Part 10 (1/2)

”It _is_ your only chance,” she said quietly, ”but it may be a better one than you imagine.”

And with this encouraging if somewhat obscure remark she went out and left me to my thoughts.

McMurtrie came up about an hour later. Suave and courteous as ever, he knocked at my door before entering the room, and wished me good morning in the friendliest of fas.h.i.+ons.

”I have brought you another _Daily Mail_--yesterday's,” he said, throwing the paper down on the bed. ”It contains the second instalment of your adventures.” Then he paused and looked at me with that curious smile that seemed to begin and end with his lips. ”Well,” he added, ”and how are the stiffness and the sore throat this morning?”

”Gone,” I said, ”both of them. I have no excuse for stopping in bed except lack of clothes.”

He nodded and sat down on the window-sill. ”I daresay we can find a way out of that difficulty. My friend Savaroff would, I am sure, be delighted to lend you some garments to go on with. You seem to be much of a size.”

”Well, I should be delighted to accept them,” I said. ”Even the joy of being in a real bed again begins to wear off after two days.”

”I am afraid you can't expect very much liberty while you are our guest,” he said, leaning back against the window. ”It would be too dangerous for you to go outside the house, even at night time. I expect Sonia told you about our visitor yesterday.”

”Yes,” I said; ”I should like to have heard the interview.”

”It was quite interesting. From what he told me I should say that few prisoners have been more missed than you are. It appears that there are over seventy warders hunting about the neighbourhood, to say nothing of volunteers.”

”I seem to be giving a lot of trouble,” I said sadly.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. ”Not to us. I am only sorry that we can't offer you a more entertaining visit.” He opened his case and helped himself to a cigarette. ”On the whole, however, I daresay you won't find the time drag so very much. There will be the business of altering your appearance--I hope to start on that the day after tomorrow--and then I want you to make me out a full list of everything you will need in connection with your experiments. It would be best perhaps to have a drawing of the actual shed--just as you would like it fitted up. You might start on this right away.”

”Certainly,” I said. ”I shall be glad to have something to do.”

”And I don't suppose you will mind much if we can't arrange anything very luxurious for you in the way of living accommodation. We shall have to choose as lonely a place as possible, and it will probably involve your feeding chiefly on tinned food, and roughing it a bit generally. It won't be for very long.”

”I shan't mind in the least,” I said. ”Anything will be comfortable after Princetown. As long as you can fix me up with what I want for my work I shan't grumble about the rest.”

He nodded again in a satisfied manner. ”By the way,” he said, ”I suppose you never wore a beard or a moustache before you went to prison?”

”Only once in some amateur theatricals,” I answered ”and then the moustache came off.”

”They will make a great difference in your appearance by themselves,”

he went on, looking at me critically. ”I wonder how long they will take to grow.”

I pa.s.sed my hand up my face, which was already covered with a thick stubble about half an inch in length. ”At the present rate of progress,” I said, ”I should think about a week.”

McMurtrie smiled. ”Another fortnight on top of that will be nearer the mark, I expect,” he said, getting up from the bed. ”That will just fit in with our arrangements. In three weeks we ought to be able to fix you up with what you want, and by that time there won't be quite so much excitement about your escape. The _Daily Mail_ will have become tired of you, even if the police haven't.” He stopped to flick the ash off his cigarette. ”Of course you will have to be extremely careful when you are in London. I shall change your appearance so that it will be quite impossible for any one to recognize you, but there will always be the danger of somebody remembering your voice.”

”I can disguise that to a certain extent,” I said. ”Besides, it's not likely that I shall run across any one I know well. I only want to amuse myself for two or three evenings, and the West End's a large place as far as amus.e.m.e.nt goes.” Then I paused. ”If you really thought it was too risky,” I added carelessly, ”I would give up the idea.”

It was a bold stroke--but it met with the success that it deserved.

Any lingering doubts McMurtrie may have had about my intentions were apparently dispersed.

”I think you will work all the better for a short holiday,” he said; ”and I am sure you are sensible enough to keep out of any trouble.”

He walked to the door, and stood for a moment with his hand on the k.n.o.b. ”I will send you up the clothes and some paper and ink,” he added. ”Then you can get up or write in bed--just as you like.”

After three years of granite quarrying--broken only by a short spell of sewing mailsacks--the thought of getting back to a more congenial form of work was a decidedly pleasant one. During the half-hour that elapsed before Sonia came up with my things, I lay in bed, busily pondering over various points in connection with my approaching task.