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           Mygaolersturnedthekeyinthedoor,andIcouldhearthemshiftingtheirfeetastheystoodonguardoutside.

           Isatdowninthatchillydarknessinaverymiserableframeofmind.Theoldboyhadgoneoffinamotortocollectthetworuffianswhohadinterviewedmeyesterday.Now,theyhadseenmeastheroadman,andtheywouldrememberme,forIwasinthesamerig.Whatwasaroadmandoingtwentymilesfromhisbeat,pursuedbythepolice?Aquestionortwowouldputthemonthetrack.ProbablytheyhadseenMrTurnbull,probablyMarmietoo;mostlikelytheycouldlinkmeupwithSirHarry,andthenthewholethingwouldbecrystalclear.WhatchancehadIinthismoorlandhousewiththreedesperadoesandtheirarmedservants?

           Ibegantothinkwistfullyofthepolice,nowploddingoverthehillsaftermywraith.Theyatanyratewerefellow-countrymenandhonestmen,andtheirtendermercieswouldbekinderthantheseghoulishaliens.Buttheywouldn’thavelistenedtome.Thatolddevilwiththeeyelidshadnottakenlongtogetridofthem.Ithoughtheprobablyhadsomekindofgraftwiththeconstabulary.MostlikelyhehadlettersfromCabinetMinisterssayinghewastobegiveneveryfacilityforplottingagainstBritain.That’sthesortofowlishwaywerunourpoliticsinthisjollyoldcountry.

           Thethreewouldbebackforlunch,soIhadn’tmorethanacoupleofhourstowait.Itwassimplywaitingondestruction,forIcouldseenowayoutofthismess.