By this time I was beginning to think more clearly. It looked bad for me -- that was clear. It was now certain that Scudder's story was true -- the proof was lying under the tablecloth. His enemies had found him and made sure of his silence. But he had been in my flat for four days, and they must think he had told his story to me. So I would be the next to die. It might be that night, or the next day, or the day after, but it was sure to happen.

I sat down in an armchair and felt very sick. After about five minutes I started shaking. The poor white face with its staring eyes was too much for me, so I got a tablecloth and covered it. Then I took the whisky bottle and drank several mouthfuls. I had seen men die violently before. I had killed a few myself in the Matabele war; but this was different. After a few more minutes I managed to calm myself down a little. I looked at my watch and saw that it was halfpast ten. I searched the flat carefully, but there was nobody there. Then I locked the doors and windows.

Then I thought of another problem. I could call the police now, or go to bed and wait for Paddock to discover the body and call them in the morning. But what would the police think? What story would I tell them about Scudder? I had lied to Paddock about him, and my story would be hard to believe. They would arrest me for murder, and I had no real friends in England to help me. Perhaps that was part of the plan. An English prison would be a safe place for me until the 15th of June.

Even if the police did believe my story, I would still be helping Scudder's enemies. Karolides would stay at home, which was what they wanted. Scudder's death had made me certain that his story was true; now I felt responsible for continuing his work. I hate to see a good man beaten, and if I carried on in Scudder's place, the murderers might not win.

I decided I must disappear, and remain hidden until just before the 15th of June. Then I must contact some government people and tell them Scudder's story. I wished he had told me more, and that I had listened more carefully to what he had told me. There was a risk that the government would not believe me, but it was my best chance. Perhaps more evidence would appear which would help me to make my story believable.

It was now the 24th of May, so I had twenty days of hiding. Two groups of people would be looking for meScudder's enemies, who would want to kill me, and the police, who would want me for Scudder's murder. There was going to be a chase, and, surprisingly, I was almost happy about this. I did not want to sit in one place and wait. If I could move, the situation did not seem so bad.

I wondered if Scudder had any papers which would give me more information about his business. I lifted off the table -- cloth and searched him. There were only a few coins in his trouser pockets. There was no sign of the little black notebook. I supposed his murderer had taken that.

When I turned from the body, I noticed that all the cupboards were open. Scudder had been a very careful man, and always kept the place tidy. Someone had been searching for something, and perhaps for the notebook. I went round the flat and found that everything had been searched -- the insides of books, cupboards, boxes, even the pockets of my clothes. There was no sign of the notebook, so Scudder's enemies had probably found it in the end.

Then I got out a map of Britain. My plan was to find some wild country. I was used to Africa, and I would feel trapped in the city. I thought Scotland would probably be best, because my family came from Scotland and I could pretend to be a Scotsman easily. The other possibility was to be a German tourist; my father had worked with Germans and I had spoken German often as a boy. But it would probably be better to be a Scotsman in Scotland. I decided to go to Galloway, which, from the map, seemed to be the nearest wild part of Scotland.

I got up at four o'clock. The first light of a summer morning was in the sky and the birds were starting to sing. I put on some old clothes which I used for country walking and some strong walking boots. I pushed another shirt and a toothbrush into my pockets. I had taken a lot of money out of the bank in case Scudder needed it, so I took that as well. Then I cut my long moustache as short as possible.

In the railway timetable I found a train from London at seven ten in the morning, which would get me to Galloway in the late afternoon. The problem was getting to the station, as I was certain that Scudder's enemies were watching the building. I thought about this problem, had a good idea, went to bed, and slept for two hours.

Six-thirty passed, then six-forty, but still the milkman did not come. Why, oh why, was this the morning he had to be late?

This seemed a good sign. I lifted the cloth and looked at Scudder's peaceful face. "Goodbye, my friend," I said; "I'm going to do my best for you. Wish me good luck."

Paddock arrived every morning at seven-thirty. But at about twenty to seven I knew the milkman would come; the noise of the milk bottles usually woke me up. He was a young man with a very short moustache, and he wore a white coat. He was my only chance.

At fourteen minutes to seven I heard him. I opened the door quickly, and he jumped a bit when he saw me.

"Come in a moment," I said, and we went back into the hall. "I can see you're a man who likes a bit of fun. Can you help me? Lend me your hat and coat for a minute and you can have this."

I had a breakfast of biscuits and whisky and by the time I had finished it was about six o'clock. I got my pipe and started to fill it from my tobacco jar. As I put my fingers into the tobacco, I touched something hard, and pulled out Scudder's little black book.

"It's a game," I said. "I haven't time to explain now, but to win I've got to be a milkman for ten minutes. You'll be a bit late, but you'll get the money for your time."

He looked at the money in my hand and smiled. "What do you want my clothes for?" he asked.

At first I thought the street was empty. Then I saw a man walking slowly towards me. As he passed, he looked up at a window in the house opposite, and I saw a face look back at him.

"All right!" he said. "I like a game myself. Here you are."

I crossed the street, still whistling, and then turned down a little side street. As I dropped the hat, coat and milk bottles behind a wall, I heard a church clock; it was seven o'clock.

I put on his blue hat and white coat, picked up the empty milk bottles, shut my door and went downstairs, whistling.

I ran to the station as fast as I could. It was just ten past seven when I reached the platform. I had no time to buy a ticket; the train was already moving. I jumped into the last carriage.