He was an adroit scandal-monger, and
would crawl a mile on his belly to anything that had a title or a
million. I had a business introduction to his firm when I came to
London, and he was good enough to ask me to dinner at his club.
There he showed off at a great rate, and pattered about his duchesses
till the snobbery of the creature turned me sick. I asked a man
afterwards why nobody kicked him, and was told that Englishmen
reverenced the weaker sex.
Anyhow there he was now, nattily dressed, in a fine new car,
obviously on his way to visit some of his smart friends. A sudden
daftness took me, and in a second I had jumped into the tonneau
and had him by the shoulder.
'Hullo, jopley,' I sang out. 'Well met, my lad!' He got a horrid
fright. His chin dropped as he stared at me. 'Who the devil are
YOU?' he gasped.
'My name's Hannay,' I said. 'From Rhodesia, you remember.'
'Good God, the murderer!' he choked.
'Just so. And there'll be a second murder, my dear, if you don't
do as I tell you. Give me that coat of yours. That cap, too.'
He did as bid, for he was blind with terror. Over my dirty
trousers and vulgar shirt I put on his smart driving-coat, which
buttoned high at the top and thereby hid the deficiencies of my
collar. I stuck the cap on my head, and added his gloves to my get-
up. The dusty roadman in a minute was transformed into one of
the neatest motorists in Scotland.
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