentence The Onehundredandseventyfourth
Tabby reached the pavement first, not surprisingly, as Tavish had misjudged his leap from the first floor window and had entangled himself in a pair of hanging baskets, brightly decked out in a profusion of colourful floral displays; “oh, Tavish,” sighed Tabby as she reached up for his swinging ankles and he released his grip on the swaying baskets and dropped to the pavement, his fall broken by Tabby's arms; “did you see them, Tabby?” he gasped, breathless already, “no, dear heart,” she conceded, “the bus-stop is just down the road and he must have seen it as it left the Square, so it was heading West, and most buses go by way of the BGH, but we have no car,” she reminded him,” and he acknowledged that they had no official authority to commandeer one, “ah,” said Tavish, as the plan unravelled in his mind, “there is still a way,” and he collapsed in the road, barely leaving an oncoming driver sufficient time to stop without running over him; the driver, ashen, climbed out of his car, “quick, darling,” she ordered, “help me get him in and take us to the Hospital, we don't have time to get an ambulance, or he's a goner!” and the driver did exactly as Tabby ordered him, for Tavish's plan was the best hope they had of minimaxing the situation; on the short drive, Tavish explained that when they reached the Hospital, Tabby was to dash for the bus and board it, keeping an eye and ear open for 'Oi' as Tavish had already code-named their Target, using his self-employed autonomasia, although it had been first coined by his 'employer'; meanwhile, Tavish would tumble through the main entrance, eyes and ears attuned to every sound or movement which would tell him if their target had already entered – but, as it was, they passed the Bus just before it reached the turning into the Hospital Drive and were both, therefore, ready to leap out as the car screeched to a stop outside A&E; the poor bemused driver was left scratching his head in wonder as the collapsed man made a complete and rapid recovery and, leaping from the car as a deer over a style, both he and Tabby reached the bus-stop as the doors opened; only a couple of elderly ladies disembarked, so both former spycatchers paid their fares to Galashiels – the destination shown on it's board, and began sizing up the passengers: first, Tavish focussed on the man in the cat-bird seat, right beside the emergency exit; Tabby, meanwhile, had climbed to the upper deck and so didn't see what happened below, but she heard the shout, the shot, the cry, the shrieking of the brakes, she felt the lurch, threw herself between the seats and held on tight as the bus swayed, tilted at an impossible angle and then, in the slowest of slow motions, crashed down on it's side, still travelling forward, and in the ensuing cacophony of metal on tarmac, screams of terror and pain, honking of car horns and shattering of glass which rained down on the passengers, she lost consciousness as one jagged splinter sliced her neck; on the lower deck, Tavish, who had been rooted to the spot at his recognition of the heavy-set,
bearded, tweedy country gentleman who, as soon as their eyes locked, had realised he was cornered and had drawn his pistol and then, as his left hand unlocked the emergency exit and he launched himself from the moving bus, fired the shot with his right which took his twin brother high in the chest and panicked the driver, causing the bus to skid and topple over; neither Tabby nor Tavish was conscious when the Ambulance arrived just minutes later, called by the distressed Driver who, tearful and scared, believed himself responsible for the accident, until the full story began to emerge with the discovery that the heavy-set, bearded, tweedy country gentleman, who carried papers identifying him as an MI5 Operative (as did the small, pretty woman on the upper deck, whose neck had been sliced, dangerously close to her carotid artery) had suffered a single gunshot wound, which had nicked the upper, left chamber of his heart; but with them both unconscious and on their way to Intensive Care, and their friends still in the King's Arms quite unaware of what had happened, no-one remembered the other heavy-set, bearded, tweedy passenger who had disappeared, until one of the motorists who had been just behind the bus, in his statement to the Police, mentioned him; and it was a full two hours later, that the incomparably diligent WPC Isa Urquhart, alerted by the Incident Notice naming Tavish and Tabby as having been injured, managed to obtain access to the Bus Company's CCTV and saw exactly what had happened – but even she still didn't know why!
