When that good lady arrived I acquainted her with the fact that I intended to leave her house in about two hours’ time.  Any resentment which she might have felt over this slightly abrupt departure was promptly smoothed away by my offer to take on the rooms for at least another fortnight.  I did this partly with the object of leaving a pleasant impression behind me, and partly because I had a vague idea that it might come in handy to have some sort of headquarters in London where I was known and recognized as Mr. James Nicholson.

Having settled up this piece of business I sat down and wrote to McMurtrie.  It was a task which required a certain amount of care and delicacy, but after two trial essays I succeeded in turning out the following letter, which seemed to me about to meet the situation.

“DEAR DR. McMURTRIE: 

“As you have probably heard, I received your letter yesterday, and I am making arrangements to go down to Tilbury tomorrow by the 11.45.

“Of course in a way I am sorry to leave London—­it’s extraordinary what a capacity for pleasure a prolonged residence in the country gives one—­but at the same time I quite agree with you that business must come first.

“I shall start work directly I get down, and if all the things I asked for in my list have been provided, I don’t think it will be long before I have some satisfactory news for you.  Unless I see you or hear from you before then I will write to the Hotel Russell directly there is anything definite to communicate.

“Meanwhile please give my kind regards to your amiable friend and colleague, and also remember me to his charming daughter.

“Believe me,

“Yours sincerely,

“JAMES NICHOLSON.”

With its combined touch of seriousness and flippancy, this appeared to me exactly the sort of letter that McMurtrie would expect me to write.  I couldn’t resist putting in the bit about his “amiable” friend, for the recollection of Savaroff’s manner towards me still rankled gently in my memory.  Besides I had a notion it would rather amuse McMurtrie, whose more artistic mind must have been frequently distressed by his colleague’s blustering surliness.

I could think of nothing else which required my immediate attention, so going into my bedroom I proceeded to pack up my belongings.  I put in everything I possessed with the exception of Savaroff’s discarded garments, for although I was keeping on the rooms I had no very robust faith in my prospects of ever returning to them.  Then, ringing the bell, I despatched Gertrude to fetch me a taxi, while I settled up my bill with Mrs. Oldbury.

“An’ seem’ you’ve taken on the rooms, sir,” observed that lady, “I ’opes it’s to be a case of ‘say orrivar an’ not good-bye.’”

“I hope it is, Mrs. Oldbury,” I replied.  “I shall come back if I possibly can, but one never knows what may happen in life.”