For an escaped murderer and his guilty accessory, I am afraid that our dissipation proved to be rather a colourless affair. Tommy had always had simple tastes in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt, and even if it had been safe for us to parade the West End in each other's company, I certainly had no wish to waste my time over a theatre or anything of that sort. I found that real life supplied me with all the drama I needed just at present.

What we actually did was to dine quietly in a little out-of-the-way restaurant just off Sloane Square, and then play billiards for the remainder of the evening in a room above a neighbouring tavern. We had several most exciting games. In old days I had been able to beat Tommy easily, but owing to a regrettable oversight on the part of the Government there is no table at Princetown, and in consequence I was rather short of practice.

Afterwards Tommy walked with me as far as Victoria, where we discussed such arrangements for the future as we were in a position to make.

"I'll write to you, anyway, Neil," he said, "as soon as I've tackled Latimer; and I'll probably come down with Joyce on Tuesday. If you want me any time before, send me a wire."

I nodded. "You'll be more useful to me in London, Tommy," I said.

"All the threads of the business are up here. McMurtrie--Latimer-- George"--I paused--"I'd give something to know what those three do between them," I added regretfully.

Tommy gripped my hand. "It's all right, old son," he said. "I'm not much of a believer in inspirations and all that sort of rot, but somehow or other I'm dead certain we're going to win out. I've had a feeling like that ever since the trial--and so has Joyce."

"Thanks, Tommy," I said briefly. "You'd give a jellyfish a backbone--you two."

And with a last squeeze of the hand I left him standing there, and set off across the station for Edith Terrace.

It was close on midnight when I got back, and every one in the house seemed to have gone to bed. The light had been put out in the hall, but the door of my sitting-room was partly open, and a small jet of gas was flickering away over the fireplace. I turned this up and, looking round, discovered a large box with Holland's label on it, a note, and a half-sheet of paper--all decorating the table in the centre of the room.

I examined the half-sheet of paper first. It contained several dirty thumb-marks and the following message, roughly scrawled in pencil:

"sir the lady with the hat c.u.m for you about for aclock i told her as you was out and she rote this leter gerty."

Hastily picking up the envelope, I slit open the flap, and pulled out the "leter" from inside. It covered two sides, and was written in Sonia's curious, sloping, foreign-looking hand.

"I have to go away with my father until the end of next week. By that time, if you have succeeded with your invention, there will be nothing to stop our plans. I would have explained everything to you today if you had been here. As it is, _on no account give your secret to any one_ until I have seen you. I shall come down to Tilbury either on Friday or Sat.u.r.day, and within a few hours we can be utterly beyond the reach of any further danger or difficulties. Until then, my lover--SONIA."

I read it through twice, and then slowly folding it up, thrust it back into the envelope.

"It seems to me," I said, "that I'm going to have quite an interesting house-party."

CHAPTER XVII

THE WORKSHOP ON THE MARSHES

I gave Gertie her hat next morning when she brought me up my breakfast. It was a gorgeous thing--rather the shape of a dustman's helmet, with a large scarlet bird nestling on one side of it, sheltered by some heavy undergrowth. Gertie's face, as I pulled it out of the box, was a study in about eight different emotions.

"Oo--er," she gasped faintly. "That ain't never for me."

"Yes, it is, Gertrude," I said. "It was specially chosen for you by a lady of unimpeachable taste."

I held it out to her, and she accepted it with shaking hands, like a newly-made peeress receiving her tiara.

"My Gawd," she whispered reverently; "ain't it just a dream!"

To be perfectly honest, it seemed to me more in the nature of a nightmare, but wild horses wouldn't have dragged any such hostile criticism out of me.

"I think it will suit you very nicely, Gertie," I said. "It's got just that dash of colour which Edith Terrace wants."

"Yer reely mean it?" she asked eagerly. "Yer reely think I'll look orl right in it? 'Course it do seem a bit funny like with this 'ere frock, but I got a green velveteen wot belonged to Mrs. Oldbury's niece. It won't 'alf go with that."

"It won't indeed," I agreed heartily. Then, looking up from my eggs and bacon, I added: "By the way, Gertie, I've never thanked you for your letter. I had no idea you could, write so well."

"Go on!" said Gertie doubtfully; "you're gettin' at me now."

"No, I'm not," I answered. "It was a very nice letter. It said just what you wanted to say and nothing more. That's the whole art of good letter-writing." Then a sudden idea struck me. "Look here, Gertie," I went on, "will you undertake a little job for me if I explain it to you?"

She nodded. "Oo--rather. I'd do any think for you."

"Well, it's something I may want you to do for me after I've left."

Her face fell. "You ain't goin' away from 'ere--not for good?"

"Not entirely for good," I said. "I hope to do a certain amount of harm to at least one person before I come back." I paused. "It's just possible," I continued, "that after I've gone somebody may come to the house and ask questions about me--how I spent my time while I was here, and that sort of thing. If they should happen to ask you, I want you to tell them that I used to stay in bed most of the day and go to the theatre in the evening. Do you mind telling a lie for me?"

Gertie looked at me in obvious amazement. "I _don't_ think," she observed. "Wotjer taike me for--a Sunday-school teacher?"

"No, Gertie," I said gravely; "no girl with your taste in hats could possibly be a Sunday-school teacher." Then pushing away my plate and lighting a cigarette, I added: "I'll leave you a stamped addressed envelope and a telegraph form. You can send me the wire first to say if any one has called, and then write me a line afterwards by post telling me what they were like and what they said."

"I can do that orl right," she answered eagerly. "If they talks to Mrs. Oldbury I'll listen at the keyhole."

I nodded. "It's a practice that the best moralists condemn," I said, "but after all, the recording angel does it." Then getting up from the table, I added: "You might tell Mrs. Oldbury I should like to see her."

When that good lady arrived I acquainted her with the fact that I intended to leave her house in about two hours' time. Any resentment which she might have felt over this slightly abrupt departure was promptly smoothed away by my offer to take on the rooms for at least another fortnight. I did this partly with the object of leaving a pleasant impression behind me, and partly because I had a vague idea that it might come in handy to have some sort of headquarters in London where I was known and recognized as Mr. James Nicholson.

Having settled up this piece of business I sat down and wrote to McMurtrie. It was a task which required a certain amount of care and delicacy, but after two trial essays I succeeded in turning out the following letter, which seemed to me about to meet the situation.

"DEAR DR. McMURTRIE:

"As you have probably heard, I received your letter yesterday, and I am making arrangements to go down to Tilbury tomorrow by the 11.45.

"Of course in a way I am sorry to leave London--it's extraordinary what a capacity for pleasure a prolonged residence in the country gives one--but at the same time I quite agree with you that business must come first.

"I shall start work directly I get down, and if all the things I asked for in my list have been provided, I don't think it will be long before I have some satisfactory news for you. Unless I see you or hear from you before then I will write to the Hotel Russell directly there is anything definite to communicate.

"Meanwhile please give my kind regards to your amiable friend and colleague, and also remember me to his charming daughter.

"Believe me,

"Yours sincerely,

"JAMES NICHOLSON."

With its combined touch of seriousness and flippancy, this appeared to me exactly the sort of letter that McMurtrie would expect me to write.

I couldn't resist putting in the bit about his "amiable" friend, for the recollection of Savaroff's manner towards me still rankled gently in my memory. Besides I had a notion it would rather amuse McMurtrie, whose more artistic mind must have been frequently distressed by his colleague's bl.u.s.tering surliness.