I had only retained vaguely in my
head, for it is one of the intelligent rules of our cheerful convict
system to allow no prisoner to make permanent notes of anything that
might be of possible service to him after his release.

There seemed, therefore, every prospect that I should be fully
occupied for some time to come. Indeed, it was not until I had dressed
myself in Savaroff's clothes (they fitted me excellently) and sat down
at the table with a pen and a pile of foolscap in front of me, that I
realized what a lengthy task I had taken on.

All my rough notes--those invaluable notes and calculations that I
had spent eighteen months over--were packed away in my safe at the
Victoria Street office. I had not bothered about them at the time, for
when you are being tried for your life other matters are apt to assume
a certain degree of unimportance. Besides, although I had told George
of their existence, I knew very well that, being jotted down in a
private cypher, no one except myself would be able to make head or
tail of what they were about.

Still they would naturally have been of immense help to me now if I
could have got hold of them. Clear as the main details were in my
mind, I saw I should have to go over a good bit of old ground before
I could make out the exact list of my requirements which McMurtrie
needed.

All that afternoon and the whole of the following day I stuck steadily
to my task. I had little to interrupt me, for with the exception
of Sonia who brought me up my meals, and the old deaf-and-dumb
housekeeper who came to do my room about midday, I saw or heard
nobody. McMurtrie did not appear again, and Savaroff, as I knew, was
away in London.

I took an hour off in the evening for the purpose of studying the
_Daily Mail_, which proved to be quite as entertaining as the previous
issue. There were two and a half columns about me altogether, the
first consisting of a powerful if slightly inaccurate description of
how I had stolen the bicycle, and the remainder dealing with various
features of my crime and my escape. It was headed:

STILL AT LARGE
NEIL LYNDON'S FIGHT FOR LIBERTY

and I settled myself down to read with a feeling of enjoyment that
would doubtless have gratified Lord Northcliffe had he been fortunate
enough to know about it.

"Neil Lyndon," it began, "whose daring escape from Princetown was
fully described in yesterday's _Daily Mail_, has so far successfully
baffled his pursuers. No