I manufactured it rather neatly, so that it looked like a loose page of a

private letter.

 

“Take this down and say it was found in my bedroom, and ask them to return it to

me if they overtake me.”

 

Three minutes later I heard the car begin to move, and peeping from behind the

curtain caught sight of the two figures. One was slim, the other was sleek; that

was the most I could make of my reconnaissance.

 

The innkeeper appeared in great excitement. “Your paper woke them up,” he said

gleefully. “The dark fellow went as white as death and cursed like blazes, and

the fat one whistled and looked ugly. They paid for their drinks with

half-a-sovereign and wouldn’t wait for change.”

 

“Now I’ll tell you what I want you to do,” I said. “Get on your bicycle and go

off to Newton-Stewart to the Chief Constable. Describe the two men, and say you

suspect them of having had something to do with the London murder. You can

invent reasons. The two will come back, never fear. Not tonight, for they’ll

follow me forty miles along the road, but first thing tomorrow morning. Tell the

police to be here bright and early.”

 

He set off like a docile child, while I worked at Scudder’s notes. When he came

back we dined together, and in common decency I had to let him pump me. I gave

him a lot of stuff about lion hunts and the Matabele War, thinking all the while