'You're about my height. Lend me the oldest tweed suit you've
got. Anything will do, so long as the colour is the opposite of the
clothes I destroyed this afternoon. Then show me a map of the
neighbourhood and explain to me the lie of the land. Lastly, if
the police come seeking me, just show them the car in the glen. If
the other lot turn up, tell them I caught the south express after your
meeting.'

He did, or promised to do, all these things. I shaved off the
remnants of my moustache, and got inside an ancient suit of what I
believe is called heather mixture. The map gave me some notion of
my whereabouts, and told me the two things I wanted to know--
where the main railway to the south could be joined and what were
the wildest districts near at hand.
At two o'clock he wakened me from my slumbers in the
smoking-room armchair, and led me blinking into the dark starry
night. An old bicycle was found in a tool-shed and handed over to me.

'First turn to the right up by the long fir-wood,' he enjoined. 'By
daybreak you'll be well into the hills. Then I should pitch the
machine into a bog and take to the moors on foot. You can put in a
week among the shepherds, and be as safe as if you were in New
Guinea.'

I pedalled diligently up steep roads of hill gravel till the skies
grew pale with morning. As the mists cleared before the sun, I
found myself in a wide green world with glens falling on every side
and a far-away blue horizon. Here, at any rate, I could get early
news of my enemies.