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           ButIcalculatedthatitwouldbelessconspicuoustobeaScot,andlessinalinewithwhatthepolicemightknowofmypast.IfixedonGallowayasthebestplacetogo.ItwasthenearestwildpartofScotland,sofarasIcouldfigureitout,andfromthelookofthemapwasnotoverthickwithpopulation.

           AsearchinBradshawinformedmethatatrainleftStPancrasat7.10,whichwouldlandmeatanyGallowaystationinthelateafternoon.Thatwaswellenough,butamoreimportantmatterwashowIwastomakemywaytoStPancras,forIwasprettycertainthatScudder’sfriendswouldbewatchingoutside.Thispuzzledmeforabit;thenIhadaninspiration,onwhichIwenttobedandsleptfortwotroubledhours.

           Igotupatfourandopenedmybedroomshutters.Thefaintlightofafinesummermorningwasfloodingtheskies,andthesparrowshadbeguntochatter.Ihadagreatrevulsionoffeeling,andfeltaGod-forgottenfool.Myinclinationwastoletthingsslide,andtrusttotheBritishpolicetakingareasonableviewofmycase.ButasIreviewedthesituationIcouldfindnoargumentstobringagainstmydecisionofthepreviousnight,sowithawrymouthIresolvedtogoonwithmyplan.Iwasnotfeelinginanyparticularfunk;onlydisinclinedtogolookingfortrouble,ifyouunderstandme.

           Ihuntedoutawell-usedtweedsuit,apairofstrongnailedboots,andaflannelshirtwithacollar.IntomypocketsIstuffedaspareshirt,aclothcap,somehandkerchiefs,andatooth-brush.