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CHAPTER TWO The Milkman Sets Out on his Travels
I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick.
That lasted for maybe five minutes, and was succeeded by a fit of the horrors.
The poor staring white face on the floor was more than I could bear, and I managed
to get a table-cloth and cover it. Then I staggered to a cupboard, found the
brandy and swallowed several mouthfuls.
I had seen men die violently before; indeed I had killed a few myself in the Matabele
War; but this cold-blooded indoor business was different.
Still I managed to pull myself together.
I looked at my watch, and saw that it was half-past ten.
An idea seized me, and I went over the flat with a small-tooth comb.
There was nobody there, nor any trace of anybody, but I shuttered and bolted all the
windows and put the chain on the door. By this time my wits were coming back to
me, and I could think again.
It took me about an hour to figure the thing out, and I did not hurry, for, unless
the murderer came back, I had till about six o'clock in the morning for my
cogitations.
I was in the soup--that was pretty clear. Any shadow of a doubt I might have had
about the truth of Scudder's tale was now gone.
The proof of it was lying under the table- cloth.
The men who knew that he knew what he knew had found him, and had taken the best way
to make certain of his silence.
Yes; but he had been in my rooms four days, and his enemies must have reckoned that he
had confided in me. So I would be the next to go.
It might be that very night, or next day, or the day after, but my number was up all
right. Then suddenly I thought of another
probability.
Supposing I went out now and called in the police, or went to bed and let Paddock find
the body and call them in the morning. What kind of a story was I to tell about
Scudder?
I had lied to Paddock about him, and the whole thing looked desperately fishy.
If I made a clean breast of it and told the police everything he had told me, they
would simply laugh at me.
The odds were a thousand to one that I would be charged with the ***, and the
circumstantial evidence was strong enough to hang me.
Few people knew me in England; I had no real pal who could come forward and swear
to my character. Perhaps that was what those secret enemies
were playing for.
They were clever enough for anything, and an English prison was as good a way of
getting rid of me till after June 15th as a knife in my chest.
Besides, if I told the whole story, and by any miracle was believed, I would be
playing their game. Karolides would stay at home, which was
what they wanted.
Somehow or other the sight of Scudder's dead face had made me a passionate believer
in his scheme.
He was gone, but he had taken me into his confidence, and I was pretty well bound to
carry on his work.
You may think this ridiculous for a man in danger of his life, but that was the way I
looked at it.
I am an ordinary sort of fellow, not braver than other people, but I hate to see a good
man downed, and that long knife would not be the end of Scudder if I could play the
game in his place.
It took me an hour or two to think this out, and by that time I had come to a
decision. I must vanish somehow, and keep vanished
till the end of the second week in June.
Then I must somehow find a way to get in touch with the Government people and tell
them what Scudder had told me.
I wished to Heaven he had told me more, and that I had listened more carefully to the
little he had told me. I knew nothing but the barest facts.
There was a big risk that, even if I weathered the other dangers, I would not be
believed in the end.
I must take my chance of that, and hope that something might happen which would
confirm my tale in the eyes of the Government.
My first job was to keep going for the next three weeks.
It was now the 24th day of May, and that meant twenty days of hiding before I could
venture to approach the powers that be.
I reckoned that two sets of people would be looking for me--Scudder's enemies to put me
out of existence, and the police, who would want me for Scudder's ***.
It was going to be a giddy hunt, and it was *** how the prospect comforted me.
I had been slack so long that almost any chance of activity was welcome.
When I had to sit alone with that corpse and wait on Fortune I was no better than a
crushed worm, but if my neck's safety was to hang on my own wits I was prepared to be
cheerful about it.
My next thought was whether Scudder had any papers about him to give me a better clue
to the business.
I drew back the table-cloth and searched his pockets, for I had no longer any
shrinking from the body. The face was wonderfully calm for a man who
had been struck down in a moment.
There was nothing in the breast-pocket, and only a few loose coins and a cigar-holder
in the waistcoat.
The trousers held a little penknife and some silver, and the side pocket of his
jacket contained an old crocodile-skin cigar-case.
There was no sign of the little black book in which I had seen him making notes.
That had no doubt been taken by his murderer.
But as I looked up from my task I saw that some drawers had been pulled out in the
writing-table. Scudder would never have left them in that
state, for he was the tidiest of mortals.
Someone must have been searching for something--perhaps for the pocket-book.
I went round the flat and found that everything had been ransacked--the inside
of books, drawers, 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 half 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.
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 tooth-
brush.
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 stubbly 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. 'Goodbye, 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.
'I reckon you're a bit of a sportsman,' I said, 'and I want you to do me a service.
Lend me your cap and overall for ten minutes, and here's a sovereign for you.'
His eyes opened at the sight of the gold, and he grinned broadly.
'Wot's the gyme?'he asked.
'A bet,' I said. 'I haven't time to explain, but to win it
I've got to be a milkman for the next ten minutes.
All you've got to do is to stay here till I come back.
You'll be a bit late, but nobody will complain, and you'll have that quid for
yourself.'
'Right-o!' he said cheerily. 'I ain't the man to spoil a bit of sport.
'Ere's the rig, guv'nor.'
I stuck on his flat blue hat and his white overall, picked up the cans, banged my
door, and went whistling downstairs.
The porter at the foot told me to shut my jaw, which sounded as if my make-up was
adequate. At first I thought there was nobody in the
street.
Then I caught sight of a policeman a hundred yards down, and a loafer shuffling
past on the other side.
Some impulse made me raise my eyes to the house opposite, and there at a first-floor
window was a face. As the loafer passed he looked up, and I
fancied a signal was exchanged.
I crossed the street, whistling gaily and imitating the jaunty swing of the milkman.
Then I took the first side street, and went up a left-hand turning which led past a bit
of vacant ground.
There was no one in the little street, so I dropped the milk-cans inside the hoarding
and sent the cap and overall after them. I had only just put on my cloth cap when a
postman came round the corner.
I gave him good morning and he answered me unsuspiciously.
At the moment the clock of a neighbouring church struck the hour of seven.
There was not a second to spare.
As soon as I got to Euston Road I took to my heels and ran.
The clock at Euston Station showed five minutes past the hour.
At St Pancras I had no time to take a ticket, let alone that I had not settled
upon my destination.
A porter told me the platform, and as I entered it I saw the train already in
motion.
Two station officials blocked the way, but I dodged them and clambered into the last
carriage.
Three minutes later, as we were roaring through the northern tunnels, an irate
guard interviewed me.
He wrote out for me a ticket to Newton- Stewart, a name which had suddenly come
back to my memory, and he conducted me from the first-class compartment where I had
ensconced myself to a third-class smoker,
occupied by a sailor and a stout woman with a child.
He went off grumbling, and as I mopped my brow I observed to my companions in my
broadest Scots that it was a sore job catching trains.
I had already entered upon my part.
'The impidence o' that gyaird!' said the lady bitterly.
'He needit a Scotch tongue to pit him in his place.
He was complainin' o' this wean no haein' a ticket and her no fower till August
twalmonth, and he was objectin' to this gentleman spittin'.'
The sailor morosely agreed, and I started my new life in an atmosphere of protest
against authority. I reminded myself that a week ago I had
been finding the world dull.