r part of the day. In
the latest news I found a further instalment of the story. The milkman
had been released, I read, and the true criminal, about whose identity
the police were reticent, was believed to have got away from London by
one of the northern lines. There was a short note about me as the
owner of the flat. I guessed the police had stuck that in, as a clumsy
contrivance to persuade me that I was unsuspected.

There was nothing else in the paper, nothing about foreign politics or
Karolides, or the things that had interested Scudder. I laid it down,
and found that we were approaching the station at which I had got out
yesterday. The potato-digging station-master had been gingered up into
some activity, for the west-going train was waiting to let us pass, and
from it had descended three men who were asking him questions. I
supposed that they were the local police, who had been stirred up by
Scotland Yard, and had traced me as far as this one-horse siding.
Sitting well back in the shadow I watched them carefully. One of them
had a book, and took down notes. The old potato-digger seemed to have
turned peevish, but the child who had collected my ticket was talking
volubly. All the party looked out across the moor where the white road
departed. I hoped they were going to take up my tracks there.

As we moved away from that station my companion woke up. He fixed me
with a wandering glance, kicked his dog viciously, and inquired where
he was. Clearly he was very drunk.

'That's what comes o' bein' a teetotaller,' he observed in bitter
regret.

I expressed my surprise that in him I should have met a blue-ribbon
stalwart.

'Ay, but I'm a strong teetotaller,' he said pugnaciously. 'I took the
pledge last Martinmas, and I havena touched a drop o' whisky sinsyne.
Not even at Hogmanay, though I was sair temptit.'

He swung his heels up on the seat, and burrowed a frowsy head into the
cushions.

'And that's a' I get,' he moaned. 'A heid better than hell fire, and
twae een lookin' different ways for the Sabbath.'

'What did it?' I asked.

'A drink they ca' brandy. Bein' a teetotaller I keepit off the whisky,
but I was nip-nippin' a' day at this brandy, and I doubt I'll no be
weel for a fortnicht.' His voice died away into a splutter, and sleep
once more laid its heavy hand on him.

My plan had been to get out at some station down the line, but the
train suddenly gave me a better chance, for it ca