cupboards, boxes, even the pockets of the clothes in
my wardrobe, and the sideboard in the dining-room.
There was no trace of the book. Most likely the enemy
had found it, but they had not found it on Scudder's
body.

Then I got out an atlas and looked at a big map of the
British Isles. My notion was to get off to some wild
district, where my veldcraft would be of some use to
me, for I would be like a trapped rat in a city. I
considered that Scotland would be best, for my people
were Scotch and I could pass anywhere as an ordinary
Scotsman. I had had an idea at first to be a German
tourist, for my father had had German partners, and I
had been brought up to speak the tongue pretty
fluently, not to mention having put in three years
prospecting for copper in German Damaraland. But I
calculated that it would be less conspicuous to be a
Scot, and less in a line with what the police might know
of my past. I fixed on Galloway as the best place to go
to. It was the nearest wild part of Scotland, so far as I
could figure it out, and from the look of the map was
not over thick with population.

A search in Bradshaw informed me that a train left St.
Pancras at 7.10, which would land me at any Galloway
station in the late afternoon. That was well enough, but
a more important matter was how I was to make my
way to St. Pancras, for I was pretty certain that
Scudder's friends would be watching outside. This
puzzled me for a bit; then I had an inspiration, on
which I went to bed and slept for two troubled hours.

I got up at four and opened my bedroom shutters. The
faint light of a fine summer morning was flooding the
skies, and the sparrows had begun to chatter. I had a
great revulsion of feeling, and felt a God-forgotten fool.
My inclination was to let things slide, and trust to the
British police taking a reasonable view of my case. But
as I reviewed the situation I could find no arguments
to bring against my decision of the previous night, so
with a wry mouth I resolved to go on with my plan. I
was not feeling in any particular funk; only disinclined
to go looking for trouble, if you understand me.

I hunted out a well-used tweed suit, a pair of strong
nailed boots, and a flannel shirt with a collar. Into my
pockets I stuffed a spare shirt, a cloth cap, some
handkerchiefs, and a toothbrush. I had drawn a good
sum in gold from the bank two days before, in case
Scudder should want money, and I took fifty pounds of
it in sovereigns in a belt which I had brought back from
Rhodesia. That was about all I wanted. Then I had a
bath, and cut my moustache, which was long and
drooping, into a short stubby fringe.

Now came the next step. Paddock used to arrive
punctually at 7.30 and let himself in with a latch-key.
But about twenty minutes to seven, as I knew from
bitter experience, the milkman turned up with a great
clatter of cans, and deposited my share outside my
door. I had seen that milkman sometimes when I had
gone out for an early ride. He was a young man about
my own height, with an ill-nourished moustache, and
he wore a white overall. On him I staked all my
chances.

I went into the darkened smoking-room where the rays
of morning light were beginning to creep through the
shutters. There I breakfasted off a whisky-and-soda
and some biscuits from the cupboard. By this time it
was getting on for six o'clock. I put a pipe in my pocket
and filled my pouch from the tobacco jar on the table
by the fireplace.

As I poked into the tobacco my fingers touched
something hard, and I drew out Scudder's little black
pocket-book  ....

That seemed to me a good omen. I lifted the cloth
from the body, and was amazed at the peace and
dignity of the dead face. "Good-bye, old chap," I said: "I
am going to do my best for you. Wish me well,
wherever you are."

Then I hung about in the hall waiting for the milkman.
That was the worst part of the business, for I was fairly
choking to get out of doors. Six-thirty passed, then six-
forty, but still he did not come. The fool had chosen
this day of all days to be late.

At one minute after the quarter to seven I heard the
rattle of the cans outside. I opened the front door, and
there was my man, singling out my cans from a bunch
he carried and whistling through his teeth. He jumped
a bit at the sight of me.

"Come in here a moment," I said. "I want a word with
you." And I led him into the dining-room.