ble public shindy. I did my best to speak my opponent fair. I said we
were all good friends and offered to stand drinks for the party. But
the Fusilier's blood was up and he was spoiling for a row, ably abetted
by his comrades. He had his tunic off now and was stamping in front of
me with doubled fists.

I did the best thing I could think of in the circumstances. My seat was
close to the steps which led to the other part of the inn. I grabbed my
hat, darted up them, and before they realized what I was doing had
bolted the door behind me. I could hear pandemonium break loose in the
bar.

I slipped down a dark passage to another which ran at right angles to
it, and which seemed to connect the street door of the inn itself with
the back premises. I could hear voices in the little hall, and that
stopped me short.

One of them was Linklater's, but he was not talking as Linklater had
talked. He was speaking educated English. I heard another with a Scots
accent, which I took to be the landlord's, and a third which sounded
like some superior sort of constable's, very prompt and official. I
heard one phrase, too, from Linklater--'He calls himself McCaskie.'
Then they stopped, for the turmoil from the bar had reached the front
door. The Fusilier and his friends were looking for me by the other
entrance.

The attention of the men in the hall was distracted, and that gave me a
chance. There was nothing for it but the back door. I slipped through
it into a courtyard and almost tumbled over a tub of water. I planted
the thing so that anyone coming that way would fall over it. A door led
me into an empty stable, and from that into a lane. It was all absurdly
easy, but as I started down the lane I heard a mighty row and the sound
of angry voices. Someone had gone into the tub and I hoped it was
Linklater. I had taken a liking to the Fusilier jock.

There was the beginning of a moon somewhere, but that lane was very
dark. I ran to the left, for on the right it looked like a cul-de-sac.
This brought me into a quiet road of two-storied cottages which showed
at one end the lights of a street. So I took the other way, for I
wasn't going to have the whole population of Muirtown on the
hue-and-cry after me. I came into a country lane, and I also came into
the van of the pursuit, which must have taken a short cut. They shouted
when they saw me, but I had a small start, and legged it down that road
in the belief that I was making for open