trick
of tossing it and catching it in my lips. That wants a pretty steady
heart.

He watched me with a smile. 'I don't want proof. I may be an ass on
the platform, but I can size up a man. You're no murderer and you're
no fool, and I believe you are speaking the truth. I'm going to back
you up. Now, what can I do?'

'First, I want you to write a letter to your uncle. I've got to get in
touch with the Government people sometime before the 15th of June.'

He pulled his moustache. 'That won't help you. This is Foreign Office
business, and my uncle would have nothing to do with it. Besides,
you'd never convince him. No, I'll go one better. I'll write to the
Permanent Secretary at the Foreign Office. He's my godfather, and one
of the best going. What do you want?'

He sat down at a table and wrote to my dictation. The gist of it was
that if a man called Twisdon (I thought I had better stick to that
name) turned up before June 15th he was to entreat him kindly. He said
Twisdon would prove his bona fides by passing the word 'Black Stone'
and whistling 'Annie Laurie'.

'Good,' said Sir Harry. 'That's the proper style. By the way, you'll
find my godfather--his name's Sir Walter Bullivant--down at his country
cottage for Whitsuntide. It's close to Artinswell on the Kenner.
That's done. Now, what's the next thing?'

'You're about my height. Lend me the oldest tweed suit you've got.
Anything will do, so long as the colour is the opposite of the clothes
I destroyed this afternoon. Then show me a map of the neighbourhood
and explain to me the lie of the land. Lastly, if the police come
seeking me, just show them the car in the glen. If the other lot turn
up, tell them I caught the south express after your meeting.'

He did, or promised to do, all these things. I shaved off the remnants
of my moustache, and got inside an ancient suit of what I believe is
called heather mixture. The map gave me some notion of my whereabouts,
and told me the two things I wanted to know--where the main railway to
the south could be joined and what were the wildest districts near at
hand. At two o'clock he wakened me from my slumbers in the
smoking-room armchair, and led me blinking into the dark starry night.
An old bicycle was found in a tool-shed and handed over to me.

'First turn to the right up by the long fir-wood,' he enjoined. 'By
daybreak you'll be well into the hills. Then I should pitch the
machine into