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Updated: June 1, 2025
Joyce took me to the window, and still holding my arm, made a second and even longer inspection of McMurtrie's handiwork. "It's wonderful, Neil," she said at last. "You look fifteen years older and absolutely different. No one could possibly recognize you except by the way you speak." "I've been practising that," I said, altering my voice.
"Apart from your features you exactly fitted the bill, and I had learned enough about McMurtrie's past performances not to let that worry me. What I couldn't make out was why he should have run the risk of helping you.
There was a moment's silence, while the doctor stood there smiling down on me as blandly as ever. "May we come in?" he inquired. "We are not interrupting your tea, I hope." "No, I have done tea, thank you," I said, with a gesture towards the tray. Why it was so, I can't say, but McMurtrie's politeness always filled me with a feeling of repulsion. There was something curiously sinister about it.
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.
The idea of meeting him, and perhaps even speaking to him, without his being able to recognize me filled me with a wicked satisfaction that no words can do justice to. I don't think I betrayed my emotion, however, for McMurtrie's keen eyes were on me, and I was not in the least anxious to take him into my confidence.
You see, I'm pretty certain that the chap who tried to do him in is one of McMurtrie's crowd, and in that case " "In that case," interrupted Tommy, with a short laugh, "we ought to have rather an interesting evening. Seems to me, Neil, we're what you might call burning our boats this journey."
Their visit to Edith Terrace was probably explained by the fact that she had given them both addresses so as better to establish the truth of her story. Anyhow the murder was out, and with a new and not unpleasant thrill of excitement I crushed up Gertie's wire in my hand and tore open McMurtrie's letter.
"How did you know about Marks?" he asked, in that easy drawling voice of his. "I didn't know for certain," I said quietly. "It was more or less of a lucky shot." Then, as he seemed to be waiting for a further explanation, I repeated to him as briefly as possible what Sonia had told me about McMurtrie's reason for visiting London.
I was not even sure as yet whether the man with the scar had been really spying on my movements or whether my seeing him twice on the night of my arrival in Town had been purely a matter of coincidence. If he was a friend of McMurtrie's, it seemed to stand to reason that' Mr. Bruce Latimer was not.
For an exceedingly busy and agreeable quarter of an hour I occupied myself with the contents of the tray. There was some very nicely grilled whiting, a really fresh boiled egg, a jar of honey, and a large plate of brown bread and butter cut in sturdy slices. Best of all, on the edge of the tray were a couple of McMurtrie's cigarettes.
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