I had acted only to protect a defenceless woman, and had closed with
her adversary in self-defence. I hurried away, turned the corner, and
walked quickly to the Russell Square Tube Station, where I took a
ticket to Piccadilly Circus, composing myself as I descended in the
elevator.
Meanwhile, I knew that the unknown woman, who had been so resentful of
my defence, was calling the police and, as the event occurred beneath
a street-lamp, she, no doubt, was giving a minute description of me!
I was in a dinner-jacket and wore a black overcoat. In my soft
shirt-front were two studs of bright green chrysoprases, and these
might have attracted her attention, and so serve to identify me!
In the train were a number of people, therefore I buttoned my coat
tightly to conceal those studs. My brain was in a whirl. Half an hour
before, I was carefree and as full of the joy of living as a man under
thirty should be. The money left me by my Aunt Mary gave me a
comfortable income, and I was not a single penny in debt. Yet, at that
moment, I was fleeing from justice, my description, no doubt, being
circulated by telephone to every police-station in the metropolitan
area.
While in the Tube, I realized that, in order to escape, I must leave
London at once. No time was to be lost if I was to get away that
night. But how? I dare not return to my rooms in Sackville Street,
though I was sorely tempted to. If I dared, I could easily go home,
change my clothes, and reappear differently dressed. But I hesitated,
remembering that Bolland, my man, would greet me, and afterwards might
be questioned. No. It would be best to completely disappear.
When I emerged at Piccadilly Circus, I came face to face with a police
constable. It gave me a great shock, for I fancied he eyed me with
distinct suspicion. Yet, surely, news of the tragedy could not have
traveled so swiftly. Nevertheless, there are always thousands of keen
eyes on the look-out for a wanted man in London.
I recollect that in those moments of terror I dubbed myself a snob. I
like people who know how to behave. To me, the dull, public-school man
or the ruined gentleman is preferable to the declaiming Communist or
the demented lover. To those, life is a dreary business. But, as for
me, I thank my Maker, each day, that I am alive to accept what He, in
His munificence, has given me; though I would beg of you not to think
that I am more pious than any other man. Yet I am strong in my belief.
Haunted by dread and the knowledge that the young woman would most
certainly allege that I deliberately had shot the man because he had
insulted me, I remained on the pavement at the corner of Coventry
Street for some minutes, heedless of the home-going crowd of
theatre-goers, heedless of being frequently jostled by them.
The risk of going to any railway terminus in order to leave London was
too great; for, I knew that the police always keep watch on the
railway-stations on receipt of such warning as had been given. A man
had been shot dead in Bloomsbury Square, and the supposed
murderer--I--was being actively sought for!
Suddenly an idea crashed through my brain, and, turning back, I joined
the throng, entered the Tube station again, and requested a ticket to
Golder’s Green.
In due course, I arrived there, walked out, turned to the left, and
continued along the high-road leading northward.
It was still raining heavily and my coat was soon very wet. I had upon
me, very fortunately, a blank check--for it is my habit always to keep
one with my cigarettes, in case of emergency--as well as about twenty
pounds in Treasury notes, which I had received at the gaming-house as
balance of the check I had given there.
I suppose I had gone about half a mile when I came across a small
public-house, before which stood a heavy lorry marked “Osborne,
Nottingham.” The driver, no doubt, was inside, having a final drink
before starting out on his night drive.
I loitered about until, at last, he emerged, a thin-faced young man,
clad heavily in an old leather motor-coat, evidently a relic of war
days, smoking a cigarette.
“Good evening,” I exclaimed, “May I speak to you a moment?”
“Yes, sir,” he replied politely.
“Well, I want you to do me a favor,” I hastened to say, “You’re going
north, aren’t you?”
“Yes. To Wolverhampton,” he returned.
“Will you let me come with you? I’ll make it worth your while to take
me,” I suggested.
He regarded me suspiciously beneath the light of the street-lamp. I
was in a soaked condition. No doubt he was surprised at being accosted
by a man in rain-sodden evening-clothes, who begged a lift on his
night drive to the Midlands.