father had had German partners, and I had been brought up to
speak the tongue pretty fluently, not to mention having put in
three years prospecting for copper in German Damaraland. But I
calculated that it would be less conspicuous to be a Scot, and less in
a line with what the police might know of my past. I fixed on
Galloway as the best place to go. It was the nearest wild part of
Scotland, so far as I could figure it out, and from the look of the
map was not over thick with population.

A search in Bradshaw informed me that a train left St Pancras at
7.10, which would land me at any Galloway station in the late
afternoon. That was well enough, but a more important matter was
how I was to make my way to St Pancras, for I was pretty certain
that Scudder's friends would be watching outside. This puzzled me
for a bit; then I had an inspiration, on which I went to bed and
slept for two troubled hours.

I got up at four and opened my bedroom shutters. The faint
light of a fine summer morning was flooding the skies, and the
sparrows had begun to chatter. I had a great revulsion of feeling,
and felt a God-forgotten fool. My inclination was to let things
slide, and trust to the British police taking a reasonable view of my
case. But as I reviewed the situation I could find no arguments to
bring against my decision of the previous night, so with a wry
mouth I resolved to go on with my plan. I was not feeling in any
particular funk; only disinclined to go looking for trouble, if you
understand me.

I hunted out a well-used tweed suit, a pair of strong nailed boots,
and a flannel shirt with a collar. Into my pockets I stuffed a spare