iscussing the possible
methods by which such a man as Tims might make his escape sure. You know
that the influences at his command were great, and tremendous efforts
were made to spare his family the disgrace of the gallows. The officers
of the law were quite determined that he should not escape. If he had
escaped, the pursuit would have been relentless and able. He would have
been caught. And as I maintained, simply because he would never think of
using his slight acquaintance with me. You smile at that. So did my
friends. I have been reading up the escapes of famous criminals--it is
quite a literature. I learned therein one thing: that they were all
caught again because they could not give up connection with their past:
with the people, the scenes, the habits to which they had been
accustomed. So they left a little path from their hiding-place to the
past, and the clever detectives always found it. Thinking over this
matter I discovered that there is an art of disappearing, a real art,
which many have used to advantage. The principle by which this art may
be formulated is simple: the person disappearing must cut himself off
from his past as completely as if he had been secretly drowned in
mid-ocean."

"They all seem to do that," said Horace, "and yet they are caught as
easily as rats with traps and cheese."

"I see you think this art means running away to Brazil in a wig and blue
spectacles, as they do in a play. Let me show some of the consequences a
poor devil takes upon himself who follows the art like an artist. He
must escape, not only from his pursuers--that's easy--but from his
friends--not so easy--and chiefly from himself--there's the rub. He who
flies from the relentless pursuit of the law must practically die. He
must change his country, never meet friend or relative again, get a new
language, a new trade, a new place in society; in fact a new past,
peopled with parents and relatives, a new habit of body and life, a new
appearance; the color of hair, eyes, skin must be changed; and he must
eat and drink, walk, sleep, think, and speak differently. He must become
another man almost as if he had changed his nature for another's."

"I understand," said Horace, interested; "but the theory is impossible.
No one could do that even if they desired."

"Tims would have desired it and accomplished it had I thought of
suggesting it to him. Here is what would have happened. He escapes from
the prison, which is easy