ce
still, but even now you will be able to get a good idea of what you
will look like. I am curious to hear your opinion."

He handed me the glass, and the next moment, with an involuntary cry
of amazement, I was staring at my reflection.

Instead of my usual features I saw a rough-looking, bearded man of
about forty-five, with an aquiline nose, a high forehead, and a dark
sunburned skin. It was the face of a complete stranger: at the
best that of a hard-bitten war correspondent or explorer; at the
worst--well, I don't know what it mightn't have been at the worst.

I stared and stared in a kind of incredulous fascination, until
McMurtrie's voice abruptly recalled me to my surroundings.

"Well, Mr. Neil Lyndon," he said, "do you recognize yourself?"

I laid down the glass.

"Don't call me that," I replied quietly. "Neil Lyndon is dead."

CHAPTER VII

A KISS AND A CONFESSION

One would hardly expect an escaped murderer to complain of being
dull--especially when the whole country is still ringing with the
story of his disappearance. Yet I must confess that, when I had once
got used to the strangeness of my position, the next two weeks dragged
intolerably.

I was accustomed to confinement, but in the prison at all events I had
had plenty of hard work and exercise, while here, cooped up entirely
in one room, I was able to do nothing but pace restlessly up and
down most of the day like a caged bear. I had finished my lists and
drawings for McMurtrie, and my only resources were two or three
sensational novels which Sonia brought me back one day after a visit
to Plymouth. I cannot say I found them very entertaining. I had been
rather too deeply into life in that line myself to have much use for
the second-hand imaginings of other people.

Of the doctor and Savaroff I saw comparatively little. Both of them
were away from the house a good deal of the time, often returning in
the car late at night, and then sitting up talking till some unholy
hour in the morning. I used to lie awake in bed, and listen to the
dull rumble of their voices in the room below.

That there was something mysterious going on which I knew nothing
about I became more convinced every day, but what it could be I was
unable to guess. Once or twice I tried to sound Sonia on the matter,
but although she would talk freely about my own affairs, on any point
connected with herself or the curious household to which she belonged
she maintained