shirt, a cloth cap, some handkerchiefs, and a tooth-brush. I had
drawn a good sum in gold from the bank two days before, in case
Scudder should want money, and I took fifty pounds of it in
sovereigns in a belt which I had brought back from Rhodesia. That
was about all I wanted. Then I had a bath, and cut my moustache,
which was long and drooping, into a short stubbly fringe.

Now came the next step. Paddock used to arrive punctually at
7.30 and let himself in with a latch-key. But about twenty minutes
to seven, as I knew from bitter experience, the milkman turned up
with a great clatter of cans, and deposited my share outside my
door. I had seen that milkman sometimes when I had gone out for
an early ride. He was a young man about my own height, with an
ill-nourished moustache, and he wore a white overall. On him I
staked all my chances.

I went into the darkened smoking-room where the rays of morning
light were beginning to creep through the shutters. There I
breakfasted off a whisky-and-soda and some biscuits from the cupboard.
By this time it was getting on for six o'clock. I put a pipe in
My Pocket and filled my pouch from the tobacco jar on the table by
the fireplace.

As I poked into the tobacco my fingers touched something hard,
and I drew out Scudder's little black pocket-book ...

That seemed to me a good omen. I lifted the cloth from the body
and was amazed at the peace and dignity of the dead face. 'Goodbye,
old chap,' I said; 'I am going to do my best for you. Wish me
well, wherever you are.'