He handed me the envelope, and I read the address.

Mrs. Oldbury,

3, Edith Terrace,

S.W.

Nr.  Victoria Station.

“Very well,” I said, getting up from my seat; “I understand I am to stop with Mrs. Oldbury and amuse myself spending the fifty pounds until I hear from you.”

He nodded.  “Directly things are ready we shall let you know.  Till then you are free to do as you like.”  He opened a small leather case and handed me a bundle of bank-notes.  “Here is the money,” he added with a smile.  “You see, we trust you absolutely.  If you choose to make a bolt to America, there will be nothing to stop you.”

It was said with such apparent frankness that it ought to have carried conviction; but as a matter of fact it did nothing of the kind.  I felt certain that it would not be McMurtrie’s fault if he failed to keep himself informed about my movements while I was in London.  Too much trustfulness in human nature did not seem likely to be one of his besetting weaknesses.

However, I pocketed the notes cheerfully enough; indeed the mere touch of them in my hand gave me a pleasant feeling of confidence.  It is always nice to handle money in comparative bulk, but being absolutely without it for thirty-six months invests the operation with a peculiar charm.

“You had better be ready to start from here about half-past one,” said McMurtrie.  “Savaroff will take you into Plymouth in the car, and there is a fast train up at two-five.  It gets you into London just before seven.”

“Good!” I said.  “That will give me time to buy what I want when I arrive.  It would spoil my dinner if I had to shop afterwards.”

McMurtrie, who had crossed to the door, looked back at me with a sort of half-envious, half-contemptuous smile.

“You are a curious fellow, Lyndon,” he said.  “At times you might be a boy of twenty.”

“Well, I am only twenty-nine,” I protested; “and one can’t always remember that one’s an escaped murderer.”

I was sitting on the window-sill when I made the last remark; but as soon as he had gone I jumped to my feet and began to pace restlessly up and down the room.  Now that the moment of my release was really at hand, a fierce excitement had gripped hold of me.  Although I had had plenty of time to get used to my new position, the amazing possibilities of it had never seemed to come fully home to me till that minute.  I suddenly realized that I was stepping into an experience such as probably no other human being had ever tasted.  I was like a man coming back from the dead, safe against recognition, and with all the record of my past life scarred and burnt into my memory.

I walked to the glass and once again stared long and closely at my reflection.  There could be no question about the completeness of my disguise.  Between Neil Lyndon as the world had known him, and the grim, bearded, sunburned face that looked back at me out of the mirror, there was a difference sufficiently remarkable to worry the recording angel.  People’s wits may be sharpened both by fear and affection, but I felt that unless I betrayed myself deliberately, not even those who knew me best, such as George or Tommy, would have the remotest suspicion of my real identity.  Anyhow, I intended to put my opinion to the test before very many hours had passed.