and sat down opposite to me. He kept his right hand in his pocket,
presumably on the revolver.

"And now," he said, "perhaps you have sufficiently recovered to be
able to tell me a little about yourself. At present my knowledge of
your adventures is confined to the account of your escape in this
morning's _Daily Mail_."

I slowly finished the last spoonful of my second helping, and placed
the cup beside me on the floor. It was a clumsy device to gain time,
for now that the full consciousness of my surroundings had returned to
me, I was beginning to think that Dr. McMurtrie's methods of receiving
an escaped convict were, to say the least, a trifle unusual. Was his
apparent friendliness merely a blind, or did it hide some still deeper
purpose, of which at present I knew nothing?

He must have guessed my thoughts, for leaning back in his chair he
remarked half-mockingly: "Come, Mr. Lyndon, it doesn't pay to be too
suspicious. If it will relieve your mind, I can assure you I have no
immediate intention of turning policeman, even for the magnificent sum
of--how much is it--five pounds, I believe? On mere business grounds I
think it would be underrating your market value."

The slight but distinct change in his voice in the last remark
invested it with a special significance. I felt a sudden conviction
that for some reason of his own Dr. McMurtrie did not intend to give
me up--at all events for the present.

"I will tell you anything you want to know with pleasure," I said.
"Where did the _Daily Mail_ leave off?"