But as I reviewed the situation I could find no arguments to
bring against my decision of the previous night, so with a wry
mouth I resolved to go on with my plan. I was not feeling in any
particular funk; only disinclined to go looking for trouble, if you
understand me.
I hunted out a well-used tweed suit, a pair of strong nailed boots,
and a flannel shirt with a collar. Into my pockets I stuffed a spare
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.
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