ashioned member of the Liberal Party, with whose name I had been
more or less acquainted all my life. I had never actually met him in
the old days, but I had seen one or two photographs and caricatures
of him, and this no doubt explained my vague recollection of his
features.

For just a moment I remained silent, struggling against a strong
impulse to laugh. There was something delightfully humorous in the
thought of my sitting in a first-class carriage exchanging cheerful
confidences with a distinguished politician, while Scotland Yard and
the Home Office were racking their brains over my disappearance. It
seemed such a pity I couldn't hand him back a card of my own just for
the fun of watching his face while he read it.

MR. NEIL LYNDON
_Late of His Majesty's Prison_,
_Princetown_.

Collecting myself with an effort, I covered my apparent confusion with
a slight bow.

"It was very stupid of me not to have recognized you from your
pictures," I said.

This compliment evidently pleased the old boy, for he beamed at me in
the most gracious fashion.

"You see now, sir," he said, "why it would be quite impossible for me
to discuss the matter in question."

I bowed again. I didn't see in the least, but he spoke as if the point
was so obvious that I thought it better to let the subject drop. I
could only imagine that he must be holding some official position, the
importance of which he probably overrated.

We drifted off into the discussion of one or two other topics;
settling down eventually to our respective newspapers. I can't say I
followed mine with any keen attention. My brain was too much occupied
with my own affairs to allow me to take in very much of what I read. I
just noticed that we were engaged in a rather heated discussion
with Germany over the future of Servia, and that a well-meaning but
short-sighted Anarchist had made an unsuccessful effort to shoot the
President of the American Steel Trust.

Of my own affairs I could find no mention, beyond a brief statement to
the effect that I was still at liberty. There was not even the usual
letter from somebody claiming to have discovered my hiding-place, and
for the first time since my escape I began to feel a little neglected.
It was evident that as a news topic I was losing something of my first
freshness.

The last bit of the journey from Maidenhead onwards seemed to take us
an unconscionably long time. A kind of fierce restlessness had begun
to get