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