stones. The next step was what puzzled me. I could not keep up
this roadmaking business for long. A merciful Providence had kept Mr
Turnbull indoors, but if he appeared on the scene there would be
trouble. I had a notion that the cordon was still tight round the
glen, and that if I walked in any direction I should meet with
questioners. But get out I must. No man's nerve could stand more than
a day of being spied on.

I stayed at my post till five o'clock. By that time I had resolved to
go down to Turnbull's cottage at nightfall and take my chance of
getting over the hills in the darkness. But suddenly a new car came up
the road, and slowed down a yard or two from me. A fresh wind had
risen, and the occupant wanted to light a cigarette. It was a touring
car, with the tonneau full of an assortment of baggage. One man sat in
it, and by an amazing chance I knew him. His name was Marmaduke
Jopley, and he was an offence to creation. He was a sort of blood
stockbroker, who did his business by toadying eldest sons and rich
young peers and foolish old ladies. 'Marmie' was a familiar figure, I
understood, at balls and polo-weeks and country houses. He was an
adroit scandal-monger, and would crawl a mile on his belly to anything
that had a title or a million. I had a business introduction to his
firm when I came to London, and he was good enough to ask me to dinner
at his club. There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered about
his duchesses till the snobbery of the creature turned me sick. I
asked a man afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told that
Englishmen reverenced the weaker sex.

Anyhow there he was now, nattily dressed, in a fine new car, obviously
on his way to visit some of his smart friends. A sudden daftness took
me, and in a second I had jumped into the tonneau and had him by the
shoulder.

'Hullo, Jopley,' I sang out. 'Well met, my lad!' He got a horrid
fright. His chin dropped as he stared at me. 'Who the devil are YOU?'
he gasped.

'My name's Hannay,' I said. 'From Rhodesia, you remember.'

'Good God, the murderer!' he choked.

'Just so. And there'll be a second murder, my dear, if you don't do as
I tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too.'

He did as bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty trousers
and vulgar shirt I put on his smart driving-coat, which buttoned high
at the top and thereby hid the deficiencies of my collar. I stuck the
cap on