'A thousand thanks,' I said. 'There's more use in you than I
thought. Now be off and find the police.'
As I sat on the hillside, watching the tail-light dwindle, I reflected
on the various kinds of crime I had now sampled. Contrary to
general belief, I was not a murderer, but I had become an unholy
liar, a shameless impostor, and a highwayman with a marked taste
for expensive motor-cars.
CHAPTER SIX
The Adventure of the Bald Archaeologist
I spent the night on a shelf of the hillside, in the lee of a boulder
where the heather grew long and soft. It was a cold business, for I
had neither coat nor waistcoat. These were in Mr Turnbull's keeping,
as was Scudder's little book, my watch and--worst of all--my
pipe and tobacco pouch. Only my money accompanied me in my
belt, and about half a pound of ginger biscuits in my trousers pocket.
I supped off half those biscuits, and by worming myself deep
into the heather got some kind of warmth. My spirits had risen,
and I was beginning to enjoy this crazy game of hide-and-seek. So
far I had been miraculously lucky. The milkman, the literary
innkeeper, Sir Harry, the roadman, and the idiotic Marmie, were all
pieces of undeserved good fortune. Somehow the first success gave
me a feeling that I was going to pull the thing through.
My chief trouble was that I was desperately hungry.
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