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 murder, 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 murder. It was going to be a giddy hunt,
and it was queer 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.
Chapter Three |