Tabby reached the pavement first, not surprisingly, as Tavish had misjudged his leap from the first floor window and had entangled himself in a pair of hanging baskets, brightly decked out in a profusion of colourful floral displays; “oh, Tavish,” sighed Tabby as she reached up for his swinging ankles and he released his grip on the swaying baskets and dropped to the pavement, his fall broken by Tabby's arms; “did you see them, Tabby?” he gasped, breathless already, “no, dear heart,” she conceded, “the bus-stop is just down the road and he must have seen it as it left the Square, so it was heading West, and most buses go by way of the BGH, but we have no car,” she reminded him,” and he acknowledged that they had no official authority to commandeer one, “ah,” said Tavish, as the plan unravelled in his mind, “there is still a way,” and he collapsed in the road, barely leaving an oncoming driver sufficient time to stop without running over him; the driver, ashen, climbed out of his car, “quick, darling,” she ordered, “help me get him in and take us to the Hospital, we don't have time to get an ambulance, or he's a goner!” and the driver did exactly as Tabby ordered him, for Tavish's plan was the best hope they had of minimaxing the situation; on the short drive, Tavish explained that when they reached the Hospital, Tabby was to dash for the bus and board it, keeping an eye and ear open for 'Oi' as Tavish had already code-named their Target, using his self-employed autonomasia, although it had been first coined by his 'employer'; meanwhile, Tavish would tumble through the main entrance, eyes and ears attuned to every sound or movement which would tell him if their target had already entered – but, as it was, they passed the Bus just before it reached the turning into the Hospital Drive and were both, therefore, ready to leap out as the car screeched to a stop outside A&E; the poor bemused driver was left scratching his head in wonder as the collapsed man made a complete and rapid recovery and, leaping from the car as a deer over a style, both he and Tabby reached the bus-stop as the doors opened; only a couple of elderly ladies disembarked, so both former spycatchers paid their fares to Galashiels – the destination shown on it's board, and began sizing up the passengers: first, Tavish focussed on the man in the cat-bird seat, right beside the emergency exit; Tabby, meanwhile, had climbed to the upper deck and so didn't see what happened below, but she heard the shout, the shot, the cry, the shrieking of the brakes, she felt the lurch, threw herself between the seats and held on tight as the bus swayed, tilted at an impossible angle and then, in the slowest of slow motions, crashed down on it's side, still travelling forward, and in the ensuing cacophony of metal on tarmac, screams of terror and pain, honking of car horns and shattering of glass which rained down on the passengers, she lost consciousness as one jagged splinter sliced her neck; on the lower deck, Tavish, who had been rooted to the spot at his recognition of the heavy-set,
bearded, tweedy country gentleman who, as soon as their eyes locked, had realised he was cornered and had drawn his pistol and then, as his left hand unlocked the emergency exit and he launched himself from the moving bus, fired the shot with his right which took his twin brother high in the chest and panicked the driver, causing the bus to skid and topple over; neither Tabby nor Tavish was conscious when the Ambulance arrived just minutes later, called by the distressed Driver who, tearful and scared, believed himself responsible for the accident, until the full story began to emerge with the discovery that the heavy-set, bearded, tweedy country gentleman, who carried papers identifying him as an MI5 Operative (as did the small, pretty woman on the upper deck, whose neck had been sliced, dangerously close to her carotid artery) had suffered a single gunshot wound, which had nicked the upper, left chamber of his heart; but with them both unconscious and on their way to Intensive Care, and their friends still in the King's Arms quite unaware of what had happened, no-one remembered the other heavy-set, bearded, tweedy passenger who had disappeared, until one of the motorists who had been just behind the bus, in his statement to the Police, mentioned him; and it was a full two hours later, that the incomparably diligent WPC Isa Urquhart, alerted by the Incident Notice naming Tavish and Tabby as having been injured, managed to obtain access to the Bus Company's CCTV and saw exactly what had happened – but even she still didn't know why!
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