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At
last I sat down feeling very sick. I sat there for perhaps five
minutes and then I felt afraid. I was so nervous that I had to
cover Scudder's body with a tablecloth. But I could still see
the form of the handle of the knife. It was pointing at me like
a finger. I got a drink for myself and sat down again
to think.
Scudder was dead and his body proved his story. His enemies had
killed him because he knew their plans.
'They'll kill me next,' I thought. 'They know that he lived on
the top floor. They know that he has been in my flat for three
or four days. And they'll guess that he told me their plans.'
What could I do? Well, I could go to the police at once and tell
them the story. But they would be suspicious if I told them
about Scudder's death. 'They'll guess that I killed
him,' I thought. 'They may blame me for his death.'
I thought about the matter for a long time and then I made a
plan. I had not known Scudder very well but I had liked him. I
enjoyed an adventure too, and I wanted to continue his work.
'I may write to the Prime, Minister,' I thought, 'or to the
Foreign Office. But perhaps that won't be necessary. I'll
disappear for a few weeks. Then I'll come back to London and go
to the police.'
I went over to Scudder's body and took off the cloth. I had seen
him writing in a little book and I searched his pockets. But the
book was gone, and he had no papers at all.
I opened my desk and took out a map of Britain. I thought that
Scotland was the best place for my plan. I was born there and I
still speak like a Scotsman. In Rhodesia I had learned German
very well too, and I thought about going to Germany. But perhaps
Scotland was the better idea.
I chose Galloway, which was a wild part of the country. There
were few big towns there, and it was not too far to travel. I
knew that there was a train to Scotland in the morning. It left
London at ten minutes past seven. But how could I get out of the
flat? I should not be able to escape if Scudder's enemies were
outside the building.
Then suddenly I had a wonderful idea. Every morning at half-past
six the milkman delivered my milk. He was a young man and we
were the same size. He had a short black moustache and wore a
white hat and coat. My idea was to borrow his clothes and the
can of milk. Then I could escape from the building as the
milkman.
I went to bed then and slept for a few hours. In the morning I
had a bath and carefully cut my moustache. It was long and dark
and I cut it short. I counted my money and put fifty pounds in
my pocket. While I was getting ready, I remembered my tobacco.
When I put my fingers into the large tobacco-box, I felt
something hard under the tobacco. It was Scudder's little black
book, and I put it in my pocket.
It was a good sign, I thought. Scudder had hidden it there, and
his enemies had not found it.
It was twenty minutes to seven now, and the milkman was late.
But suddenly I heard the noise of the milk-can on the stairs,
and I opened the door.
'Come in, please,' I said. 'I want to speak to you.'
He came into the flat, and I shut the door.
'Listen,' I said, 'you're a good fellow, and I want you to help
me.' I took a sovereign out of my pocket and added, 'If you
agree, I'll give you this.
'When he saw the sovereign, his eyes opened wide.
'What do you want me to do?' he asked.
'I want to borrow your clothes and your milk-can for a few
minutes,' I said.
He laughed and said, 'What do you want them for?'
'Well, I've just remembered something, but I can't explain it
now. Let me borrow the things, and I'll be back in ten minutes.'
I put the sovereign into his hand.
'All right,' he said. 'I like a bit of fun too.'
I put on his clothes and we went out of the flat. I shut the
door behind me.
'Don't follow me,' I said. 'I'll soon be back.'
I went down the stairs and into the street. I made a noise with
the milk-can and began to sing. A man who was standing outside
looked at me, but he did not say anything. I looked at the house
across the street and noticed the face at the window again. I
turned into another street and began to run. Then I took off the
milkman's clothes and threw them, and the milk-can, over a wall.
When I arrived at the railway station, it was ten minutes past
seven. The train was moving slowly out of the station, and I had
no time to buy a ticket. I ran forward and caught the handle of
a door. I got it open and climbed into the train.
The ticket-collector soon came along. He was rather angry with
me, and I had to invent some excuses. But he accepted these and
wrote a ticket to Newton-Stewart in Galloway. |
