Clemie's Monologue

The weeds grew tall in the front garden of 6 Beach Hut Cottages. Clemmie picked her way with care along the rutted path as she didn’t want to trip and fall. After all, she would be no use with a sprained ankle, or worse still, a broken nose.
When she reached the front step, she put her ear to the door. For a while, she listened for the clatter of pots and pans, a strident voice, or even a kettle whistle boil. But apart from the resounding thuds deep in her chest, there was no other sound. In fact, the silence made her blood run cold.
Then she felt a tingle run down her spine and with one hand braced against the wall, Clemmie spun around.
‘Who is there?’ she whispered.
Yet, her paranoia soon faded and she stifled a chuckle. Because from the
There were mouldy walls, mouldy carpets, mouldy everything. Even the mould was mouldy.
Yes, it was one of those houses where you wiped your feet on the way out.
For once, Clemmie didn’t stop to linger. She strode to the side table where she saw last the code machine but stood there flummoxed as it was nowhere to be seen. So, she opened the top drawer, then the next, and then the next. Despite searching high and low, it seemed like the code machine had vanished off the face of the earth. Where could it be?
Her shoulders slumped forward dejectedly as her gaze swept the room one final time. What have I missed? she asked herself.
And then she saw it right in front of her eyes.
Of course!
A film of dust covered the floor. But there was one floorboard which was shiny and clean, as if it had recently been moved. And when she used a knife to lift the plank, she gave a huge sigh of relief. Great Aunt Hortensia had tucked the code machine inside the hole, wrapped in a thick layer of oilskin
'Two down, one to go!'
Together with a torch, she ran to the top of the cliff and fifteen minutes later, found the beacon Grump had built. She could hardly miss it since it was five-foot tall, just a few inches taller than her own four-foot-six.
One by one, she threw the planks off the cliff. They hurtled a hundred feet below to where they crashed to the shore, not that she could hear them, of course, since she dreaded standing too close to the edge.
And when she had finished, she kicked up the flattened grass then rubbed her hands together in glee. Her job was now complete and all she could do was wait.
Lord Fox would be so proud of her.
The day turned to dusk when the men arrived in the heart of the village. And for their first job, they had to steal a vehicle. Not a posh or top-notch car. Neither did they want a souped-up bath tub with five gears, fuel injection, and a musical horn which played Pop Goes the Weasel like an ice cream